#they don't even care about earth! six thousand years of

[winepresswrath]

Cannot believe at this late stage of my life I'm becoming a Gabriel fucker. Local mean jock doesn't want to be evil now, he wants to be loved. I'm slightly annoyed they didn't make Beelzebub more unhinged because the "plot" should have been at least half about them fucking up shit on an absolute rampage trying to find Gabriel, a thing everyone assumes they are doing to fry him with hellfire so they can kick off the war in a way that's advantageous to hell, BUT ACTUALLY!!! true love.

[actual-changeling]

Muriel isn't a child, they're not stupid or immature, and they CAN take care of themselves—with that, welcome to Alex's unhinged meta corner, hinged edition.

We need to talk about Muriel, so let's dive right in.

Despite the way many people depict them, they are the exact same age as every other angel, fallen or otherwise, and treating them as lesser because their mannerisms and expressions don't match up with what you think an 'adult' should look like doesn't mean they aren't one.

Not to speak of the ableism that's inherent to that kind of thinking, and actually, you know what? Before I keep talking, I want to ask you a question.

It is very common to talk about Muriel as a 'child of divorce', being 'adopted' by Crowley, someone 'precious' that needs protecting, and a lot of titles and concepts along those lines.

The question is: If, say, Uriel were in their place—sent down to earth after not being there for more than five minutes ever—would you still call him everything you call Muriel now? Would you treat him the same way you're treating them?

Would you see him the same way, and if not, why?

The question is, if any other angel were in Muriel's position, would you also infantilize them the way you currently do with Muriel?

Feel free to actually answer that question on my post or in your own, because I am genuinely curious about the reasoning, especially behind 'no' as an answer.

Heaven completely neglected them just like they did with everyone else, they were completely alone in a big, empty white room with nothing but a glass desk and presumably a chair for six thousand years—and probably even longer than that. Having someone ask them a job-related question every couple centuries doesn't even BEGIN to scratch the surface of their social needs.

When they came down to earth, it was the equivalent of one's first day at a new job, at university, at school, anywhere you had not been before but now plan on being for a while.

You come across others that have been there for twenty years and look like omniscient gods from your point of view; they run the game while you don't even know which game you're supposed to be playing. This is one of the reasons why they read as autistic to many, including myself, because that's exactly what every social situation feels like to me. That's for another post, though.

Of course they're socially awkward and easily overwhelmed! They were dropped off in a capital city after—and let me emphasise this once more—being completely alone for millennia.

The highest of the angels ordered them to do a specific job, like, fuck, I'd be having a nervous breakdown in the lift and curl up in a corner for a few hours because that thought is terrifying. Especially because failure is not something heaven accepts. Especially because they know what happens to those who disobey or disappoint in whatever shape or form.

When we see them, it is in that exact situation—talking to their bosses that they've likely never talked to before, arriving in a new world, being around new people, in a new environment, new everything. It always reminds me of this quote from Modern Family.

Muriel was assigned a rank and job just like everyone else, and they deserve the same respect and acknowledgement for it as the Guardian of the Eastern Gate or the Archangels themselves. Muriel is probably really fucking good at what they do, they've had millennia of practice, but we simply never see them in their everyday situations. Give them some time and support, and they'll be up to speed in no time.

They are not a child—don't treat them like one.

[storm-angel989]

Okay so I saw your val and child fic and i got inspired to req as well😭 Lucifer x eldest!daughter!reader, what if luci and Lilith had like, a child before they fell. THIS IS PLATONIC OKAY almost forgot to mention. So like reader is like an angel (maybe with unique wings like luci?) and is more than tens of thousands years old cause she was born before they fell, and she can't go to hell or have any contact with her parents because heaven is worried that she'll fall too, so she's very protected by the angels. It'll add more to the angst if reader isn't even aware that she's the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith! Better, she didn't even know they existed at all because the angels tried their best to keep her away from everything about hell. I hc that Lucifer went to heaven to like, talk w sera to let charlie have a meeting about the extermination yeah!! So on his way, he caught a glimpse of reader gifting a basket full of pastries or idks to Sera in her office. After tens of thousands of years apart, what will he do? He can't fuck this up since of he makes sera angry, then charlie won't have a meeting at all!

Ask and you shall receive! I don't have a ton of experience writing Lucifer, but take a peek- feedback is always appreciated! Thank you so much for your request!

She looked just like her. 

Blonde hair. Wings that mimicked his own, at least, how they looked in his glory days. Prior to his fall. Her eyes sparkled with the goodness only heaven could create. Ironic, really, if he was being fully honest with himself. 

It was only a glimpse, a glance as she handed off a basket to one of the other angels. Sera’s secretary, maybe. Or one of the lower officers in her command. Honest Lucifer couldn’t care less who she was handing it to if it wasn’t him. After all, that was his daughter. 

Every part of him yearned to stand up, to blow these pretentious angels out of the way and to embrace what was rightfully his. To end the pain of a loss he had kept a secret from everyone around him for eons. 

But by the way she acted, he doubted she had any idea who he was. It had, after all, been ages since he had last seen her sweet face, bubbling and bright. Heard her soft giggles, her coos as he rocked her to sleep at night. Ages since the high seraphs of heaven ripped her from his arms as they cast him and Lilith to Earth, as punishment for their so called egregious errors.

Twenty nine thousand, seven hundred and fifty six years to be exact. Not that he was counting.

He tried to shake her from his mind. He had another daughter to focus on, after all. One bore after he and his wife fell, crashing into the underground world- a punishment for an external sin. 

At first, Lilith had cried. Dark echoing sobs that resulted in the creation of the sins of hell. Each of them one of the actions of heaven that led her to the loss of her daughter. Heaven’s pride, lust, greed, gluttony, wrath and sloth, all became embodiments of the third most powerful beings in hell. It took eons before the discussion of another child could even be considered. 

Ironic, he pointed out, that the crimes of heaven became reality in hell. But she didn’t care. He supposed in her mind, bringing to life heaven’s dark side was a sort of retribution. 

It was eons, eons before they decided to try again. 

That brought him here, to this moment, as he sat in front of Sera as casually as he could. She didn’t need to know he recognized his own daughter. Honestly, dangling her in front of him like that. How dare she? He should strike her now, his hands could leave burning marks of darkness across her face, a permanent scar was the very least she deserved for shattering his family. 

But he had another child to consider. 

You should be grateful, the commander taunted as he ripped his daughter from his arms. At least now she has a chance at happiness, a chance to avoid eternal damnation and punishment. Why are you not more grateful? 

Lucifer’s infant screamed in one of his oversized hands, and with the other pushed him down into the pits of hell alongside Lilith. Their punishment for daring to create something without the permission of a higher being. 

“She desires a meeting? With us?” Sera wondered aloud. “Whatever about?”

Lucifer snapped his attention back to the issue at hand. His other daughter, one created many, many years after the loss of their firstborn, needed him. Play it cool, Lucifer, he thought to himself. Charlie needed him. He casually looked at his fingertips and then glanced up at her. 

“I don’t know. Something about sinners and heaven. Honestly, Sera. What harm could come from a little….post extermination meeting? After all, wouldn’t you enjoy the chance to meet my daughter? You might notice a few connections that could help keep heaven safe.”

If Sera understood his insinuations, she didn’t let on. 

“Very well then, if you feel her knowledge will bring value to heaven. After all, the sanctity of our home is of utmost importance.”

Sanctimonious bitch, Lucifer thought. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his eldest, his reader laughing at a joke another angel told. 

In all the time that had passed, that ringing laugh never changed. 

“We have a deal then. Tomorrow, noon. And let Peter know, I don’t want my daughter treated as poorly as I was.”  He stood up and turned to walk towards the door. 

“She’s doing well, you know. Reader. She’s safe and happy in the hands of parents who truly love her.” Sera’s voice came softly from behind. 

Every part of him yearned to turn around, to rip her heart out of her chest and stomp on it the way she had done to him all those years ago. To scream, to gouge her eyes out- the worst circle of hell didn’t hold enough punishment for what this bitch deserved. What heaven deserved for tearing a family apart. 

But he had another child to think about. 

So instead he swallowed back his feelings and silently walked out the door as he chose to respond in the best way he knew how. He pushed open the outside door and lost in his mind, he tripped down the first step. 

A soft hand caught him from behind, preventing his fall. 

“I’m so sorry Mister, are you okay?” A familiar voice asked, worry evident. 

A cold feeling settled in his gut. No, fate couldn’t be so cruel. 

“Ahaha, yeah, just clumsy, you know? Thanks for the catch!” He replied as calmly as he could. He adjusted his tie, willing himself to not turn around. To not face one of the biggest sources of heartbreak a parent could imagine. 

He began to walk down the street, back towards the gates of heaven. Back towards the portal that would inevitably open up and toss him down into the pits of hell, where he could again safely hide in the sanctity of his office, again lose himself in yet another fruitless hobby as he tried desperately to forget the night that tore his family apart. 

“Dad! Over here!” Her voice sang out. 

Involuntarily, he turned around. Dad? Did she recognize him? Was it possible? For just a moment, his heart soared. Dad is right here, reader. 

The words caught in his throat as he watched her embrace another man, another angel. One he knew well. Every inch of him flared up with rage. Bad enough that heaven took her away but to give her to him? Of all angels? 

And they said hell was cruel. 

It took every ounce of self control to turn away from the scene. To once again bury the emotion deep within himself. To process the pain of yet another loss. 

After all, he had another daughter to think about. 

[quitealotofsodapop]

HOLD ON THE F€€k YOU MEAN FEMALE SAI TAI SUI-

IF THIS IS HEADING WHERE I THINK IT IS DOWS THAT MEAN JING IS- OR NEZHA MIGHT-

prev.

Well its more like...

LEF: "Hey since you denounced me as your goddaughter - mind if I steal your strongest (and now mortal) son as my husband? K thanks! Byyyyyeeee!!!" Li Jing: "EHHH!?" Nezha, on earth:

The character I'm referencing is: Lady Earth Flow/Half-Guanyin/Golden Nosed Albino Rat/Mouse Spirit. An infamous literal and figurative maneater, so much so that most adaptations show her as a vampire. Her MO is to target monks to SA and eat them for their yang energy. Tripitaka is nearly a victim in the novel, if not for the fact he was deep inside the monastery with a cold. Wukong however is nearly assaulted in his monk glamour - which he responds understandably by trying to kill the spirit with Ruyi Jingu Bang.

Later it is discovered in the villain's lair that she's a goddaughter to Li Jing - he spared her life after she became an uplifted mouse spirit. But she took the opportunity to become something even worse...

Curiously, Li Jing mentions having a little daughter in Jttw - a six year old girl named Zhenying who's not even old enough to fly or cause mischief. He briefly gets very confused when Wukong shows up claiming his daughter is assaulting and eating monks. Though Zhenying likely only exists for the joke.

Lady Earth Flow is subdued by Li Jing's army and is denounced as Li Jing's goddaughter, her fate left up to the Tathagata Buddha.

-

So here comes the TMKATI au; where its been a couple hundred years, and Nezha is on earth after getting exiled from Heaven by the Jade Emperor. He's about his awkward and rebellious late-teen years, and he and the Noodle Family have been arguing for some time about what he'll want to do when he graduates.

Lady Earth Flow, having escaped/revived, decides to exploit a boy's trust so to take a hit at him and his father... Living as a school counsellor, she has many victims ripe for the picking - but for the Lotus Prince to fall into her lap is a chance far too good to miss.

Don't worry, nothing too bad happens to our dear boy. Even if him and his guardians are arguing, he still shoots off a text to his little siblings + Sandy about where he's going. And no matter his age he's pretty distrusting of authority.

LEF severely underestimates how much the depowered god can fight back. And how much Li Jing cares for his son...

LEF has gained power in last few centuries, albeit lazily; pinning the Pagoda King with spiritual clones when he comes to his son's rescue.

LEF discovers the poppet made from Nezha's shorn hair and laughs. He's still crying about him? His little boy is about to become a man!

The mouse spirit alights the poppet with the fire from her oil lanterns.

Li Jing sees his youngest son's life flash before his eyes. And sees red.

He hugs Nezha tight afterwards, telling him that it's ok and that it's all over, all whilst covered in his former-goddaughter's blood. Nezha stares blankly, hugging his father tighter than he's ever had in last thousands of years. He saw the memento his father held so dear - one made by a parent in mourning.

The rest of the parents show up shortly afterwards, worried out of their minds for the same boy.

Lady Earth Flow is sent packing to King Yama himself. But not before she gets arrested by mortal police for her crimes.

[s-3lliot]

Nothing Lasts Forever

Currently listening to the song, “Nothing’s New” by Rio Romeo because it’s on my AziraCrow playlist right? And right now I’m working on this history project for my class on Greek Gods (MY CHILDHOOD— though completely irrelevant), and I took a pause to listen to the lyrics right? And of course I add songs to certain playlists based off of vibes, but a majority of a time it’s based off of the lyrics I hear in a song. So a few days ago I added this song to my playlist, but I lowkey forgot WHY so I listened to it all and— Jesus. 

BASICALLY what I’m getting at is that we all know that before Crowley fell, he was an Angel right? But he decided to question god and the almighty’s decisions, causing him to ‘saunter vaguely downwards,’ and y’know, FALL. And this was basically the start of his, for the lack of a better word, “betrayal” when it came to Heaven. Because he had been an Angel all of his life, most likely with the assumption that he would never FALL, especially not for simply ASKING QUESTIONS. I mean how much trouble could you get into for asking questions really? But then he did. Then he fell. The life he once had, in an instant, was taken away from him. 

Fast forward six-thousand-ish years later, and we’ve got the AziraCrow confession. Crowley finally realizes his feelings for Aziraphale, and then BAM! He’s hit with the whole Heaven thing. And I can’t help but link that with the lyrics of the song. SPECIFICALLY:

“So, won't you please spare me indignity?

And won't you please give me some decency?

And won't you please call it, if our time is through?

'Cause I know that we fall apart, when nothing's new, Nothing's new”

The reason why I’m mentioning this specific part of the song is because first of all, you’ve got the main thing I wanted to point out, which was the ‘Nothing’s New’ line. Once again, Heaven had taken something away from Crowley. First it was his ‘Angel/holiness,’ and now it was Aziraphale. 

But then you go MORE into the song lyrics, and god does the third line hurt.

“And won't you please call it, if our time is through?” 

GOD. This just sinks up with the other rant I made about the whole duality of Achilles Come Down and the confession—- because once again it brings me to my point that there’s just so much GOD DAMN miscommunication. And it drives me INSANE because I’m just sitting here thinking about how Crowley is left at the end of season two thinking that THAT’S what Aziraphale meant by ‘nothing lasts forever.’ 

Even looking at it MORE now, there’s yet ANOTHER VERSE:

“I want to be close to you but I don't know what to do— 'Cause if we are near to through, it may make it worse”

My heart? SHATTERED. Because I bet this is what was going on in Crowley’s MIND during the confession. That all he wanted to do was be with Aziraphale, it didn’t matter WHERE, just as long as he was with him. Earth? Space? Who cares, I’ll follow him anywhere. But then reality steps back in and you’re hit with the second line which just keeps making me think about Crowley’s last-ditch effort at trying to convince him to stay, A.K.A, a kiss—- A.K.A: Wanting to be close to Aziraphale, but not knowing what to do, and under the impression that they’re near to through, thus making it WORSE.

I hate this. 

[sageappa]

Ok, so, hear me out, HEAR ME OUT. I promise this is good speculation for GO3.

Good Omens was renewed for a third and final season. (I have been screaming and crying out of joy since 15:05 of my time zone, the exact time when Good Omens Prime's X account posted the news. But that's not the point.)

Mr. Gaiman, about this renewal, said:

"Season One was all about averting Armageddon, dangerous prophecies, and the End of the World. Season Two was sweet and gentle, although it may have ended less joyfully than a certain Angel and Demon might have hoped. Now in Season Three, we will deal once more with the end of the world. The plans for Armageddon are going wrong. Only Crowley and Aziraphale working together can hope to put it right. And they aren't talking."

So if I read it correctly, and if my English as a non-native isn't failing me, it seems that this time Aziraphale and Crowley actually intend to make Armageddon happen.

The plans are going wrong. Together, they can hope to put it right.

So what on Earth could have made them change so drastically their idea? What changed? Did Metatron do something to Aziraphale? Did Crowley get so depressed without his Angel that he'd rather have the world get destroyed? Naaah. Nah, I don't think so. They're both too attached to Earth and earthly beings to change their minds so quickly.

No, my guess is Armageddon changed.

It should have been how the Bible says: the coming of the Antichrist, the Four Horsemen riding, the enormous battle, etc. But it wasn't. And the Antichrist (or former Antichrist, since he refused Satan's paternity) won't collaborate to make the world end. What to do then, if both Heaven and Hell wanted it so bad?

Well. If Hell didn't make it, Heaven could get their try. (And Crowley knew this. Crowley knew that they'd come to some similar solution. That's why "he understands it a lot better than Aziraphale does.")

At the very end of Season Two, we hear this conversation between Metatron and a very unhappy Angel:

METATRON: Well, I can't think of a better angel to wrap things up, and to set into motion the next step in the great plan.

AZIRAPHALE: Um, yes, you mentioned that. Can I know what it is?

METATRON: Well, it's something we need an angel of your talents to direct. An angel who is familiar with how they do things on Earth.

AZIRAPHALE: Ah.

METATRON: We call it the Second Coming.

So Heaven is going to make their move. And it will be with a Second Coming - another Christ, another son (or daughter?) of God. With Armageddon in their minds.

It's the Anti-Antichrist.

Aziraphale is now the Supreme Archangel and, as Gabriel did with the very first Annunciation, he will have to give the happy news to the mother of this baby. In a contemporary world. Where no one would believe that easily the "it's God's son!" story. Yeah, good luck Aziraphale, no wonder Heaven needed someone who spent six thousand years on Earth to do this job. (And if they're planning Armageddon, who cares if Aziraphale still is Supreme Archangel, there would be just heavenly sounds and no problems at all after Heaven wins the war. Right? Just let the dude with a lot of knowledge about human do the job and then whatever.)

But. Do you really think that Aziraphale would just do it and make Armageddon happen exactly as intended by Heaven? Do you really think that, after what happened, after the Armageddon't, after him having to say no to his beloved Demon and losing him - and even though all of this happened he was still ready to throw himself in Heaven, in that lions' pit made of angels that always bullied him! -, after the courage he showed and the hope to make a change and do good -- do you really think he would just say "yes" to this? (I know, I lost my English here, I'm sorry, I'm just super-hyped.)

Oh, no, come on. He's still enough of a bastard worth knowing.

He is the Supreme Archangel, and even if everyone would just want him to be a nice puppet and do what the others say to him, he won't throw away his shot, I can assure you that. (How fun would it be though to have a scene where Michael and Uriel are kind of arguing between themselves about who should "suggest" Aziraphale what to do? And then Saraquel having to intervene?) No, no, Aziraphale learned from Crowley that sometimes he has to make his voice a little louder and be more incisive, as shown when in the last episode of Season Two he takes the lead in the library - while Heaven and Hell discuss what to do with Gabriel and Beelzebub. And he will do that again. He will make everything he can. He sacrificed his own happiness with Crowley for that. He cannot fail... and he has to do it alone. It's scary. He'll be anxious, but he'll do it. For the world. For good. For Crowley too. And for sushi.

So Aziraphale will try to make Armageddon something different. It's not "the" Armageddon, it's "his" Armageddon. Or theirs. He would have loved it, to be theirs - his and Crowleys'.

Our beloved angel is spot on in finding all those little quibbles that allow him to not go openly against the rules but also not follow them strictly. Maybe he'd find something also for the Armageddon. Maybe he'd find an Armageddon that would involve only Heaven and Hell, leaving the world and humans be. Maybe the Armageddon will become a way to reinvent Heaven and Hell. Make them fight, have their war on some galaxy far away from Earth, "destroy themselves" (I'll get to this later) and then a new Heaven and a new Hell would rise from their ashes. You know, how they became toxic, and everything else Crowley always repeats? Maybe it is not possible to change them without them having their war. They won't stop until they'll have had it, so maybe the only way is to give them war.

Or at least, to make them believe it.

What if Aziraphale and Crowley would actually need to collaborate in order to trick Heaven and Hell into thinking they had/are having their war? What if this plan cannot be done just by an angel? What if this is their only chance to stop this madness, once and for all, even though it's not easy for neither of them to get in contact again so soon after what happened?

[lurkingpassion]

That very scene that we all love and hate so much at the same time, many things were said about it and its details, but I'm not sure if I saw this one that gets me Aziraphale says, "We can be together! Angels!" And then, Crowley says, "We could have been us" Aziraphale wants them both to be together, to do good and feel happiness and joy because of that. He thinks that is the greatest good, and he wants Crowley to feel it too and to share this delight with him. While Crowley doesn't even care what they are. He wants them like that, like they are now, an angel and a demon who managed to get along; like how they evolved on Earth and what they have become in all those years. He doesn't want what being angels would do to them and to him especially. Would they and their relationship remain the same then? Aziraphale wants to fix it for good and bring him joy. But Crowley loves them for who they are and doesn't think there is anything to fix. Aziraphale says, "We can have the same rights, be equal and finally be together" While Crowley says, "We've been together for six thousand years. For me, we've been equal this whole time. And I don't think there's something to be changed in you or me"

[sketching-shark]

PLEASE I NEED TO KNOW—

How were the Huagou monkeys doing when SWK returned? And what happened to them, their home, after SWK became a Buddha (the other too?)

OKAY @sunny-days-and-warm-mournings so the story actually ends pretty much right after the pilgrims complete the journey and receive their new religious designations, so there's no word on what happens to the Mt. Huaguoshan troop afterwards. From what little I know of the 17th century fan sequel Journey to the South, however, one imagination is that Sun Wukong went back to live with them presumably as their guardian and king, and even had at least three kids (Quidou, Luohou, and Yuebei Xingjun).

In Journey to the West itself, however, the Mt. Huaguoshan monkey yao go through one tragedy after another. The first time we see what happened to the troop was right after Sun Wukong returns home after being banished for the first time from the pilgrim group. Here he sees the devastation that the war with heaven left in its wake even 500 years later, which basically left Flower-Fruit Mountain a withered and barren wasteland since Erlang Shen and his sworn brothers had burned it "to total ruin" after Sun Wukong was captured.

While he's grieving the state of his home, a few little monkeys run out and after excitedly greeting SWK tell him that in addition to living in a wasteland they're also being relentlessly hunted by humans. SWK furthermore learns that between the heaven's fire, migration to hopefully more fecund lands, starvation, and the hunters, the Mt. Huaguoshan troop was reduced to "no more than a thousand" from a population of 47,000 monkeys in Mt. Huaguoshan's heyday.

The monkeys beg SWK "'to take care of us,'" and the Monkey King starts this by slaughtering about a thousand of the hunters persecuting his "little ones," along with their horses. He then tells the monkeys to strip the human corpses of their clothes and weapons before dumping the bodies in a lake so that they can "ward off the cold" and start up military drills to learn how to protect themselves again. He also orders the horse corpses to be stripped of their hides to be made into boots and for their meat to be cured for consumption. After this, Sun Wukong "gathered together more fiends and beasts by the day, and he stored up all kinds of foodstuff...As he enjoyed wide friendship and great power, he had no trouble in borrowing some sweet, divine water from the Dragon Kings of the Four Oceans to wash his mountain and make it green again. He next planted elms and willows in front, pines and cedars in the back; peach, pear, date, and plum--he had them all. He then settled down to enjoy life without a care."

Soon after Sun Wukong restores Mt. Huaguoshan to something close to its former fecundity and violently ensures the safety of his "little ones" for a time, of course, he's called back to the pilgrimage. The monkeys beg him not to go, but Sun Wukong tells them: "Little ones, watch what you are saying. My accompaniment of the Tang Monk is no private matter, for Heaven and Earth know that Sun Wukong is his disciple [and therefore he's compelled to resume the journey]...You all must take good care of our property and don't fail to plant to willows and the pines in due seasons. Wait till I finish accompanying the Tang Monk and taking the scriptures back to the Land of the East. After that merit is achieved, I'll return to enjoy the joys to nature with you." So SWK does leave the monkeys in much better shape with both lots of food and the means to protect themselves, and seems sincere in his promise to to come back.

BUT NO ONE EXPECTS THE SIX-EARED MACAQUE. The second time SWK returns to Mt. Huaguoshan he finds an imposter on his throne who he describes as having "take[n] my descendants [the monkeys] captive," and indeed before they meet Xiyouji made it abundantly clear that LEMH doesn't care about the Mt. Huaguoshan monkeys outside of how he can use them as tools to achieve his own journey. Hell, after Sha Wujing kills the monkey that was impersonating him, LEMH instructs the others to "have the dead monkey skinned. Then his meat was taken to be fried and served as food along with coconut and grape wines. After their meal, that Pilgrim selected another monkey monster who knew transformation to change into a Sha Monk. He again gave them instructions on how to go to the West..."

So yes, not many fun times for the Mt. Huaguoshan monkeys after the war with heaven. Even so, their love for Sun Wukong and Sun Wukong's love for them is consistent.

[carpenoctem99]

its diwali, a time that people most pleasurably utilize to burst crackers and other shit. but lets get to the point - the point being how bad it's for the environment. yes, yes you'll probably scroll past this article thinking how common these things are nowadays. but i dont care because all i really want to do is voice my opinion, even if it creates a ripple change -atleast its something. so being someone who bursted a lot of crackers during diwali during my childhood i can understand how addictive, artificially pleasing and aesthetic it might all seem but its high time to look past moments of transient joy. I mean how idiotic it is that you excite yourself over a few moments of ignorant bliss when you very well know you're building a hell hole for yourself in the future? yes, of course you've heard of environmental protection, sustainable development and all that. I don't hold you responsible for not resonating with these terms and making a change. But if you don't have the capacity to be magnanimous by actually hearing these big words, atleast be magnanimous by being selfish. yes it's complicated but trust me this works to put it simply IT WILL WORK

YOU CAN BE GENEROUS BY BEING SELFISH AND HONESTLY YOU DON'T OWE ANYONE AN EXPLANATION

let me give the easiest example of myself

during my childhood for about 3-4 years i was shit crazy for crackers and stuff and there wasn't even a single diwali i spent without them but now things are pretty different just hold up for a while and give me a chance to explain

things changed when i fell sick temporarily and the doctor asked me to stay away from them for just one diwali and to be damn honest it hurt so much to see others do it and you just sit around staring at them but that was the game changer for me

when adults came and told me about all those big impacts it has on nature plants animals air quality and stuff stuff it was all too much for me to digest and actually accept

but when i saw this sacrifice through my own perspective it seemed all different

so what if i couldn't empathise with those big words and all? my perspective was enough to make me still to my resolution, atleast it has been for the past six years

it was the moment i realised that i have dreams bigger more lasting and enduring than this temporary sort of excitement and all

i had always dreamed of seeing a healthy, fresh, abundant and vibrant earth

an earth full of radiant flowers but not those shrivelled or withered by heat or chemicals

an earth where the birds' melody echoes through the deep dense forest and not where the melancholic wails of scared and injured birds abounds

an earth where the soil smells as fresh and invigorating as the morning rays of sunlight and not one where the deep black soil is ingrained with grit, ash and chemicals

an earth where the scent of flowers drifts lazily through the morning haze and not one where it smells of burnt ash, fire and dust

so why would you give up such an endearing and everlasting possibility for something so trifling and temporary?

yes, not everyone does it so you would think it wouldn't matter if you do it

But if thousand other people like you who previously thought that their contribution wouldn't matter follow it then i guess it's more than a ripple change

So this diwali, let's invest in our planet not stocks bonds real estate precious metals or commodities

[respectthepetty]

So. I’m watching “the theory of love” and I have two things to ask

1. Does anyone actually like Kai? He doesn’t seem to care about Threees feelings at all or about his actions.

2. EARTH IS ON THIS!!?!!???? I stupidly have been waiting for Mix to turn up but obviously this was Pre?

3. Gun never gets a rear does he. Poor guy has to cry in every show he does.

4. They’re in uniforms a lot so been finding the colouring boys difficult so far.

Is that too many questions?! 😂

Anon, I like how you pulled a me and instead of asking two questions, you asked four! So let me get to answering them.

But first, Khai and Third are IKEA Queers, so . . .

Does anyone actually like Kai? He doesn’t seem to care about Threees feelings at all or about his actions.

Me. I like Khai. We are IKEA Queers, so we have to stick together.

Feel free to judge me, but after episode six, watching him suffer was food for my petty soul. This is what I want from my pendejos. If they are going to fuck up as badly as Khai did (THE FAKE-DRUNK KISS!), then I want them to feel pain. A lot of it. All the time. No relief.

And Khai definitely felt it.

All the time.

The idiot would not take no for an answer (but that's a JittiRain special), yet Third gave him back all the pain he gave to him, and that's what I like to see - revenge. Even in the special, Third was still kind of a jerk to Khai, and was looking even better for it.

I would never believe they would make it beyond this show (even with the four year time skip), but JittiRain said they are still together and going strong in Vice Versa with "RELATIONSHIP" right above Third's head, so . . . good for them?

Gun never gets a rear does he. Poor guy has to cry in every show he does.

Earth, Fluke, First, and Gun. Those are the men you hire if you want them good ass tears.

Amen.

Earth and Fluke had Until We Meet Again while Gun and First had Not Me, and those are both top-tier shows for most people. Imagine all four in one show, just crying, destroying our hearts every week. However, I'm going to put this on the record right now though - - First can outcry them all. I believe this with every fiber of my being. A director would just have to say "Khaotung doesn't want to be your friend anymore" and GAME OVER!

EARTH IS ON THIS!!?!!???? I stupidly have been waiting for Mix to turn up but obviously this was Pre?

The wildest thing to me is Earth played Type in Love by Chance which means he was Type of TharnType before the role was recast. Can you image Phupha as Type?! I have never watched a MAME series, but this seems WILD to me.

And Earth was paired with New in Water Boyy, like New of TayNew.

And of course, we got that taste of him with Papang in Moonlight Chicken.

So I think it's strange that Earth has worked with Mix several times when the behind-the-scenes for A Tale of Thousand Stars seemed as if director Aof was ready to murder Earth because he was playing around between takes, while Mix was crying every two seconds from stress and anxiety (which caused him to pass out). Mostly when White was RIGHT THERE!

Please, GMMTV, keep mixing things up forever and ever. Amen.

They’re in uniforms a lot so been finding the colouring boys difficult so far.

I watched it when it aired and haven't rewatched it since, so I don't remember if there was color-coding, but from my saved pictures, it seems like I had a theory that Third was a Yellow/Orange Oddity

but I have no notes, and the other pictures aren't telling me a complete story, so I think I got upset watching it and stopped tracking the colors. I stay petty.

I'd have to go back and rewatch it to give you a proper answer BUT I won't do that if JittiRain screws me over for the sixth time with Be My Favorite. So I'll make a deal with you, Anon - If Be My Favorite doesn't give me lies, manipulation, and the normal JittiRain (JR) nonsense to the extent her other series have included, I'll go back and rewatch Theory of Love for potential color coding.

But if JR fucks over my baby boy Pisaeng, not even the IKEA Queers can save this color-coding mission.

Pray for us all.

[itskenickie]

y’all need to watch vinland saga right now and here’s why (spoilers for s2 under the cut):

I just finished watching Vinland Saga season 2, and I am sobbing. Honestly, the people who are saying season 2 is bad don't understand that not every anime, not every tv show, not every movie, not every piece of media that you consume needs to be fast paced and action packed.

Season 2, honestly, just shows you the aftermath of everything major that happens. In other manga, they don’t explore the aftermath of those major events, at least, not in detail. They just briefly summarize what the characters are doing and then end it. But, in Vinland Saga season 2, Makoto Yukimura is like, no. This is what happens to people because of war. Some people who are not involved in war end up dying. Some people become slaves because of war. Some warriors end up being plagued by their guilt. Others, they're very indifferent to war, and they still continue to fight despite the amount of bodies lying by their feet. And some, they just don't care. They just love the blood shed– warriors, women, the elderly, they don't care. They just wanna spill blood. Sure, season 2 doesn’t have as much action as season 1 but it’s still there. it's just that it’s placed really nicely throughout the show.

And, I have to say, Thorfinn ends up having one of the best character developments I have ever seen. The way the author took the time to show us Thorfinn who is driven by revenge and hatred, ends up killing thousands of people in the span of 11 years being haunted by guilt and the ghost of the people that he killed. We get to see him turn from a warrior to someone who is a pacifist. He went from a six year old boy, believing that he had enemies, ignoring his dad’s wisdom, to a vengeful seeking machine to a pacifist who literally Ulf and his men, I have no enemies. Literally, that transformation is just so beautifully well written.

As for the side characters, they were all just so incredibly well written. We learn about their backstories, understanding the hell that they've been through. Almost everyone had the opportunity to tell their story. Sometimes I'm just like, oh my God! Snake and Gardar are so attractive. They're so manly. And then the next 2 seconds, I'm crying my eyes out because of the events that took place afterwards. There were characters who pissed me off, I couldn’t stand seeing them on the screen. Then I see a character who is kind, decent, generous, turn into the most vile individual on earth. And I’m blown away because, how, how do you do this? How do you write such realistic characters? How do you like side characters or minor characters shine and stand out?

The people who are hating on season 2 did not understand the point of the show or the point of the story at all. Vinland saga is not about some little boy who goes to war and he fights his enemies because it's so cool. In my opinion, It was never about that. The whole plot of the story was that war is bad, and people were desperately trying to escape that, and they want to live in a peaceful world. That was the story. That was the whole point of Vinland Saga.

That's why it is called Vinland. It is about a land that is located far west, across the sea, it’s warm and fertile. A faraway land, where neither slave traders nor the flames of war reach. That's Vinland. And Thorfinn wants to go there, and he wants to take people like him who are done with war, people who have suffered because of war, people who have been victims of war even though they had nothing to do with it at all. He wants to take all those people and take them to Vinland, and live a life there. And his ultimate rule in order to go to Vinland is that he will not fight. He will not spill or shed blood ever again. He learned that violence is never the answer. That scene where Thorfinn took 100 punches so he can see Canute was so impactful to me. When he told Ulf that there was no reason for Thorfinn to fight, that he had met all of them for the first time that day so he doesn’t hate them. Him ending that speech with, how can I negotiate peace with violence was so beautiful.I admit I used to hate Thorfinn in season 1 because I mistakenly blamed him for everything but he was just a six year old boy. Season 2 reminded me of that. It made me love and appreciate his character so much more, especially when you see how he grew.

Best of all, I’m so glad MAPPA remained true to Studio Wit’s style. I was so worried they would ruin the animation but they proved me wrong.

My only complaint is that we don’t know much about Snake’s backstory. I’m hoping that when I read the manga, there’s more of him and we learn who he really is.

Anyways, TLDR: Vinland Saga is a criminally underrated manga and anime. Season 2 imo was incredible. It is also safe to say that Vinland Saga is my number 1 favorite anime.

[dorminchu]

Between Heaven and Earth: Chapter Two

Another morning, another day spent in enemy territory. The date in the ledgers and newspapers and Grice's letters was always the same. One thousand and sixty four years away from home. Six into her term. Seven left for a civilian life back in Marley. If the situation didn't improve, her father's request might be his last.

A few days ago, she'd been training as usual, with Jaeger. On the way to the mess hall, the ring wasn't in her pocket. Carolina asked why she was so distressed, and Leonhardt said she was fine. She'd just forgotten something.

Keepsakes be damned, Instructor Brecken said, she had kitchen duty this afternoon. If it was that important, she could check the grounds after she was done. First thing tomorrow, the 104th Training Corps had mandatory service with the Garrison. No doubt, he was only saying it because of her reputation as a truant.

Leonhardt, Kirschtein and Blaus ended up together. Blaus was better with the knife, so Leonhardt ended up fetching the water with Kirschtein. The worst he could do was call her moodier than usual.

"I was thinking about something I have to do tomorrow," Leonhardt said. "And if I have to talk, I can't focus on carrying the water, nor can you."

Kirschtein scoffed. "How are you not freezing?"

"Maybe I've just got better genes."

He laughed, which wasn't what she intended. "You're all right," he said. "You and Reiner."

Leonhardt held her tongue.

Back inside, she got to setting a fire whilst Kirschtein brought more water.

"You figured where you want to go, once you graduate?" Blaus asked. "'Cause I've been doing a little thinking about it myself. I hear the Scouting Legion has undergone a lot of changes from within. The Garrison's always overcrowded and the MPs, well," she snorted, "a fat lot of good they've done for humanity. They're not the real problem. Life ain't that much better if you live closer to the cities than not. Sure, it's not regulated, but no one's going to offer you a hand when the Walls come down."

Great. Now they were having a conversation. "Where'd you grow up?"

"Pardon?"

"Your accent," Leonhardt said. "You don't sound like anyone else here."

Blaus cleared her throat. "I try to speak properly, you know. The attitude around here is that folk from the country a-aren't of much use, save menial labor." She looked Leonhardt up and down. "I've been meaning to ask, uh. You know Reiner, don't you?" Leonhardt gave a slight nod. "Well, last night at the bonfire we were all swapping stories. He says he's from Ragako. But Springer grew up there. He's lived there his whole life before the Titans broke through Wall Maria. He'd have seen 'im, but he told me Reiner was never there. You and Bertholdt neither." She gave a little shrug. "I reckoned that Reiner was really sloshed and meant a different town, but he and Fritz went off to get more beer and I never got to ask 'im. And he wouldn't recall even if I asked him now, I reckon."

Private Ackermann shouldered the door open and let it fall shut behind her. Blaus looked over.

"Mikasa. Are you on kitchen duty?"

Ackermann didn't answer. She nodded to Leonhardt. "Eren was looking for you."

"Tell him I'm busy," Leonhardt said. "He shouldn't have you delivering messages for him."

If Ackermann felt any particular way about the slight, she didn't show it. "He didn't ask me to." She walked over until she was behind Leonhardt's shoulder. She was about the same height as her brother. She reached into her own breast pocket and took out something small. "He found this on the training grounds," she said. "Is it yours?"

Leonhardt glanced at the ring. "Yes," she said. "I must have dropped it." She took the ring, placed it back in her pocket, no emotion.

Ackermann's expression did not change. "You should be more careful," she said.

Blaus chimed in, "I didn't know you wore rings, Annie."

Goddam it all. "It's just a keepsake, Blaus."

…

Despite Grice's presence in the Garrison, they'd yet to actually meet in-person as Paradisian soldiers. The most overt action he'd taken was to provide a disguise for her infiltration into the interior. After it went south, he stopped sending letters for a month. In Marley, he'd probably be promoted to Vice-Commander when all was said and done. She'd be lucky to be a Captain, if she continued to drop the ball during critical moments. Grice's letter didn't cast any blame, just assured her that they'd talk more about her career once she was in Stohess.

Hoover and Braun didn't seem too upset either. They could just be playing along, dedicating their hearts to humanity with all the rest of these devils. When the only real difference boiled down to a coat of arms and culture, what was the sense in buying into someone else's war?

If Finger and Galliard were alive, they'd be ushered on the front lines. Whether you were in the Warrior Unit or a lowly ground soldier, you were still pawns in Marley's proxy battles. Even if she could write to them, there wasn't any guarantee they'd see the letters. Liberio's postal service was heavily scrutinized by Marleyan secret police. Even if you were clever enough to couch everything in entendre, if it was sent from within the internment zone, you'd be better off throwing it out.

It wasn't like they were close to begin with. What would she even say? We're six years deep into this mission, and we've made no meaningful progress. Tell Gabi she shouldn't wait up for her cousin. And tell Galliard I'm sorry about his brother.

None of this was particularly constructive, but the instructor was droning on about ODM gear maintenance and gears while Leonhardt took notes without thinking too deeply. The best weapon to kill a Titan were their blades, or a lucky cannon shot, which was so inaccurate you might as well hope for Wall Maria to magically seal itself, too.

Pure Titans usually wouldn't stay still and let you at their napes. So the exercises with the dummies were more of a means to build muscle memory on the theoretical battlefield. Aberrant Titans were notorious for baiting out a soldier from his horse, or catching him on the wires of his ODM gear, and that would be the end of it. It was customary to take out the heels—as Titans were still formed in the image of Man, according to their textbooks—and dispatch them face-down if it were not possible to slice the nape directly. Many of these Titans might have been sent to Heaven. If one of these subjects were to return to their original form, how much would they remember?

Old friends abandoned or sacrificed in the name of a war inherited. Nothing on the island was hers to keep. Not even her old life.

After the lecture was over, Fritz got up and started talking to Lenz as usual. Lenz went on by herself. Fritz hung back, started walking down the row towards Leonhardt's desk.

"Hey," she said. Fritz had spoken maybe a couple sentences to her in three years of service. She was usually busy sucking up to Lenz, who was either too polite to refuse or had some undisclosed motive. She was the only one Leonhardt hadn't figured out. "Heard that it was your birthday a few days ago." Fritz cracked a sly smile. "Thought I'd congratulate you on staying alive one more year."

"Thanks."

"I would've wished you a happy birthday then, but you were slacking off, as usual. I guess I just forgot." Leonhardt's stomach tensed. She stood up to leave with the other cadets, and Fritz followed her. "With your score, I guess you can afford to be a little lax." This wasn't just about swapping chore duty. "Those MP Brigade men aren't like the lazy idiots you hear about in Wall Sina, are they?"

"What do you want?" Leonhardt said coolly.

"To put in the bare minimum when it comes to civil service. Same as you." Fritz glanced meaningfully at Leonhardt. "I'd rather the two of us stayed friendly."

"Did Instructor Brecken put you on latrine duty again?"

Fritz blinked twice. A short burst of laughter. "Nah, not this time." She was looking at Leonhardt in a way she never had before. "Who's Marcel Galliard?"

An instant, where there was no other recourse but to kill Fritz. Facilitating a training accident by herself would be next to impossible with all these other cadets around. Fritz could just as well be lying about Hoover's involvement, or Braun's. She was imposing her way into Leonhardt's mission, like Carolina and Jaeger.

Fritz shrugged. "Reiner mentioned that you grew up in the same hometown. He was pretty sozzed when he said it though."

The Warriors were loyal to Marley and only Marley. It stood to reason that Paradis and the interior would have their own methods of dealing with abberations in this "last of mankind" farce. Was it possible that Paradis had its own branch of Titan Shifters?

"You've never asked me about my home before," Leonhardt said.

Fritz's expression was difficult to read. "We're going to be stuck together for another year. Why not get to know each other a little?"

"I'm not interested in making friends."

Fritz straightened up. "Ditto."

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

…

Before ODM inspection, Leonhardt passed by Braun's seat and said, "Hey. Did you see Fritz at the bonfire, last night?"

Braun went still. "Only for a bit. I got pretty drunk. So I don't remember much of what we talked about. It probably wasn't that important." His smiles didn't tend to reach his eyes.

If he had said anything, he'd sooner die than admit to it. "Annie," Hoover said, catching her eye, "I was just thinking we should review our notes. After practise?"

"Sure," she muttered.

"Yeah," Braun said with a snort, "that's likely."

Hoover stiffened. As Leonhardt kept walking she heard him say, "Shut up, Reiner."

…

Privates Jaeger, Arlert, Lenz and Blaus, wished her a happy birthday. Evidently, Carolina wasn't the type to keep a secret well. But they were bunkmates, and it was easier to let Carolina remain friendly than not. In return for her tolerance, Carolina did not ask anything in return than Leonhardt's occasional time and attention. She'd probably have a standard, unobtrusive existence pushing papers in the Garrison or the Scouting Legion.

The ring, she'd keep in the breast pocket of her uniform jacket. No use flashing it around unless she had any real need. Each Warrior had a preferred method of activation. Braun used a knife. Hoover, too.

…

"It's your birthday?" asked Carolina out of nowhere during lunch.

Leonhardt glanced over. "Who told you?"

"Bertholdt."

That figured. Hoover and Braun had different ideas of what constituted as "justifiable" information to volunteer to the enemy. The last time anyone had asked Leonhardt, it was to confirm her birth records and blood type.

"Hannah was thinking about going into town, the next time we have a day off. We could pool our allowances. Is there anything you wanted?"

Leonhardt had been wearing the same jacket since she was fourteen. She took pretty good care of it, so it wasn't threadbare, but it was getting a little dingy. Easier to manage than their uniforms. Whoever decided white chinos were suitable should've been put on latrine duty. Or thrown over the Wall and fed to his Eldian brethren.

The next time they had voluntary service in Trost, she couldn't talk her way out of accepting a new hoodie. She made a mental note to ask Carolina when her birthday was.

…

Last night, they'd had the first bonfire in a while. The weather was damp, but permitting.

Hoover and Jaeger sat by the waning embers. Braun, Fritz and a handful of cadets took turns swapping beers, trusting the inebriation to keep them warm until they wandered back to the barracks. The more sensible ones had already retired an hour ago.

"Can't sleep?"

Jaeger didn't answer. "Do you dream about it?"

The back of Hoover's neck prickled. "About what?"

"Life before." Jaeger wouldn't look at him. His jaw set. "I used to. It was worse when we were living in poorhouses. I'd wake up and forget where I was. Scared the hell out of Armin." He stole a glance at his nails. "Everything after that day feels like a nightmare."

Hoover said nothing.

Jaeger rolled his shoulders. "My dad and mom, they weren't close. He was always working, he wouldn't come home for months sometimes. And she never talked about it in front of me but she'd talk to Mikasa, when she thought I was asleep. We both remember that." He stole a glance at a discarded flask. "I keep having this dream. Not about Shiganshina. I'm in a room I don't recognize. My father is there, too. I ask him where Armin and Mikasa are. He's ignoring my questions. I try and tell him that mom's dead, and he goes berserk. He tells me that—" a short, sharp intake of breath "—it's my fault. Everything that happened, it's my fault. And if I try to desert the mission, the MPs won't have a body to identify. But that's bullshit, because if he knew something why'd he leave us to—" His eyes glistened in the light. He took a swig of ale, wincing. "It's fucking crazy." He took another swig and coughed, wiping his mouth. "Dad never spoke to me or my mom like that. It has to be a dream. But it doesn't feel like one."

"Do you blame yourself for what happened?" Jaeger's hackles raised. He didn't answer. "What happened in Shiganshina wasn't your fault," Hoover said quietly. "There was nothing you, or I, or anyone could have done differently."

Jaeger's face was blotchy in the flickering light. He scowled. "They should've been destroyed a long time ago," he spat, his voice thicker. "Fucking pestilence on our country is what they are." He blinked rapidly and turned, as if Hoover would pretend not to see. "I mean, an animal, even one that's dangerous to a human, has something to offer from being killed. Titans don't have any use."

Hoover nodded. "You've made up your mind about joining the Scouts."

"Why wouldn't I?" Eren poked at the fire, drawing sparks. "The bitch ate my mother."

Hoover paused. "The bitch?"

"The fucking Titan." He seemed to sway in-place, his expression hitching. "They're parasites."

…

The snow was spread thin across the grounds, retreating with the promise of warmer weather. The sun hadn't set, but it was getting closer to lights-out. Hoover stood alone on the porch overlooking the boy's barracks.

The seasons in Paradis were easier to bear now they weren't living on the streets. When Leonhardt was twelve, she woke up feverish in the almshouse. She was weak enough that she couldn't get out of bed, so Reiner had to go into town and see a doctor. They sat there for hours, while Hoover picked and did his best not to fret, and by the end of the day Reiner was back with Annie in tow. He'd said the doctor chalked it up to heatstroke, rather than consumption.

Pieck's parents would have called it anhidrosis. For a Subject of Ymir, it was natural.

Hoover perspired less after the injection. He was better at hiding a flush than either of them. He didn't sweat so much as glisten. The spells used to be a lot worse, especially right after their deployment. Reiner was flushed like a lobster. Their bodies simply needed time to adjust to the effects of the serum. It would be uncomfortable for a while, but eventually they'd get used to it. As if it was that simple.

He leant into the banister just to feel the grain against his wrists. He'd taken a book with him, on the pretence of reading, but he couldn't settle down. He could see his breath, but wasn't even shivering.

Last mock-expedition, when Blaus commented that Reiner was physically steaming in the cold, he chuckled and said, "Guess I've got good genes."

He was charismatic enough to brush off discrepancies like that. No surprise that he'd fit in and let Hoover fall into step beside him. The two of them had garnered plenty of admiration from a bunch of impressionable, shellshocked Paradisians desperate for a hero. Easy to drag others into a lie when you were so good at fooling yourself. Deep down, Reiner would always be the terrified boy, begging for mercy under the beech tree.

Bertholdt wasn't as confident, but he'd always been an excellent marksman. His quiet nature was mistaken by others for passivity. Reiner's other half, the boys would call him, and Bertholdt would offer a tight-lipped smile and let Reiner clap him on the back like they were kids again.

When they asked, why do you want to become a solider, his mind would conjure the kindly man who'd taken them in after Shiganshina fell. His death, whatever led him to it, was a more useful gift to the Warriors than the scant amount of money left in his pockets, or the clothes they took. With a few changed words, Bertholdt had a ready alibi. The Titans had ravaged a small village south of Wall Rose. He and Reiner and Annie were the only survivors, and they'd been struggling to get by ever since.

No one ever thought twice. This penal colony was their birthplace, and the King's iron grip on education and history limited their imaginations to the span of each gleaming Wall, hitherto impenetrable. So they let their military fall by the wayside whilst the government grew more corrupt and the divide between economical classes widened. It was a miracle anyone from Shiganshina was permitted past Wall Rose—but of course, the interior still needed able-hands to do the farming and fishing, ready to give up their lives for Paradis. All Bertholdt cared about was finding the Progenitor and going home, and looking after his comrades in Marcel's stead.

"Where've you been?"

Leonhardt said nothing, just wandered to the other side of the banister. "Did Doctor Jaeger ever mention having a son?"

Hoover paused. "Not that I recall."

"Fritz said she talked to Reiner. About Marcel." Hoover wouldn't look at her. "Did she, or not?"

"I don't remember," Hoover admitted, heat creeping through his skin. "He and Ymir and a couple of the cadets were off by themselves. I was talking to Eren."

"About what?" She sneered. "What, it's OK for you and Reiner to lie right to his face?"

"That's not the point. What you're suggesting would be impossible. Dr. Jaeger would have to live many miles away from our hometown in order to cross the ocean. He couldn't return to Shiganshina without raising questions."

"What if he wasn't even Paradisian to begin with?"

Hoover shook his head. "You're scared. You're looking for the simplest explanation. We have to stick with what we know to be true, and Eren doesn't factor into the plan after we graduate."

She glared at a point above his right shoulder. At times like these, she still looked like a kid, hungry to prove herself. Bertholdt was better at disguising his feelings as indifference. Annie always had to insist hers into being, and Reiner had to make himself useful off the goodwill of others. Marcel, if he'd lived, would no doubt suffer from his own hamartia—a word that Armin had taught him from one of his battered notebooks. From the old world, though Arlert had only the breadth of his own imagination.

"I really hope you're right," she whispered. "Because I don't know what we're going to tell Reiner otherwise."

Bertholdt shrugged. "Whatever we have to."

She pulled her hood back up. "How much does he remember?"

Hoover stiffened. "Just his hometown."

Leonhardt turned, her heel leaving a slight divot in the earth. "Do you miss it?"

Most days, it would be easier to wake up in Paradis as a sentient udometer. Hoover looked at his hands. He'd forgotten what it was like, to have callouses and bruises that yellowed on his skin. "Of course."

He was used to being alone, but he had parents awaiting his return, whose love for him wasn't conditional or frayed, or so they always told him. Harbouring empathy for these cadets would only make it difficult to do what was necessary when the time came. Just look at Reiner, split between his feelings and his duty to Marley. And unlike Pieck and Porco, Bertholdt couldn't afford to get his feelings mixed up with duty, even for duty's sake. It was just as likely one of them would be coming home in a box, or not at all.

Thirteen years of uninterrupted service was difficult to fathom at twelve years old.

She said, "I'm going to clear my head. We'll talk about it later."

…

On the way to the training field, she caught sight of Jaeger by himself. He was approximating a kick. He wasn't close to perfect, but he seemed to understand the point of grounding himself. Too perceptive for his own good, in spite of all of his idealistic, pigheaded talk. He wasn't putting on airs, like Braun and Kirschtein.

He turned, back to attention, and waved.

That wasn't an invitation, Jaeger.

"You're still out?" he called. He didn't flinch, like she was expecting. He started jogging towards her.

"I just wanted to go for a walk by myself," she said, once he was in earshot. "Evidently that's not going to happen now."

"It's still dark this time of year," Jaeger said. "I'll walk back with you."

Leonhardt let him trod along in polite silence.

"Thanks," she said. "For finding the ring."

"It's no problem."

She'd done him a favour, keeping him at arm's length. It was the only way she could protect him without lying through her teeth. He'd wind up in the Scouting Legion, and she'd stay on course, wasting away behind a desk in Stohess, and never have to worry about his bright eyes again.

"Are you cold?" he asked, suddenly wary.

She was trembling a little. Hands drawn to fists at her sides. She didn't turn away or knock him to the half-thawed earth. She glanced down at where his heart should be. He wasn't particularly aware, regardless of whether he was underfoot.

She said, "Want to spar?"

…

By the last couple of spars, Jaeger started opening up. He wasn't above deceit—he'd kick up dirt or try to fake her out, but never cheap tricks. His chivalry was holding him back. "In a fight," he panted, "your opponent isn't going to be sporting. It's your life against his."

Leonhardt nodded. "You're smarter than I took you for."

He scoffed. "C'mon, it's just common sense."

He wasn't laughing when she flipped him over. "Now I don't have to go easy on you."

Jaeger groaned. "Are you serious?"

"You were serious," she said, "a second ago." This close, her bangs fell across his face. His eyes were green. His pulse fluttered under the skin of his throat. "I told you not to let your guard down."

Jaeger, breathing hard, struggled against the cold dirt. Bravado shifting into awareness of their proximity. He managed to get his legs up. The ground knocked out from under her. Ankles pinned. The exaltation of his success was all over his face—his eyes shining in the lamp-light, his grip clammy. Close enough to bump noses.

"I did it!" he exclaimed, the same tone as when she flipped him on his ass the first time. Up close, he was awfully loud.

She drawled, "Don't let it go to your head." As they got back to their feet, she was staring at his face, under his eyelids. The skin there smooth and flawless. Each day brought them closer to the inevitable. She couldn't look him in the eyes and play along forever. Not in any good conscience.

She moved closer, reached up to frame his jaw in her fingers without thinking about the consequences until he croaked, "Is this part of the lesson?"

Leonhardt pressed the pads of her fingers in, slightly. Hand on the back of his neck. His skin was feverish. She tipped her head up, so her lips barely touched his jugular. She could bite down, now, and draw the steam into her lungs like air. The same phantom taste of iron. Spinal fluid. A moment of ambiguity, full of potential, and she could serve the remainder of her term twice over and still flounder for an explanation when it came to him.

"Uh," he said.

"Stop talking," she said, her voice small and halting in a way she could not disguise. He lowered his head. Their mouths met, teeth clicking together. His hands groped for purchase, settling on the back of her head and her waist.

On the way back to the barracks, her skin still tingled.

…

Braun and Hoover were mistaken. So was Carolina, and her light teasing about how often Jaeger asked to partner up. It had nothing to do with Jaeger as a person but his existence, itself an enigma. The only one who hadn't caught on was Jaeger himself.

Each time he sat beside her, or agreed to train with her, asking innocuous, unimportant questions about her false life on Paradis and sharing bits of his childhood in return, she became less of a Warrior and closer to this façade. An ordinary girl he would not outlive by twenty three. After graduation, perhaps he'd come to visit her during leave, and let him say a lot of sappy, stupid things that usually made her itch to hit something solid.

The summer before graduation, she cornered him after ODM practice. She fed him some half-hearted lie about Bodt catching her slacking off, which he never stopped to question. He saw her cool veneer and the truth beneath it, close enough to grasp at her ennui but not its cause. Like a kick he couldn't master, only block, he'd push for her to stop bullshitting and say whatever she meant.

It had been about sparring, at first, but he wasn't clever enough to pick up on her ulterior motives. He didn't seem to dwell upon Ackermann, no matter how desperately she clung to him or that scarf.

She'd never snuck anyone into the barracks, and she didn't plan on starting now. It seemed like an obvious way to get caught. Nothing could deter him from signing his life away to an underfunded military regime. But he ought to learn how to treat a girl.

…

In a couple weeks, she woke up in the girl's barracks without an appetite. Carolina insisted she mull over the porridge anyway, and Leonhardt went along with it. It didn't get any better. She couldn't manage a full lap around the field without falling over.

She vomited before she could help it, and Carolina volunteered to take her to the infirmary. Everyone was speculating about her and Jaeger and all those late training sessions. None of it had ever amounted to much.

At twelve years old, the medical staff in Marley didn't really talk specifics beyond venereal disease. Warriors were not encouraged to make families of their own—defying the odds, it would be an Eldian bastard. A Warrior's internal temperature was elevated a few degrees, thanks to the serum, and it would be impossible for anything to survive.

Back then, it ultimately meant nothing. Civilian life was never in her future. As if Marley needed anymore half-Titans running around, the doctor might say to his assistant, just loud enough to be overheard.

At sixteen, she had to go to the infirmary like any ordinary girl. The doctor didn't seem to think anything of it and chalked it up to food poisoning, because she hadn't eaten. He was only saving face, not for her sake but for the military's reputation.

In Paradis, pregnancies were a faster path back to the fields, in wedlock or disgrace, usually in the same tone as bastard or whoreson. Incidents were more common before the decree to lower the age for the draft.

An honorable soldier, he said, would dedicate oneself for the good of humanity. It was the right thing to do. Leonhardt was looking out the window, the bright lights beyond, anywhere but his face. The same old diatribe about dedication to the fatherland with a few changed words.

Carolina would be inconsolable, in her place. Not everyone could be a Warrior.

After the scare, even when Leonhardt was cleared for training, Carolina would sulk at the table during mealtime, while Diamant and a couple of the obsequious cadets expressed sympathies and surprise about Leonhardt's speedy recovery. Leonhardt never made it a point to converse with anyone, and she wasn't going to start now. These bad moods always cleared up.

Carolina wasn't talking to her before lights-out either. She barely would look at Leonhardt as she took her spot in the top bunk. Leonhardt stared at the wooden slat separating them. She wasn't going to beg Carolina to reveal her feelings. Ingratiating oneself with other people just implied weakness. Even the nicer ones couldn't really help but push their luck.

That night, they had a short, awkward heart-to-heart where Carolina got a little emotional as she expressed her concern for her comrade's well-being, and Leonhardt did her best to afford her some dignity.

…

The next time they'd speak to each other, it was in Trost.

A mess of viscera already going cold and sickly-sweet smell of rot. Clump of black hair saturated with blood and brain matter. The ODM gear, torn from the wires when the Titan ripped its prey from the wall, was found battered but intact not too far from the body. If she didn't check the canister, she wouldn't ever have to know for sure who it had belonged to. For her own sake, she did not look.

When the woman from the Garrison asked for a name, Leonhardt's eyes caught on the discarded gear. The woman went over to it. Five syllables, and Leonhardt didn't weep. That luxury had been stamped out of her long ago.

As long as the spine and brain remained intact, a Warrior could survive just like any Pure Titan. She'd never given a thought to trade her powers for mortality, with the bruises and weariness, just for a concrete end to her guilt and false promises of going home. Marley did not reward failure or half-measures.

After graduation, life didn't come to a screeching halt. The Garrison could always use some extra hands, despite the lack of a foreseeable threat. Better, to not be caught unawares. So the graduates were carted off to Trost to attend to Wall Rose.

The rest of the 104th didn't notice a missing cadet. When the flash of lightning struck, a shockwave so intense, the survivors said, it rattled the cannons and shook the Wall itself. Jaeger and the survivors formed an impromtu squad to combat the Colossus Titan, but the damage was already done.

The captains were lining up the survivors into groups, establishing a chain of command that quickly broke down under the stress of the Titans' onslaught. Hoover melted easily into the panicked throng of civilians and reappeared just in time for deployment.

Next visitation day, Diamant caught on. "Ever had one, Annie?" Leonhardt caught herself staring. She shoved her hands in her pockets. "No." "My grandmother used to make them," Diamant said. "But the ones here are about as good as hers."

Hours before, she'd found Arlert curled up in the shadow of a second-storey's eaves, unharmed, out of gas. It would be Ackermann who went over to him, who touched his arm. It was Leonhardt who posed the question that had been eating away at her since that morning.

Eyes on his knuckles, curling into the fabric of his ragged chinos, he would not look at any of them. His shoulders shook. In a stumbling voice that no one could understand very well, he began to rattle off names. Zeramuski, Wagner, Carolina. They'd called out to each other, if they weren't immediately killed. Carolina managed to seclude herself between one of the narrower alleys. Eventually she'd stopped screaming.

Jaeger, he said, had given his life to save him.

Such should have been the tragic, but conclusive end to the 104th Trainee Corps' suicidal bastard.

…

"He's one of us," Leonhardt said afterwards. "He has to be."

The three of them were hunkered down in the shell of a building that used to be a tenement. Hoover was crouched down next to her, which he hadn't done since they were kids. Braun kept pacing.

"I knew something was wrong with him," she said, her voice small. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around herself. "I should have said something."

"The interior mission was a wash. We can't afford to be sidetracked." Hoover forced a little smile. "We have to stick to the plan. You've got the grades to make it into Stohess. That's more important."

Leonhardt's shoulders stiffened. "We've been looking at this from the wrong perspective," she snapped. "The King doesn't have any real influence. The MP Brigade and their sponsors in Mitras are the ones who'll have answers about Dr. Jaeger."

"What's Eren's father have to do with this?"

Hoover's terrified expression mirrored how she felt. "Eren's father has been missing for a while. We thought, if anyone might know why Eren did what he did-"

Braun looked from one to the other. "D'you hear yourself? It would be a blow against humanity, to admit to knowing what we do now. Nothing we say or do would excuse Eren's actions in the eyes of the military, much less these people we swore to protect. They all want him killed." He shook his head. "I just can't believe it. He seemed like a normal kid to me." He really didn't remember anything, did he? She didn't look at Hoover for confirmation. Braun exhaled. "Look, I understand what you're going through is difficult. It's difficult for me, as well. You've got to get your act togeth―"

Leonhardt wheeled around, grabbed him by the front of the shirt and slammed him with all her might into the nearest wall. Hoover's cry of alarm did nothing to dissuade her.

"We can't keep avoiding this forever," she spat, meeting Braun's eyes from below. "Right now we're going to allow humanity to deal with the fallout. But it's going to catch up to you soon, and it's not going to just be you that's made a pariah." Braun grunted, seemingly unaffected by the blow. "Don't lose sight of the mission," she said. "For humanity's sake as much as ours."

She let him drop. Turned away, refusing to look at Hoover. The only difference between them was how thoroughly the lie had seeped into his consciousness.

[actual-changeling]

i am incapable of talking about an idea without automatically turning it into a ficlet. this was supposed to be a one-sentence post but uh. have this instead i guess

~~~

It's awkward at first, being around each other again.

They cannot talk about any of it, really, not with another apocalypse so close to succeeding that he can already smell charred earth and burned feathers. Opening that box, those six thousand years of something, would come with more than either of them is currently prepared to handle, and so they don't.

No apologies but no accusations either, only a silent but mutual understanding to save their home once and for all—and then they would have the rest of forever to verbally tear their relationship apart.

Still, despite keeping his distance, despite locking up the more tender feelings simmering in his chest, despite refusing to take his glasses off or coming within arm's length of aziraphale, Crowley can feel himself softening by the hour.

Three days. He makes it three days before he slips up—or rather, before Aziraphale slips up.

They are back in the bookshop, and Crowley is side-eyeing his usual armchair like he has been doing since he first set foot in the shop again, but for now he is content leaning against a pillar and watching Aziraphale sort through his bible collection.

"If only I could remember which one- I swear I read something relevant, I just need to find it again."

He discards another one after impatiently thumbing through it, and he carelessly sets it down on top of a swaying tower of scripture. Crowley briefly considers making it topple over—and then it does so without any demonic intervention, crashing down in a flurry of ripping paper and hardcovers, hitting the stone floor head-on.

"Ohh f-" Aziraphale stops himself, angrily staring at the mess as if it hadn't been mostly his fault in the first place. He takes a deep breath, then another, and to Crowley's utter surprise, he says, "Fuck."

A half-choked laugh escapes him, closer to a giggle than he would care to admit, and it's the word itself and the furious expression directed at a pile of paper that rips it out of him and through every carefully constructed wall.

The smile is foreign on his face, the sound of his own laughter even more so, and yet he finds it remains, small and fragile but visible, when Aziraphale's head snaps up. A myriad of expressions flicker across his face, too quickly for Crowley to keep up, and fear freezes him in place, his mind scrambling for some sense of control and finding none.

Aziraphale doesn't lash out, nor does he ridicule him; there is no bitter disappointment or confused anger. No, Aziraphale looks at Crowley with eyes the colour of the fading night sky and smiles back. A true, wide smile, all teeth and sunshine, and he is so disoriented by the entire sequence of events that it takes him almost a minute to label the emotion coming off of him in waves.

Relief. Aziraphale is relieved.

He steps over the mess on the floor, slowly and carefully, as if approaching a skittish deer, and considering the tension tightening his muscles, it is not an unfit comparison; he stops an arm's length away, still smiling.

Someone help him, the universe might be doomed because Crowley lifts one hand and pushes his glasses up into his hair, soaking up the breathless gasp he gets in response. So much for waiting.

"There you are," Aziraphale whispers, steadily holding his gaze, and Crowley's smile deepens, overshadowing the river of doubt coursing through his veins. For the first time since being torn apart, the world feels worth saving again.

"There I am."

[mythologyfolklore]

Liù'ěr Míhóu joins the jttw gang, or: How to redeem an all-hearing celestial monkey with a superiority complex and a seriously bad attitude

(A/N: Tw: misgendering, chronic pain, mention of torture)

Chapter Twenty-Four: The Pilgrims agree to aid the Golden Light Monastery

.

“In all twelve hours, you must not forget,

to reap the fruits of night and day.

For five years, one hundred and eighty thousand rounds.

Let the spirit water never run dry,

nor let the fire's light cause you distress …”

Sūn Wùkōng had no idea, why Liù'ěr Míhóu had just started singing out of the blue.

Not that he was complaining; the white monkey certainly could sing. It was just kinda surprising, as Liù'ěr Míhóu had never ever done it in their presence before.

Now he was warbling away, seemingly without a care in the world, and the other pilgrims were listening just as intently as the Monkey King was.

“… There's no harm, where fire and water blend well;

Five Phases would join, as if enchained.

Yin and yang at peace raise you up the cloudy tower.

Ride the phoenix to reach the Heavens!

Mount the crane to head for Yingzhou~”¹

“Your singing is beautiful, Wùhuàn”, Tripitaka praised the macaque.

Liù'ěr Míhóu paused and blinked. “Oh. Thanks. I don't even remember the last time I've sung. Or made up my own lyrics to a tune I know.”

“Ohh, you rhyme songs and poems?”, the monk exclaimed, beaming from ear to ear.

(Wùkōng could have sworn, that his master was glowing with the sheer excitement radiating off him.)

Damn. When was the last time Master was this happy?

Tripitaka's joy was contagious though, and Wùkōng found himself smiling as well.

Liù'ěr Míhóu, however, was swaying his head from side to side and looking at the monk strangely.

Then: “You wish to bond over poetry with me, don't you?”

The monk chuckled a bit sheepishly: “I mean, if you want to. If not, you don't have to. It's just that I enjoy poetry myself and … it would be nice to be able to share that with someone. Your brothers aren't really interested.”

The Six-Eared Macaque considered it and eventually decided: “Sure, why not? It might be nice to let others hear my songs once in a while.”

“Wait, is this the first time you're singing in front of someone else?”

“Second time. I sang for Tiě Yū Wūyā² once, but she's a crow demon, so she doesn't have an ear for music.”

“Oh. That … that kind of bites.”

“Yeah, but what can you do. Music is like cake; not everyone likes it.”

Zhū Bājiè gasped: “What kind of barbarian doesn't like cake?!”

Liù'ěr Míhóu just gave him a blank look. “Don't bring barbarians into this; most of those guys actually do like cake. Then again, if we're talking about the nomads from the northern steppes, they also like cheese …”

The whole group collectively shuddered in disgust.

Fucking. Cheese.

How could anyone like that?!³

“But yeah, tastes differ. What can you do.”

Bājiè huffed and started a wordy speech about the stupidity of disliking cake.

Wùkōng just rolled his eyes, while their master chuckled and Bái Lóng Mă let out a snort, that sounded suspiciously like an annoyed groan.

Shā Wùjìng laughed, gave Bājiè a pat on the back and turned to Liù'ěr Míhóu: “Can you sing some more? It was really relaxing.”

The Six-Eared Macaque smiled at the river spirit and began anew.

“Wild chrysanthemums drop their blooms,

tender buds emerge from new plums.

At every village they harvest grains,

everywhere they eat fragrant fare.

The woods shed their leaves and distant hills are seen.

By the brookside frost thickens, cleansing the ravine.

Moved by the winter breeze,

the insects stop their work.

Pure yin now becomes yang.

The month's ruled by Yuanming.

Water virtue's strong.

For peace reigns in bright, clear days.

Earth's aura descends,

Heaven's aura rises,

the Rainbow leaves without a trace.

Ice slowly forms in pools and ponds.

Dangling by the ridges, the wisteria flowers fade.

Absorbing cold, pines and bamboos grow more green~”⁴

As Tripitaka clapped enthusiastically (but quietly, for the sake of Liù'ěr Míhóu's sensitive ears), Sūn Wùkōng couldn't help but feel envy.

He got never such enthusiastic praise from their master, let alone applause.

But the Monkey King kept his mouth shut.

He was being ridiculous.

This was just his master being excited about being able to share a hobby. Who wouldn't get excited about such a thing?

And sure enough, while Liù'ěr Míhóu was clearly trying to look all cool and unfazed, his ears and wagging tail gave away his pleasure at the positive attention.⁵

Wùkōng just sighed and turned his gaze back to the horizon.

As did the monk apparently, because he spied the silhouette of a city in the distance.

And it was Wùkōng he turned to: “Wùkōng, look at those high buildings? You too wonder what place that is?”

Wùkōng squinted. “Hm … well, it's a walled city with a moat, so it's probably the residence of a king.”

“How do you know that?”, questioned Zhū Bājiè. “There are lots of walled cities with high buildings, that aren't home to a ruler. So how would you know, that a king lives here?”

“You mean apart from the huge, luxurious buildings and the abundance of gates?”, the monkey retorted. “Come on! This place has 'royal residence' written all over it!”

“I wonder what this place is called”, said Wùjìng.

Liù'ěr Míhóu hummed: “I've been here before. If I remember correctly, this is the Kingdom of Sacrifices. Last time I was there, they had the loveliest treasure.” A smirk. “Luckily for them, I didn't feel like stealing it.”

Wùkōng chortled: “I totally would've stolen it, if it was shiny enough!”

The other monkey laughed: “Oh, it was shiny alright! But you'll just have to see it! Anyway, since we're already here, why don't we have a look around the city? I think there's a Buddhist monastery, where we can stay.”

Tripitaka nodded. “Good idea. Let's do that!”

Indeed, the city was bustling with life and the market was busy.

Wùkōng might or might not have snagged a fruit here and there.

Fortunately, his master didn't notice.

Unfortunately, the reason his master didn't notice was a group of Buddhist monks begging for food, their wrists in cangues.

This better not be a second Slow-Cart-Kingdom, Wùkōng thought and followed his master's order to ask them what was wrong.

He was mildly surprise, when they didn't even bat an eye at his appearance (then again, they probably had bigger things to worry about), but that confusion was dispelled, when they told him, that he seemed … familiar? Odd. Wùkōng knew for a fact, that he'd never been here. Maybe they were confusing him with his youngest brother?

Either way, he introduced them to his master and brothers and the chained monks took the pilgrims to their own monastery.

The sign above the gate read: Golden Light Monastery, built by imperial command.

Golden Light Monastery, huh? What a pompous name.

Especially, when the group entered in and saw abandoned and neglected buildings.

“That's weird. Last time I was here, this place was prosperous and bustling with life. And that was just a few years ago”, Liù'ěr Míhóu remarked. “Wonder what happened here- whoa, are you okay?!”

Wùkōng turned to see, what the Six-Eared Macaque was freaking out about, only to be met with the sight of his master bawling his eyes out.

Wùjìng tried to soothe the monk by gently rubbing his back, but the latter was inconsolable.

The pilgrims let their guides lead them into the main hall, where they paid hommage to the Buddha, before proceeding to the backyard.

There they found another six monks chained to a pillar, which made Tripitaka cry even harder.

Liù'ěr Míhóu grimaced and covered his ears at the noise.

Well, isn't this place just a barrel of laughs, thought Pilgrim ironically.

Finally they entered the abbey.

Once inside, the local monks kowtowed in front of the group.

What?

Upon seeing their confusion, one of the monks spoke up: “You six look so very different from everyone around here. Are you from the Tang Empire in the east?”

Wùkōng couldn't help but laugh incredulously: “What, do you have the power of precognition without divination?”

“I'm impressed you even know what precognition means!”, quipped Liù'ěr Míhóu.

Wùkōng stuck his tongue at him, before turning back to the monk: “To answer your question, yes, we do come from there. How'd you know?”

The monk smiled wrily and explained to them, that everyone here had had a dream last night, of a group of pilgrims from Tang, who would deliver them from their suffering. And this ragtag group fit the description perfectly.

So that explained that.

Now Tripitaka spoke up: “And what is this place? My youngest disciple called it the Kingdom of Sacrifices, but he wasn't entirely sure.”

He nodded into Liù'ěr Míhóu's direction.

One of the monks took a double take, before asking the Tang Monk: “Holy Father, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but are you sure that's a 'he'???”

Liù'ěr Míhóu snarled, visibly upset.

Before Wùkōng could intervene, however, their master did it instead.

Placing a gentle hand on the white monkey's head, Tripitaka explained: “Don't let his voice and appearance fool you. He is very much male. But a wicked spirit afflicted him with a curse, that left him with this appearance. It makes him very unhappy, so we hope that through our pilgrimage we'll find a way to undo the curse. Thus I must ask you, on my disciple's behalf, to not focus on his physique.”

Wùkōng struggled not to gawk at his master in disbelief.

Had the guy seriously just pulled this sob story out of his ass?!

Impressive!

And the monks of this monastery seemed to buy it, as their whole demeanour became more sympathetic, they apologised and wished the Six-Eared Macaque good luck.

“Thanks”, he mumbled (but his tail and ears were still drooping).

Tripitaka gave him some pets, before returning to the original topic: “So, this place …”

One of the monks shook himself. “Oh yes! Right! Well, this is the Kingdom of Sacrifices, as your disciple told you. It's one of the most important cities around these parts and receives rich tributes from the surrounding territories.”

“You must have a good king and fine officials then.”

Wow, how can Master still be so fucking naïve?!

The local monks seemed to think similarly, since they collectively frowned.

One of them scoffed bitterly: “Hah! If only! They're the exact opposite! Why do you think we're wearing these cangues?!”

“Now, don't be rude”, an older confrater scolded. “It's unbecoming of a Buddhist monk to lash out like that.”

Now Wùkōng inquired: “Okay, but what is going on here? This monastery is called 'Golden Light', but it's the bleakest thing I've seen in a while! Did you do something to anger your king, or-?”

“No! We didn't do anything!”, the middle-aged monk exclaimed. “What actually happened is this …”

As it turned out, this monastery had once been blessed and surrounded by an auspicious aura, that had given it a golden glow – hence the name. But exactly three years ago, during a newmoon in autumn, a blood rain had fallen, this place had lost its chine and the treasure in the tall pagoda had vanished. The officials had convinced the king, that the monks were to blame. So these poor souls had been punished for a crime they hadn't committed.

“It's ridiculous!”, the rude young monk spat. “Why would we steal the treasure? But the king didn't believe us! He didn't even call for an investigation!”

“There used to be three generations of monks here”, the eldest said and a shadow came over his face. “But the oldest among us have succumbed to the torture. We and the ones chained to the pillar outside are the only ones, who survived.”

“That's horrible!”, cried Tripitaka. “Of course we'll do everything we can. But now, may I have a broom? I would like to sweep the pagoda.”

A short, slightly emaciated monk smiled: “Sure. In the meantime, we will cook something for our esteemed guests. We just need to find an axe for one of you to open these cangues …”

“I've got this!”, Wùkōng cried and cracked the locks with magic.

After finishing dinner and taking a bath, Tripitaka decided to offer some incense and a prayer to the Buddha and headed to the pagoda. Accompanied by Wùkōng and Wùhuàn, because the former worried about evil spirits nesting in the defiled pagoda, while the latter needed to busy himself to quiet his loud mind.

Not that Tripitaka was complaining.

He appreciated the help and with his two most powerful disciples around, he'd be safe.

“Wow, this place really needs a cleaning!”, Wùkōng noted, as they entered the pagoda.

“Gross! There is dirt and dust everywhere!”, Wùhuàn groaned.

Tripitaka smiled at them. “Well, we will just have to fix that, don't we?”

The two monkeys agreed and so the trio went to work.

Wùkōng announced he would sweep the second floor and climbed up, leaving the monk with his youngest disciple.

For a while they swept in silence.

Then Wùhuàn cleared his throat: “Hey. Uhh, I just wanted to say … thank you for that earlier. For sticking up for me. I appreciate it.”

Tripitaka smiled: “Of course, anytime.”

“I can't believe you lied to them.”

“I can't believe they bought it.”

They shared a giggle, before going back to companionable silence.

This was nice. Being able to laugh together. Doing something productive together. Being comfortable around each other. Tripitaka couldn't even remember when he had last felt like this, but he was going to enjoy this moment, while it lasted.

Once they were done sweeping the first floor, they climbed upstairs to join Wùkōng on the second floor. Pilgrim was currently busy poking the beams under the roof with his broom, probably trying to get rid of spiderwebs.

Tripitaka bit back a laugh, as he put a hand on his eldest disciple's shoulder and told him to leave it be.

“But spiders are so gross!”, Wùkōng whined. “So many eyes and legs!”

Now the monk laughed: “Maybe, but they're still innocent life forms, who never deliberately harmed anyone. Leave them alone. They won't bother anyone.”

“Fine”, the monkey grumbled and together the three proceeded onto the next floor.

But Tripitaka was beginning to feel the strain the movements put on his back. His spine was hurting, but for now he bit back the pain and continued to work without complaint.

As the three reached the sixth floor, however, the pain became too great to ignore. And then there was a flare of white-hot agony, making him groan and slump against a wall.

The two monkeys dropped their brooms and hurried over.

“Master, what's wrong?”, fretted Wùkōng and looked him over for injuries.

“M-my back”, whimpered the monk.

Wùhuàn frowned. “Maybe you should call it a night. Ask the others to give you some of the blue pills – the blue pills!”, he reiterated. “The ones for your back pain. Not the red ones, those are mine. Just a reminder, since the three dorks can never remember, which is which.”

Tripitaka would have laughed, if he wasn't in so much pain right now.

“And don't worry about the remaining floors, Master. We will do the rest”, said Wùkōng.

The monk sighed, but agreed. So Wùkōng carried him downstairs and into their sleeping quarters for the night, where his remaining three disciples scrambled to give him his painkillers and try to make his bed as comfortable as possible.⁶

.

---

.

1) Did I just yoink this song straight from Anthony C. Yu's revised translation of the novel? Yes. Yes, I did. According to the book it's sung to a tune called "Immortal at the River" and is meant to depict the pilgrims. 2) "Iron-Feathered Crow", my OC for this story. 3) Here's a fun fact: cheese isn't well liked in China. There are several reasons for this, from lactose intolerance over cultural trauma to the fact that cheese is basically fermented milk. 4) This is also from the novel. 5) I couldn't find any information on how macaques actually show joy. 6) In the novel, Tripitaka sweeps ten floors, before his legs and back hurt too much. However, in this fanfic he has a spinal injury, which would make the labour much harder and more straining. So I made it six floors.

[violets-in-her-arms-writes]

This or That? Tag

Thank you for tagging me @writernopal ! You can find her post here, go read it ! 💜 I had a lot of fun developing the answers, sorry if it's all over the place ^^

|| HISTORICAL or FUTURISTIC ||

I love to read historical novels but writing them is waaaayyy above my competence level and I know I would get lost in the research part of it instead of, you know, actually, writing it. So futuristic it is because I can bullshit my way through it.

|| OPENING or CLOSING CHAPTER ||

CLOSING CHAPTER!!! I can't wait to get to the one in La Fledgling! I'm gonna break my own heart, it's going to be great!

|| LIGHT+FLUFFY or DARK+GRITTY ||

I wish I could write light and fluffy things but I can't. It might be pathological at this point. I tried to write a fluffy mermaid AU and Lou drowned in the first chapter, so now I give up. I'll accept my fate.

|| ANIMAL COMPANION or FOUND FAMILY ||

I have to choose animal companion because one of my favourite character (Lorelei, immortal witch, high priestess of Némésis goddess of revenge) has a familiar named Doll. It's a raven who believes himself to be a bird of prey but is actually just... broken. It once tried to incubate a skunk and to eat a cat, so. He can't see windows and can cut through steel with his beak (through sheer determination and will). I love it with all my heart. I've only had him for twelve years, but if anything ever happened to him, I would kill to get him back 🤺🤺🤺

|| HORROR or ROMANCE ||

Romance that becomes horrifying, where you would do anything for your partner, even betraying your values and your faith, to the point where you can't recognize the person looking at you through the mirror. Or where your lover becomes something other and you're not sure how to love her anymore.

(On this not, there's a great novel Our Wives Under the Sea by Julia Armfield where one of the woman is marine biologist and comes back to her wife *wrong* after six months lost at sea. It's terrifying, it's great!)

|| HARD MAGIC SYSTEM or SOFT MAGIC SYSTEM ||

Fuck rules. Do whatever you want! Why do dragons exist in my world? Because the god of poison had children with a crocodile metamorph and she gave birth to the dragons, next question! Why is Lorelei's magic different from the others'? Because she's OP and I love her and she's my chosen one! Why can Jo [REDACTED] because. That's it. That's my justification. I do what I want as long as it's fun 💃‍

|| STANDALONE or SERIES ||

I always say I'm gonna write a standalone and I rarely succeed. I blame it on my favourite books I read as a child which were all super long series with like 50 books in it, spanning generations and thousands of years (hi Heralds of Valdemar and The ballad of Pern) I also blame them for making me write dragons and over-powered women. I love you, you're the best, mwah!

|| ONE PROJECT AT A TIME or ALWAYS JUGGLING 2+ ||

I'm always switching between WIPs depending on my mood and my motivation. I can put aside a project for months (hi book 3 of WsT... I'm coming back for you baby, I'm coming back for you!), start three new WIPs, and then go back to one of my ancients projects. Every time I try to persuade myself to only work on one thing I get frustrated and end up not writing at all so I just let my creativity take me wherever. I'm not even a passenger anymore, I'm stuck in the trunk of the car, scribbling madly and trying to understand what's going on. It's not going well.

|| ON AWARD WINNER or ONE BESTSELLER ||

I don't really care about awards. Like sure it'd be nice to know critics and judges liked mu book enough to give me a Hugo or a Nebula or whatever, but what I really want is for *actual people* to love my stories. I hope I can touch at least one person with my silly little characters and their struggles. (Also, I want the fanfics and the fan-arts 😂)

|| FANTASY OR SCI-FI ||

I love sci-fi, especially sci-fi stories where humanity has to leave earth and terraform/colonize other planets, I love exodus. I also love to just write whatever like an archeology student getting kidnapped but an alien sect because they think she can resurrect their leader. And I love fantasy because I love swords, and dragons, and magic, and lesbians (and lesbian dragon shapeshifters with a sword), and prophecies. I love being able to craft a world and society and to just... have fun.

|| CHARACTER DESCRIPTION or SETTING DESCRIPTION ||

I don't do it enough, but I love setting descriptions because it helps paint a picture and you can leave little nuggets of foreshadowing in it. (You can also do it with character description but I think I might be too obvious when I do that XD)

|| FIRST DRAFT or FINAL DRAFT ||

First draft is a pain in the ass but I actually love the process of figuring out what the fuck is going on, who the characters are, what they want, what they need. It's like getting to know someone but sudoku like. If you don't put the numbers in the right order you understand nothing. (It's a bad comparison, I hate sudoku, but you get what I mean). Also, what the fuck is a final draft? I've never met her. i always want to change something even after I'm done. Which is also why publishing scares me so much : what if I want to change something and can't because it's already been printed? Nightmare 😱

|| LOVE TRIANGLE IN EVERYTHING or NO ROMANTIC ARCS ||

I'd rather have no romantic arc ever again than suffer through a poorly written love triangle once again. I'm tired of love triangles. Be original at least and give me a love octagon or something. I don't know dude, make one of them die in a war, her wife mourns then starts dating again and then, she comes back after being MIA for years. Don't make it bland between the dark-haired bad boy and the blond boy next door, please I'm begging you. And if you really can't write any other romance, then please just give me an action novel or a fantasy novel or a horror novel without any romance. Please. No more love triangles.

|| CONSTANT SANDSTORM or RAINSTORM ||

Rainstorm if I'm inside! It's so soothing, especially at night. I love thunder and lightning, I love being comfy in my bed, listening to the rain 🥰

Gently tagging @liv-is, @ladyniniane & @autumnalwalker if you haven't done it yet 😊

[ilikepjo24]

Your lipstick stain is a work of art

Teaser of a Zucest fic.

His footsteps echoed in the empty hallway. Once again, he found himself gazing around the white baren walls while following Dr Reiki towards his sister's room. Once again, he found himself wonder why he even keeps coming when she clearly doesn't care. Once again, he finds himself walking through the heavy wooden door and greeting the princess.

"Hello, Azula." The Fire Lord said

No response.

"How are you doing? Your doctor says you've almost reached full recovery! If you don't have another relapse in the span of the next six months you'll be officially deemed sane and will be allowed to leave! Isn't that exciting?" Zuko asks enthusiastically. But his smile falls when he gets no response. Again.

He walks towards the bed and sits beside his sister. She doesn't move at all, as if nothing happens. But something did happen and he knows that she knows. She's in full touch with reality, as opposed to what she was when she first arrived in the hospital. She knows that he is here. She hears his voice and understands what he says. She's not bound in any way and fully capable of responding. But she's ignoring him, just like she'd been doing ever since he brought her in the asylum after their Agni Kai.

"Are you planning on saying nothing again today?"

No response.

"You're not even going to say hi? Or at least nod in acknowledgement?"

No response.

He doesn't know why he's even bothering. Every single time when he visits, he goes over the same things. 'Hi', 'How are you?' and 'Aren't you going to say something?' are phrases he has repeated at least a thousand times. And she never responds.

"Fine, Azula. Be there as it may. If you're not going to say something, I will"

And so he did. He spoke about his most recent meeting, his morning with Mai, his notes on the treaty agreement that he and the Earth King agreed upon just last week. He mentioned how excited Ty Lee is with the news of Azula's condition and that both of them can't wait to have her back in the palace. Soon, he ran out of talking points and started mattering nonsense about the weather and a play he'd heard about. He went on till the sun started to set and visiting hours were over and yet, Azula still hadn't said a thing, as always.

"I have to go now. I hope next time you'll be feeling more talkative. Goodnight, Azula" Zuko mutters, feeling dejected as he walks out of the room. His sister didn't even bother to say goodbye.

"Will we be seeing you again next week, Fire Lord?" His sister's doctor asks, when he sees him walk out of the princess's room.

Zuko thought about it for a moment. Azula's been doing really well and he's really proud of her because she managed to do it on her own. He didn't have to help. He wasn't given the opportunity to help, since she hasn't said a word to him in the past year. It's clear that she doesn't need him or his attention. She honestly looks like she'd rather die than have to silently listen to him babbling for another two hours next week. And frankly, his visits always put him in a sour mood, considering that they're nothing but a reminder that Azula wants nothing to do with him.

"I don't think so, Reiki" he replies sadly. He's been thinking about it for a couple of weeks now. Why would he return? There no point in bothering Azula for no reason. Maybe it'd be better if he just stopped visiting for the next months and try to talk to her again after her release.