#i'm sorry i got emotional ok

[dreamsmthgold]

ok ok i know we all love the happy ending for yassen but let me be emotional abt Alex's happy ending in s3 ok - warning for spoilers of the book for those of you who haven't read them

i just can't stop thinking about what book!alex would say if he could just get to see that moment when Alex comes home and goes straight into the embrace of Jack and Tom, if he could see the Kyra kiss, if he could see the resignation of Alan Blunt, and the promise of Mrs. Jones, seeing Yassen explicitly saving his life more than once. It just makes me so happy and emotional that there is now a canon alternate universe where Alex didn't have to see Sarov shoot himself in the head right in front of him, where he didn't have to feel so lost and isolated and scared that he joins Scorpia and tbh looses himself for a while. An au where he doesn't have to watch Jack seemingly get murdered. Where he doesn't have to live with that guilt, carry it everywhere and then be responsible for Jack's eventual release from Scorpia. An AU where he doesn't have to get to know Ash, the only biological family he has left, only to be betrayed by him.

Book!alex seems tired to me, quite often. He must be asking "why me, why do I have to do this". But I think that if we showed him tv!alex's ending, his future prospects, like the doctor showing vincent van gogh the future at the museum, book!alex would just go "ok. I'll do it so he doesn't have to" and it is breaking and healing my heart at the same time

[paperultra]

le festin.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3,842 words Warnings: Swearing, alcohol use, toxic family [A/N: yes this is partially inspired by ratatouille. inspiration comes from many places and i am not one to question it. happy new year <3]

cingulomania (noun): a strong desire to hold a person in your arms nemesism (noun): frustration, anger or aggression directed inward, toward oneself and one's way of living

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

“Murfus.”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Get me more darts.”

Murfus wrings his hands, glancing between you and the wall a few feet away. “I … I’m afraid I can’t get you more darts,” he replies tentatively, “on account of us being out at sea, Miss.”

“Then fetch the ones I’ve already thrown,” you snap, pointing at said darts. “Idiot.”

“Of course. So sorry, Miss.”

He scampers over to the wall and hurriedly pulls each dart out of it, rushing back to you with sweat on his brow. You snatch them out of his white-gloved palms.

Pinching the blue dart between your fingers, you hold it up to your eye and aim. With a sharp snap of your wrist, the dart flies forward and into the paper tacked onto the wood panel.

Murfus winces.

Crumpled, smudged, and pitted with pin-sized holes, one would have a hard time reading the article on the wall. But you know what it says. You’ve memorized its structure, can land a dart onto each line mentioning that damned restaurant by name. And you do.

“Murfus.”

“Yes, Miss?”

“Read the menu to me again.”

“Of course, Miss.” You hear the crinkle of paper and the sound of him clearing his throat. “The appetizers are as follows …”

You only half-listen as the man continues, the other half occupied by the wall in front of you and the starting paragraph steadily being destroyed by your hand. Your tongue draws across your teeth.

“In all our years as food critics, scouring the East Blue for any semblance of palatable cuisine in a region brimming with endless possibilities, no other restaurant has come as close to unlocking the flavor of the seas as the Baratie.”

—

You had, by all accounts, a privileged upbringing.

The Nouveau Blue Guide is not royalty, nobility, or military – but it is an empire in its own right, a name that’s afforded you many opportunities and comforts since you were young: a fine education, luxurious business trips, a roof over your head and plenty of food to eat. Your family’s reputation as food critics, built by your great-grandfather and painstakingly maintained up to this very day, is unmatched in the East Blue.

Such is your birthright. A birthright that, despite your toil and travels and countless, countless hours spent writing reviews, your parents say you do not deserve.

“You call this an article?” Your mother brandishes the draft you’d submitted in hopes of some constructive criticism, her voice climbing high. “It’s a mess!”

“I haven’t polished it up yet –”

“There’s nothing worth polishing. Frankly, it’s embarrassing that a child of mine has written something like this.” She passes the article over to your father. “Darling, throw this away. I’m already stressed as it is.”

Your father takes it. Gives it a cursory once-over. Your tentative anticipation dissolves in the pit of your stomach when he sighs, shaking his head at you. “You’re not cut out for this career, dear,” he tells you, folding your article in half and then quarters and dropping it into the bin by your mother’s desk. “Claudie is already taking over the Guide. Your time is better spent improving your etiquette.”

You breathe in. Keep your hands relaxed, square your shoulders. Nod obediently with clenched teeth.

“I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

You know that your family means well. They want you to live a successful life, find a successful spouse, and raise successful children. They don’t want you to waste your time because your time is valuable.

Well, today, you’re going to prove that you are not wasting anything.

“We’re ready to disembark, Miss.”

“Good.”

Standing up, you put on your gloves and hat, picking your notebook and pen up from the table before walking with Murfus down to the dock.

He accompanies you to the entrance of the Baratie, then falls back so you may walk in alone. The maître d’hôtel welcomes you and promptly gets you seated at a booth on the ground floor, not too close to the stairs to distract you from the ambience of the restaurant and not too close to the kitchen to hear the ruckus of the cooks.

In the brief space of time before your waiter arrives, you take everything in. Dim, cozy lighting. High ceiling. Few windows. Sitting in the Baratie is like sitting in the belly of a whale. Perhaps you can make a point about it being a bit too enclosed, but given that its main customers are seafarers looking for reprieve from the elements, you don’t think many would find that damning.

You make a few half-hearted but detailed notes.

“Hello, madam.” A voice from above interrupts your writing.

You look up, irritated.

The waiter before you is a handsome man, blond-haired and broad-shouldered. He flashes you a charming smile upon meeting your eyes as he sets a plate of bread rolls down, standing close enough that you can smell cigarette smoke mixed with spices and just the barest remnants of cologne.

You recognize him immediately.

“My name is Sanji, and I have the immense pleasure of being your waiter this evening. Shall we start with drinks?”

Stifling your confusion with a sneer, you place your pen down.

“Is the Baratie so short-staffed that they have their sous chef waiting tables?”

Sanji’s smile freezes for just a moment. He seems to recover quickly, though, shaking his head and chuckling at your query.

“I’m flattered you recognize me!” he replies. “No, I occasionally wait tables when the owner requests it, that’s all.”

You do not buy it.

“Then, Sanji, I will have a glass of Ithürzburger Stein to start,” you say.

He nods. “Excellent choice. I will get that for you straight away.”

His eyes dart shamelessly to your open notebook before settling back on your face. To your utter surprise and dismay, he winks at you before heading off.

Your cheeks warm without warning.

Nobody, let alone a waiter (even if he really is the sous chef), has ever winked at you before. They had the good sense not to. It’s incredibly crude, and surely, you’re more offended than anything else – handsome or not, such behavior deserves a scathing call-out –

But … what if you’re overthinking things? What if it isn’t a big deal because it doesn’t affect the quality of the food? Your parents always take context into consideration – the Baratie is beloved for its rough-and-tumble personality under the guise of upscale dining, so perhaps this is part of the experience. He may not have even winked at you at all.

“Tch.”

You release the tablecloth from your grip, grabbing a bread roll instead and sinking your teeth into it. It’s light, sweet, and perfect. You chew quickly and swallow hard.

The sous chef comes back soon after, your requested bottle of wine in one hand and a polished glass in the other.

“Your Ithürzburger Stein, madam,” he says, opening the bottle and pouring you a glass with practiced ease.

He watches intently as you pick the glass up and bring it to your lips. The aroma reaches your nose, and it takes an immense effort not to wrinkle it as you take a sip. You’ve never particularly liked alcohol. This one is sour and dry.

“It’s alright,” you say, wishing you could rinse the taste out with juice. “I’m ready to order my appetizers and entrées.”

“Of course.”

You rattle off a few items, having memorized the menu after listening to Murfus read it so many times. For the appetizers, wakame salad with sesame-ginger dressing, Sea King croquettes, and grilled plums with goat cheese. For the entrees, Sambasian crab-stuffed salmon with roasted potatoes and chickpea stew. They’re nothing particularly unique or outstanding, but you feel that they are worth evaluating.

Sanji takes your order and leaves you with another dazzling smile, and you make the excuse of drinking more of the wine to avoid it. Maybe you will be a better writer drunk than sober.

Probably not.

Alone once again, you occupy yourself by exploring different ways to describe the wine, the bread, and the atmosphere. When you tire of that, you eavesdrop on the booth next to yours. It seems to be occupied by a group of marines, each attempting to one-up the others in the world’s shortest dick-measuring contest. You tire of that much more quickly.

When your appetizers arrive, you’re examining the arrangement of the silverware and the quality of their polish.

“Is the table set to your liking?” Sanji asks while lining up the plates. He takes more time doing so than is necessary, in your opinion.

“How it’s set doesn’t matter as much as whether it’s clean and accessible,” you reply, eyeing the croquettes with interest. “Tell me, where do you get your Sea King meat?”

“The Gourmet Hunter Guild supplies us with most of the rarer meats we serve here. The Sea King meat in your croquettes was just delivered this morning, so I’d say you’re quite lucky, madam.”

“What species is it?”

“Baron of the Tides.”

“Barons of the Tides tend to have a strong taste and tough flesh. Not many people are fond of it.”

Sanji’s eye glints as he rests a hand on the table, leaning in. “You know your food,” he says. “I expected no less from the Nouveau Blue Guide, and yet I’m still impressed.”

“It must not take much to impress you, then.”

“It takes a lot, actually.” He winks at you, and this time, you’re sure of it – and it’s strange because you don’t feel leered at, not at all, and your cheeks warm yet again. “Regarding the meat, no matter what it is, a good chef can make anything into a delicious meal. You won’t be disappointed.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Of course, madam. You’re the expert, after all.”

You are glad when he finally leaves, if only because you have no idea what to make of him. It’s difficult to tell if he’s being patronizing, and you can usually tell.

You sweep your gaze over your appetizers and take a deep breath.

Starting with the wakame salad, you inspect its presentation – a round pile of rich green seaweed in a smooth black bowl – and take a small portion to chew on.

The seaweed strikes a perfect balance between tender and firm, and the seasoning is perfect.

Fine. Whatever.

Next, the grilled plums with goat cheese. You take one bite; the creamy earthiness of the cheese complements the tender sweetness of the plums, and the caramelization is obnoxiously fantastic. You eat an entire half to make sure.

It looks like your last hope for this round is the Sea King croquettes.

Plucking one up with your fingers, you cut your teeth through the crispy, golden breading. The meaty interior strikes your tongue and your intake of breath is sudden, your free hand curling into a tight fist underneath the table.

It tastes good.

All three of them are really good.

This is horrible.

When Sanji drops off your entrées, you hardly realize that he’s there, too engrossed in the scent and the sight and the taste of the food.

“I hope the appetizers were to your liking?”

Sanji somehow gets the hint when you stab your fork into the Sambasian crab-stuffed salmon. He clears his throat and leaves you to your own devices.

You eat, and with each bite, your frustration mounts.

The Sambasian crab-stuffed salmon is flaky and succulent, the potatoes roasted to crisp skin and creamy flesh. The chickpea stew sits hot in your mouth and fills your nose with a parade of fragrant spices. It tastes amazing soaked into the bread rolls. Nothing is undercooked, or overcooked, or sloppily presented. Everything is just right. Just perfect.

You spend what feels like hours in the mouth of the booth, tasting, writing, crossing out, agonizing. The sounds of the Baratie die out until all you can hear is the scratching of pen against paper and your own breathing and pulse.

No, no, no, no.

It’s … it’s impossible. Any complaint you have is simply an expression of your own personal preferences, and your personal preferences don’t mean shit.

Your writing utensil is nearly buckling under the pressure by the time Sanji comes around for the nth time, and you’re just about ready to skewer him with it along with whoever else has the luck to wander too close.

“Are you interested in dessert, madam?”

“Of course I am,” you grit out.

All you’re met with is that damned smile of his. “Wonderful. Here’s our dessert menu.” He holds it out and you snatch it from him. “Someone with such a sweet face deserves something just as sweet.”

You snap the menu shut.

“Surprise me.”

Sanji blinks while you glare up at him, handing the menu back.

“… Pardon, madam?”

“I want the famed sous chef of the Baratie to prepare a dessert for me,” you say evenly. “I don’t care what it is or how long it takes. Surprise me.”

“I … of course.” He straightens up, the most serious you’ve ever seen him this entire evening. “Whatever you want.”

—

You wait.

The sous chef returns, not even an hour later, with a white ceramic bowl in hand and none other than the owner of the Baratie stomping after him.

“Your dessert, madam,” Sanji says, though a bit hurriedly. “Rice pudding with mango –”

He’s interrupted by Zeff, who grabs him by the back of his collar much like one would do to an errant cat. You raise your eyebrows, watching Sanji’s expression immediately wrinkle into one of annoyance.

“Little eggplant, you stop and listen when I’m talking to you.”

“Are you serious, old man? I’m in the middle of –”

“I told you that you’re off the line. No customer can change that, no matter who they are.” Zeff casts you a wayward glance and frowns before dragging Sanji back towards the kitchen. “We’re gonna have a little chat, you and me.”

Despite his bitter protesting, Sanji leaves your table with Zeff, and you’re left with your final course and the curious eyes of several diners.

“What are you looking at?” you bark at them, and they quickly go back to their meals.

You look down at your dessert. There’s a sprinkling of cinnamon on the surface, and it’s crowned with bright, paper-thin slices of mango, but rice pudding is so … simple. You’re almost insulted. But you are also surprised, and that is what you asked for.

Scooping up a bit of the pudding, you place it into your mouth, closing your eyes.

Two seconds later, you slam your spoon onto the table and stand up.

You can feel the sturdiness of the kitchen’s doors when you fling them open, your gaze immediately falling upon a mop of blond hair in the corner.

Heading straight towards him, you seize the front of Sanji’s well-pressed shirt and drag his face close to yours.

“What did you put in it?!”

Your shriek explodes through the noise of the kitchen staff. Sanji stares at you with wide eyes and oddly reddening cheeks.

“In the pudding?” he asks, bewildered. “Not much, really. Glutinous rice, coconut milk, salt –”

“Goddammit.” You shove him away and dig your nails into the back of your neck, chest and throat tightening. You can feel your breaths beginning to quicken and your eyes starting to sting. “Shit. Shit.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa”—Sanji puts a hand on your shoulder and it burns—“sweetheart, what’s wrong –”

“Where does that back door lead to?”

“Er, a dock? We take smoke breaks –”

“Excuse me.”

Shaking him off and pushing past him, you head straight to the door, open it, and close it behind you.

And then you scream.

Gods, you’re fucking ruined. You’re a fucking failure. Your parents were right, Claudie was right, you can’t do this and you could never do this and now you’re at the back of the East Blue’s only five-fucking-star restaurant having an emotional breakdown over eating food.

You scream until your voice breaks, until you’re left kneeling and gasping for breath on the filthy, wet dock.

You cough. Cinnamon lingers in the back of your throat, and you start crying.

Behind you, the door creaks open.

"[Y/n]?"

“Please don’t let my family hear about this,” you burst out without even turning to look at Sanji. “I’ll pay whatever amount you want.”

“Nobody’s going to be saying anything.” You feel him approaching, and then he drops down to sit next to you. “However, I’m very concerned about you. What’s got you so upset?”

“Why do you care?”

“A lovely lady such as yourself shouldn’t have to suffer alone.”

“Oh, please.” You hug your knees to your chest. But Sanji doesn’t leave, and after a few minutes, the words fall unbidden from your mouth, having nowhere else to go. “… I wasn’t assigned to come here.”

“Hm?”

“My family”—you swallow the lump in your throat—“they don’t know I’m here. I came here to write a review on the Baratie and get a … get a star taken away.”

Gods. That sounds so fucking stupid now. What is wrong with you?

“You did?” Sanji sounds baffled. “How come?”

A wet laugh crawls out between your teeth. “You’re the only restaurant my parents have ever given five stars to, you know that, right? So I figured – I-I figured if I could find out something wrong with the Baratie, they’d realize how good I can be at this job. I’m good at finding flaws. I’m good at details. This should’ve been … I should’ve found something.” You glare down at your lap. “But I couldn’t. Not even in the stupid dessert you made.”

“Oh.” A moment of silence occurs in which you can practically hear him gather his thoughts. “… I suppose I can take that as a compliment,” he says slowly, crossing his legs. “But is that really how you see food? Something to find fault in?”

“It’s something to evaluate. I’m a critic. It’s what I’ve always wanted to be.”

“But do you enjoy it?”

You frown, sniffling. Your brow furrows.

You want to tell him that it’s a stupid question. Why would you need to enjoy food? It’s work. You feel accomplished after finding the right words for a dish’s unique flavor, feel determined when you comb through the items on a menu. You feel delighted when you find something wrong with it.

But you …

“No,” you realize. “I … don’t.”

“I see. Well, I’m not one to tell you how to think,” Sanji says, “but as a cook, I believe that food’s one of the pleasures and privileges of being alive. As a critic, why deny yourself of its full potential?”

“I … I don’t know,” you whisper.

And the thought occurs to you, like a bottle that had been floating out at sea for years finally washing ashore, that you hate what your life has become.

“I don’t know.”

You can’t help it. You let out a loud sob, your head hanging down and bumping against Sanji’s arm. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap you in a tight hug.

It’s the first hug you’ve had in a very, very long time.

“I’m so sick of this,” you croak, face hot with shame and humiliation. “I’ll never be good enough for them. Ever.”

“They don’t deserve you.”

“But they’re my family.”

He rests his chin on your head. “A family who hurts you this much isn’t much of a family at all,” he murmurs.

His words are like a hot knife to the throat. What follows is cold, awful, bitter relief.

You force your eyes shut. Your arms tighten desperately around him, and you curl up, a pathetic excuse of a person in a crumpled heap on a dirty dock.

So this is you, you think. A purposeless silver spoon, miserable and starved for affection, clinging to a complete stranger outside the best restaurant in the East Blue.

It feels better to lay everything bare, actually.

“I can’t go back,” you tell him hoarsely.

“We won’t let anything get out.”

“The staff won’t, but you can’t do anything about the customers.” Reluctantly, you pull away, taking a deep breath and wiping your eyes. Clarity comes with it, hard and heavy. “But you know what? I don’t care anymore. I quit.”

“Quit?”

“Yeah.”

Reaching up, you close your hand around the small family crest resting just below your collarbone. You hesitate for just a moment, then tug sharply, and the thin chain around your neck snaps. Beads of gold glint in the sunlight as you look at it.

Yeah. Fuck it.

Winding your arm up, you fling the necklace as far as you can into the dark sea. It barely makes a splash as it hits the surface and disappears from sight.

“Good throw,” Sanji compliments.

“Thank you.”

He grins at you crookedly, and you finally return it, the last of your tears squeezing out from the motion and dripping down your cheeks.

Gentle fingers touch your chin. You let Sanji turn your face towards him, and the corner of his mouth tilts up as he takes a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes the rest of the wetness from your cheeks and nose.

“There,” he says once he’s finished. “Now I can see your pretty face better.”

(You wonder how the world ever produced someone so kind.)

“I’m sorry, Sanji,” you say, “for being such an ass to you earlier.”

“Please don’t worry about it. It was my pleasure to serve you.”

“No, really. I grabbed you. I’ve never done anything like that before, and I feel awful about it.”

“I really didn’t –”

“Please,” you plead.

Sanji bites his lip, holding your gaze for a moment, then sighs. “All right. If it’ll make you feel better, I accept your apology,” he acquiesces. His expression softens. “And if you really have nowhere to go,” he offers more quietly, “the Baratie will gladly welcome you.”

Your lungs feel a bit emptier than usual.

“Thank you,” you somehow manage to say. “I’ll consider your offer.”

Your sudden formality seems to amuse him. He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, consider it? Anything I can do to sweeten the deal?”

His voice dips at the end, a sort of low and raspy thing, and you learn that it is much, much worse than being winked at.

You swallow and turn your head away. “T-Tell me the rest of the ingredients for your rice pudding,” you mutter.

“Join the Baratie and I’ll show you how to make it.”

“What? You’re turning it around on me.”

Sanji merely laughs in response, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Despite your embarrassment, you eventually find yourself chuckling along, and the sounds bloom together, so different yet so complementary. It’s nice, laughing with someone. You enjoy it.

Perhaps this is what food is supposed to bring, you think, this same, small, strange moment of peace and satisfaction.

You hope so.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

I just had a whole actual married, mother of two adult woman be the first person older than about 21 to actually accept the fact that I don't want to get married and be willing to talk through what that means for me, instead of trying to convince me that I'll change my mind as I get older. I'm going to fucking cry

[brown-little-robin]

my last week, a visual demonstration

[ayotofu]

this might be an unpopular opinion but i kinda hate it when people make buck a navy seal instead of a navy seal dropout like. occasionally i've seen people using an au to do it decently but i feel like most of the time its dickriding the us military

[to-shards-you-say]

i got told that wax's love interest was written as autistic while reading the alloy of law and was like "who, Marasi? I can see that, she's actually a really fun portrayal" and then I was fucking told it was Steris—

[bsaka7]

on one hand i don't really know whats going on and i think i'm having at least 1 feeling and perhaps some confusion but on the other hand it's so interesting to have deadline day in a totally closed league market...i'm just fascinated.

[wu-kongs]

MK needs another perspective besides nezha (not that he wasn't useful, but more couldn't hurt), but again he faces the problem on who he could ask. Maybe someone that is also closer to macaque too since both monkeys are needed to resolve this, but who could fit that bill? *in the distance, demon bull king and princess iron fan shudder in unison*

"when i discovered what that wretched monkey—" iron fan says coldly, "—had done to my xiaodi, i wanted to tear him limb from limb. hell was not hot enough for that filthy creature."

MK shudders, ice through his veins and chilling over his spine at her words. he thought it'd be a good idea to talk to her since red son was so insistent that macaque was his uncle, and apparently his favorite one at that. though it hadn't been easy to find someone who could give him insight on the monkey king's side of the story, it'd been practically impossible to think of anyone who'd give him a leg up on figuring out what macaque's deal was. red son was his best lead, unfortunately!

iron fan looks at him, notes his nervousness, and then clicks her tongue. after a moment to compose herself, she turns away, the short train of her robes swinging smoothly after her as she steps over to a plush chair to settle down.

"after he joined that miserable monk, wukong... changed. he had become someone different from the king who'd been on the verge of felling the entirety of heaven." wrath begins to melt to a somber disappointment and vague hurt that MK isn't sure is real—the nearby fireplace crackles, flickering tricky and unreliable embers over iron fan's face.

"wukong had been the pinnacle of our kind, the one we all looked to, who had defied death and heaven time and again. he was a god among us. no one had been more aware of than than liu'er." any admiration that may have crept into her tone is promptly clipped by a sneer. "it went to his head. he remembered none of it when he began to pick us off one by one, as if all we simply were only scum of the earth." she pinches the bridge of her nose.

every one of her words weighs more and more on MK's shoulders and he finds himself lowering to the ground. this is a new side of the monkey king MK has never heard of, or even thought about. he supposes what they say is true: the winners do write the history books.

"...when the band of sworn siblings had received word of the monkey king's return, and that he was methodically eliminating us... we did not want to believe it. liu'er did not want to believe it—and for his sake, neither did i." she turns her sights on the dancing flames, eyes narrowed as if to shun away the memories. she then snaps to look right at MK, glaring. MK flinches from his settled spot on the rugs.

"listen to me, boy. i only tell you this because i..." her nose wrinkles the barest amount, as if this was difficult for her to admit, "i believe you have some measure of ability to resolve this matter. do not betray me."

he swallows thickly and nods furiously—what else is he supposed to do here? say no to the terrifying princess iron fan? he might as well dig his own grave!

she sighs like this a grievous thing he's putting her through, and he only feels a little bad about it; the bad blood is obviously still so prevalent here and he's not doing much but dredging it up.

"liu'er and wukong..." her eyes trail back to the fire. "they were inseparable. it wasn't simply a matter of their being together all the time, it was... it was as if two pieces of the same being had been separated before it was born and those pieces were in an endless cycle of attempting to reunite. not many noticed it, and those who did silently agreed to say nothing of it. it was not the sort of matter you pointed out for fear of throwing the balance into chaos."

MK swallowed thickly, a tide of nausea starting to rise in.

"liu'er, that fool... he adored mei houwang, was constantly found in his shadow, beheld him as the sun and all the stars above in his eyes." pure contempt smolders in iron fan's eyes, punctuated by the flames reflected there. "and although i detest wukong with the every fiber of my being, i will not lie and say it wasn't an unrequited adoration... they were disgusting. it was as if they wanted to live in each other's skin."

her fist clenches from where it rests on the arm of the chair. goosebumps rise on MK's skin despite the warmth.

"and then wukong was captured." she growls. "he had been the spearhead of our armies, and we quickly fell into disarray without him. liu'er had tried his best to regroup us—many of us did, but without the monkey king, our forces were unable to stop the might of heaven, and we scattered to the winds to survive."

"liu'er did not give up, but... his constant attempts eventually caused much of the destruction of flower fruit mountain. he had become so relentless to rejoin his other half that it blinded him to those he still had to take care of. he refused to stop chasing the monkey king."

"i can only imagine what he must've thought when wukong resurfaced, alive by whatever miracles and luck—and now in the servitude of a buddhist monk of all things... but chase he did, and ultimately, it led to his doom."

silence, thick and suffocating, reigns over the dim sitting room for a long moment. iron fan lets MK absorb the tale, and his mind races for it. he doesn't know what to make of this. he knew that macaque and the monkey king had... some weird thing going on, but this. this? way more than what he bargained for.

whatever they were—lovers, friends, allies—didn't just fall apart. it was ripped apart mercilessly, and nothing could've stopped it. MK sees that now. he's learned enough about both of them to figure that out. it was always going to happen, like... like fate.

he suddenly laughs, the edge of it hysterical and lost. he's out of his depth here. he's sooo out of his depth. this whole thing is millennia in the making, and he's supposed to fix it? he's supposed to, what, undo those thousands of years of tragedy? iron fan looks at him, expression stony.

"they're fools, the both of them," she says. "and with this... eyeball in the mix, they will chase each other's tails around forever until one of them forfeits."

"what am i supposed to do about this?" his voice quakes, eyebrows tented and smile pained and frantic.

the barest hint of pity flickers over iron fan's face. "niu and i have had our fair share of... marital challenges. all i can offer you, child, is honesty. it's not you who can mend what you haven't broken. they're not your pieces to collect. you may provide the glue, but they will have to use it themselves."

MK slumps, face dropping into his hands. "that's basically what prince nezha told me..." he grumbles sadly.

she studies him.

"i will add only this, then," she then says, and he perks up slightly. "i know liu'er. i have known him a long time. a foremost fool, i will always say—and he will always love wukong, no matter what has happened between them. whether wukong will allow that love is yet to be seen, but i know this is a two-way road."

he blinks at her, absorbing her words

prince nezha said the monkey king is still holding on to who macaque used to be. princess iron fan says macaque will chase the monkey king forever. they still obviously care about each other a lot, whether they'll admit it or not.

MK just needs to find a way to make them be honest about it.

[nervocat]

I've been in like. A mood lately. Idk how to describe it.

[cementcornfield]

huh. not super sure how i feel about this :')

[transsweet]

favs from tge aggie tonight ‼️

forest gods au - charliedzilla

musical nerds - rain-writes-fics

[fakevariety]

saw something today on tiktok about someone hearing that wanting to be sick means you're already sick and damn

i didn't -

that hits really really hard

i've wanted to be sick my whole life

my whole life

because i just wanted people to notice me and

i know i'm such a fucking awful person for it

but i wanted to get worse just for attention

like how FUCKED UP is that????

like actually what the fuck is wrong with me

[daz4i]

sometimes it's fun to hear abt how certain scams came down (at least when they have a happy ending and the people hurt get refunds or some other compensation) but man. there's always people who are gonna say "this was so obviously a scam and anyone who fell for it is just stupid" and i find that. upsetting ig? especially when the red flags are things you have to actively look for/be relatively well versed in certain topics to notice

like i watched a video breaking down the day before and how its scam went down and everyone in the comments is talking abt how stupid gamers are and only very little people are like "hey. most people don't read game news or follow every trailer and update about games, they just see one cool trailer and want to buy the game" and even then! people respond to it saying "well that's stupid, you shouldn't do that" like bro i don't think it's fair to expect people to research every product they're gonna buy 😭 online stores yes (as in, don't give your money to dubious sites who will steal your information or just take the money and run), but this was hosted on steam. read reviews maybe, but we're talking about pre-release wishlisting or first day purchases. obviously with the gift of hindsight this is very easy to mock, especially if you ARE the type of person who's involved in gaming news and thus knows what red flags to look for, but the vast majority of people aren't and it just feels unfair

ig that's the core of it?? it's unfair. like if someone gets away with a scam you shouldn't blame the people scammed, you should blame the scammer, who usually knows how to manipulate their words and promises all in order to get people to pay them, and hopefully get away with it through loopholes. by calling people stupid for getting manipulated, you only serve the manipulator and show other potential manipulators they can get away with it too if they just target the right people 🤷‍♂️ (which is shitty to do anyway, but if looking at it from a more selfish angle helps hammer it in - one day you could end up one of those right people. you are not immune to getting scammed)

[thosetwofirefighters]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @mooshkat, thank you so much friend!! <3 I've had the first draft of this (which is for @the-likesofus) open for at least a week now, and I just can't bring myself to edit it (mostly because my life has been a ~shit show~ recently) anywaaaaay here's some of what will be a very late 6.14 coda :))

“I’ve got a list, if you’re interested,” she continues. “I know being set up by your old tia might not be the most attractive idea, but you’ve just gotta find the right woman.” She grabs his hand, the one not wrapped tightly around his coffee mug. He lets her keep it, takes comfort in the familiar pressure of her hand in his, and tries not to worry that this might be the last time he’ll be able to. For a moment, he feels guilty about worrying—this is Tia Pepa, his favorite aunt, the one person who has always been on his side—but then he remembers what his parents—his father—had said when he’d tried having this conversation with them at nineteen. He knows Pepa and trusts her so much, but he’d trusted his parents too.

no pressure tagging (and sorry if you've already been tagged lol) @the-likesofus @lilbuddie @shortsighted-owl @jacksadventuresinwriting @mysteriouslyyounggalaxy @wheelsupin-five <3

[caninecowboy]

guess what time it is!!! time to be sappy on main

[m80495]

|| OutOfCombat ;;

Every day I think about how bad Mercury is at expressing his emotions. Even when he tries so hard. Readmore bc it got a little long sorry he’s running on a hamster wheel in my brain folds

Obviously with his upbringing he's NEVER had a good outlet for it, but he's just so goddamn emotionally constipated it's insane.

The moment that immediately comes to mind is the Battle of Haven in V5 (everyone’s favorite scene in everyone’s favorite volume :eyeroll:), specifically after it’s over and the Heroes Have Saved The Day or whatever and Emerald is about to have a meltdown on the floor. And Mercury just goes “Emerald, get up, we need to go. Emerald...” and like he’s whispering and his voice is still a little aggressive but you can tell he’s trying to be soft and gentle with her because he knows that’s what she responds better to and it gets me eeeeevery time. He cares for her so much in his stupid little repressed Mercury way. He just wants her to get out of there and be safe. 

ANNNNDDDDD. He defends her from Tyrian later in V6E4(I think). But before he even does his little “Back off, freak.” thing he’s trying to get her away from him before the confrontation starts. “Emerald, come on.” because he knows Tyrian is just gonna get in her head and make her upset (because it is evidently not that hard to upset her). When Emerald turns and does her “I will cut off more than just your tail.” line, Mercury behind her is like O_O cause he’s like ahh great now I gotta make sure she doesn’t kill herself trying to fight Tyrian. (Tyrian meanwhile is unfazed because he is Tyrian. That shot of him cutting his face against her weapon and Emerald’s little OnO face lives in my head rent-free.) AND MERCURY’S HAND ON HER SHOULDER IS SO GENTLE. And he doesn’t take his hand off her shoulder until they turn around!!!!!!!!!! UGH oh my GOD. (Also, just as a little note, Emerald leans just the slightest bit against Mercury’s hand and turns so slightly towards him, but when Salem touches her on that same shoulder minutes later, she tenses up something fierce. I’m just mentioning that for me.)

This has nothing to do with the rest of the post, but I’m mentioning it anyway because it came to mind. Mercury is the first person to realize how enraged Salem is when Hazel tells her that rwbyjnr&qrow are being led by Oz. He’s the first to realize the atmosphere completely changes, the camera focuses on him when the windows start shattering. Tyrian and Watts start talking while Mercury is like uh ohhhhhh. He knows rage when he sees it. My poor boy. He’s the first person to be OUT of that goddamn door.

And then there’s That Scene in V6E9(lol 69). I fully believe Emerald is the only person he’s ever, ever opened up to about ANYTHING in his past. That scene is SO emotionally charged. Actually wait before I talk about it I need to point something else out. Mercury doesn’t ever really talk to anyone else in the show except for Emerald. And when he does he’s threatening/intimidating them. (The scene where they visit the Branwen tribe comes to mind. “Hey, ugly!”/”I was hoping you’d say that.” (irt cinder “Make him [cooperate].”)/“We’re the guys you should be afraid of.” etc.) (Or the scene with him and Ruby in V3, “polarity vs metal, that might be bad”/ “let’s just keep this between us friends” etc.) But every time he talks to Emerald, he’s much more casual. And he talks to her less when there’s other people around (V3, the scene in the ambulance, the scene where he’s repairing his legs.) but she’s still the main person he talks to. It’s evident in V6E9 too where he casually calls Cinder “a pain” and the tone of his voice with his “Just made sense.” and his subsequent explanation. He’s talking about how he was raised from birth to kill people, and how he killed his dad, but he’s using the cadence you’d use to talk about the weather. 

This is neither here nor there but I think it’s very sweet and cute that Emerald is just kind of hanging out while Mercury works out or trains or whatever the hell he is doing in that scene. Yarrgh! Hiyaa! Grunt noises! And Emerald’s just sitting there. They feel comfort in each other’s presence, your honor! (Remember in V3 when he was doing pushups on the floor and she was playing on her scroll laying on the floor beside him? UGH THEY’RE SO SPECIAL TO ME.)

He’s nonchalant about it at first but we see pretty quickly he has a short temper. “Hey, what’s your problem?” He opened up (in his own Mercury way) and Emerald didn’t respond the way he thought she would, so he’s immediately on the defensive. But she isn’t aggressive (yet) so he backs off again. “Salem’s promised us everything.” and subsequent lines are again said casually. And then Emerald calls Cinder ‘family’. For someone like Mercury, who has likely only had bad experiences with ‘family’ (and there is NO way Cinder treated Mercury the same way she treated Emerald, like there’s no way, from the way he talks about her, he does not give two shits about that woman) he does not respond well to it. “Wake up already.” He sees through Cinder’s act of ‘caring’ about Emerald when she’s really using the two of them to further her own goals. I don’t think he’s fine with it, but he puts up with it because his ultimate goal is to be “top dog” in “Salem’s new world”. Cinder just also happens to be part of that. I’m also not convinced that’s the first time Mercury has tried to have the “Cinder doesn’t care about you/us” conversation with Emerald, it is way too emotionally charged on both sides. They’ve talked about this before I KNOW it.

I think it’s also important to note that Mercury is not the one who starts their dinky little slapfight, Emerald throws the first blow and nearly every other attack. She doesn’t even land any of her hits, Mercury effortlessly blocks and dodges his way out of all of them. “I’m sorry you didn’t have a mommy that loved you! But I had a father who hated me.” He physically stops the fight so he can say that. I do think he really is sorry that Emerald didn’t have a loving family, but I think he’s also, like, hey, I didn’t either, so tough fucking shit. It’s the difference between having no family at all vs a family that was actively abusive. I think Mercury would’ve rather had nothing at all than Marcus Black for a father, and Emerald would rather keep clinging to Cinder (who literally has hit her before and actively manipulated her) than have nothing at all. He’s trying to help her recognize that her circumstances are, uh, bad, but he’s so aggressive and frustrated that she’s not getting it, that it just turns into him being, um, not-gentle about it, because that is the only way he knows how to do it. He doesn’t know how to be soft and gentle about it, especially when it’s something that hits so closely to home. He’s been through this cycle before, and he can see both himself and Emerald trapped in it, and it frustrates and probably enrages him to no end. 

Regardless of his frustration, he barely even tries to fight back. He knows he doesn’t have to, because he knows he can beat her in a fight. “Every day of training was a beating.” He’s literally just walking forward, hands at his sides. He’s doing nothing but intimidate her because he doesn’t want to fight her. He wants her to back down. He doesn’t start ‘fighting back’ until “This is a crutch.” with an extremely telegraphed punch, and “This makes you weak.” with a telegraphed high kick that barely even gets close enough to Emerald for her to even need to dodge from it. And those are the only two ‘attacks’ he throws out that entire time, and they are telegraphed, and easy for Em to block/dodge. He spends the rest of his little speech just circling Emerald with his hands up. Mercury spilled his guts out to Emerald, probably the first time he’s ever opened up about what happened to him in his LIFE. And that’s something that can be so personal........

And that’s why he’s so frustrated when Tyrian interrupts them. Because he’s an extremely private person, and someone he hates just overheard him unlock his Tragic Backstory to Emerald. And then get his ass handed to him both verbally and physically by Tyrian, he’s humiliated! He just tried to open up, and for what? I don’t think Tyrian was making fun of him, per se, but he did absolutely nail all of his insecurities right to his face. To be honest? I think Mercury sees a lot of Marcus in Tyrian. Marcus the assassin and Tyrian the serial killer. Kind of a tangent but I think it’s interesting how he doesn’t even try to fight back against Tyrian. He sees pretty quickly they’re unevenly matched and he just... stays there underneath him, staring at his stinger. Mercury doesn’t pick fights he can’t win...

I want to say something about Emeralds “Mercury, I wanted to...” thing because she definitely was coming to follow up on their fight, but Mercury is literally paralyzed with fear watching Salem create the winged monkey grimm (Beringel?? I cant remember what theyre called off the top of my head rn). We could’ve had them try that conversation again in private in V7 but CRWBY hates me specifically.

We didn’t see Em and Merc for the entirety of V7, and I can’t help but wonder what on earth went on between them during all of that. I feel like, from what we know from V8, with Mercury leaving Cinder to work under Salem directly, he had to have told Emerald before he did it. I think he made one last-ditch attempt to get through to her about Cinder not truly caring for who she is as a person, only caring about what Emerald can do for her, but again couldn’t reach her. So he decided to just leave, to prove it to her that Cinder never cared. And the thing is, too, Mercury outlived his use for Cinder. He had that fake leg trick at the Fall of Beacon, but aside from that, Cinder just uses him as muscle. And she could just as easily find anyone else with that ability, someone who has a semblance, too. I think Mercury actually might’ve been a little worried he’d get left behind (even if he didn’t quite realize it) when he decided to work under Salem directly. I dunno. Wait I’m going on a tangent again okay focus Combat focus we are talking about Mercury’s soft side. Okay maybe not soft just less rough than the rest of him. ANYWAY

As far as V8 goes, I don’t think Mercury has completely given up trying to get it through Emerald’s head that Cinder is bad for her. But I do think he tries a little less cuz it kills him inside to see that cycle happen and feel powerless to prevent it but he at least has to try. In V8E6. After Emerald brings Cinder back to the whale. She was just trying to help. “I think she’s had enough help.” Mercury is now bold enough to shittalk Cinder to her face, why’s that, I wonder, hmmmm??????? “Would you stop trying to protect her, already? She doesn’t care about you.” Where’s all this coming from? Huh? Oh, Cinder’s mad. So she tries to kick them out. And Mercury’s like SURPRISE BITCH I don’t work for you anymore. When he says that. Emerald doesn’t even look surprised at all. I just knowwww Mercury told her beforehand!! Like I said! She’s just like :(... meanwhile Cinder is like !?!?!?. I might just be brainrotted but Emerald leaves without waiting for Cinder to leave first, she follows Mercury instead, and I think that’s a nice little detail. Later in that same episode, when they’re all gathered, Mercury looks over to where Emerald is kneeling, just to check on her. I think that is also a sweet little detail.

And Then Volume Eight Episode Seven: War Happens. “He’s a prisoner, Em, he’ll say what he thinks will get him out.” I’m sure you know all about saying what you think will get you out of a little pain and punishment, don’t you, Mr. Black. Also I screamed when he called her Em. And I want to mention. Emerald did not go to Cinder with this. Emerald went to Mercury with it first. Emerald did not tell Cinder a single thing about the lamp and Jinn, she told MERCURY. MERCURY!!! I think, even if it’s just the slightest, smallest bit, he did get through to her just a little bit by telling her Cinder doesn’t care. “I know better than to disobey Salem.” I think that might’ve been a dig at Cinder actually. But also he knows the price of disobedience. So.

His voice drops so much between “Look, even if what he said was true, we can’t stop Salem.” Mercury is just as afraid of Salem as everyone else is, he just puts on airs to seem like a detached cool tough guy. “Big guy’s not gonna pick fights he can’t win. Neither should we.” Mercury knows that well, and it’s showed in so many aspects of him. He stops the fight with Pyrrha when he gets what he needs. He almost singlehandedly defeats Coco and Yatsu at Vytal. He loses on purpose to Yang at Vytal. And he kinda does kick ass during the battle of Haven. He intimidates Emerald into not fighting in V6. He doesn’t fight Tyrian back. And he takes whatever orders are given to him by Salem. He knows what it’s like to lose a fight and he does not like it. 

Tyrian coming up to retrieve Mercury to take him to Vacuo... that scene is so... ough. Mercury tenses up SO much when Tyrian grabs his shoulder I can feel the tension in my own muscles. Mercury has so many second thoughts in that one short moment where Tyrian talks about Salem ending the world, and you can see it all over his face! I want to cry. “Come along, Mr. Black.” I just know Mercury hates being called that more than anything. I knowwww that’s what people In The Know called Marcus. I mean, hell, he probably had to call Marcus ‘Mr. Black’ on occasion. When Tyrian shoves him forward, he looks back at Emerald. But Tyrian keeps him going.

And then, finally, the last time we saw Mercury Black, literally almost two fucking whole years ago now, was him in the manta about to fly out to Vacuo. And he exchanged that LOOK with Emerald. (That Look is still my phone lockscreen to this day.) So many silent thoughts are communicated just through his nod. You’ve got this. You’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay.

Reader, they are not going to be okay.