#this is assuming that it is done purposefully. and by that i mean I don’t count when you’re reading a scene that shifts pocs back and forth

[thatbuddie]

i’m reading a multi chaptered fic and suddenly the pov changed in chapter 6 and it’s made me want to close the fic so badly oops. and it’s just reminded me of how much i love romance stories (books and fics) that have only one pov and how rare that is in the romance book world because readers seem to love dual povs romance books.

[tranceinnumerabletabs]

When Johnny Comes Back pt 4

A/N: Thank you once more for you continued support! It truly makes me smile. I added some more story in part two. Now, it's not as short, feel free to read the newer bits.

New to this? Here's part one I'm part two, I'd just been updated with more content I'm short but important pt3

He could be fine. He could be fine. He’s strong. He’s strong

You keep reciting “soothing” mantras to yourself, just trying to stay afloat, trying not to fall back into that pit of despair. Truthfully you were a nervous wreck. You sent a letter back to whoever “Ghost” was, begging him to keep you updated.

He wasn’t very….communicative. But he did like Simon. And by like, I mean he sent wrote “cute cat” among the very very few things he wrote.

Didn’t matter. He could say all he wanted but unless it’s “Johnny is alive, well and coming back from deployment in one piece” it’s nothing to you.

You’ve had time to think about your relationship with him, what you’ll do if…..when he comes back, how much you miss him, how much you need him safe, god. What has Johnny done? You didn’t want to end up like this.

From the moment you two became roommates you thought about what his fate could be and tried not to get attached.

That didn’t last long.

It became worse than you ever thought. You even did some research on his….”job”, reading news articles, leaked documents and even chatted with some ex mercenary guy who called himself 3x5had0w about some recent events. You were shocked at what Johnny could be involved in…..and yet…that didn’t mean you didn’t want him back. It seems you have all the time in the world to get used to it. How could a man end up so entrenched in your heart like this? You thought it was safe since he was away for so long so often.

bastard

He made you fall for him

You clutch his pillow harder, his scent weak. It’s been months since he left and….well…you don’t know how long it’s been since the news of his hospitalization came.

Movies don’t feel like movies anymore. You’re holding up well enough for most of the day but….when you’re back home, it’s becoming harder and harder to think of it as “Johnny’s just on Deployment” It’s been too long.

It’s like you could almost hear Johnny teasing you for cuddling his pillow like this. His deep raspy voice going “aye, miss me that much Bonnie? I ken you’d fall for me! Ye were a goner the second ye saw the most braw lad in the world.” Then you’d ‘fume’ and call him a bastard

“Aye, your bastard. Such sweet words fer a lad ye wouldy live without if ye could.” Then you’d huff and puff as if that’s intimidating…

You sigh, it’s not the same imagining it. You wanted him back

It’s okay you think to yourself it’s okay

You can have that, you can have all that and more when Johnny comes back

Yeah…he’ll be fine

When Johnny Comes Back

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

If Johnny was here he’d be beaming like the sun so hard right now and Soap-o-Nova would become real

“Yeah. I do” you say firmly

The creep raises an eyebrow

“How long have you known him?”

“Long enough to live together” you say, tone purposefully aloof and irritated. You know this is the man that has been stalking you for a while and you’re scared. But you don’t show that. You wish Johnny was here to be Johnny. To be protective and act like a guard dog. You thought telling him you had a boyfriend would get him off you but some men just have audacity with a size that rivals Caseoh.

“What’s his job?”

“None of your business Mr Milton.”

“Call me Andrew” he said in a ‘friendly’ tone but everything about him wasn’t. You noticed him and his friend Ross, who’s ALSO stalking you, a while back. You’ve seen them talk so you assume they’re friends. You wish…he was here to drive them away. Can’t they see you’re drinking your sorrows away??

“Okay, Andrew. What my boyfriend does is none of your business.”

He looks at you, annoyed. You keep a brave face on.

“Do you even know his job?”

“Yes.”

“Is it not something to be proud of?”

Ugh really? Asking about your ‘boyfriend’’s salary

“It is.”

“To you? Or does everyone think that?”

Well…it’s….complicated. That’s a good question to ask if this was a philosophy class or a tumblr post if you're poor. But it’s not. How patriotic would you say you are? nvm it doesn’t matter. Make him sound good

“Anyone who doesn’t is a sore loser” damn ok redneck, build a wall between you two while you’re at it.

He presses his lips together.

“Does he tell you a lot about it?”

“Yeah” you bait him

“Really? What does he tell you?”

“That he’s fatal, dangerous and blows things and people up”

“Why?”

“Because he’s a soldier and a sergeant at that. He can destroy anyone and anything and he especially doesn’t like it when strangers try to take what he owns” wow you sure are selling this ‘Johnny is my mafia boyfriend’ facade. Where did you learn that? Wattpad like a legend or TikTok like a child?

If he was here he’d beam so much conspiracy theorists would call him an alien. Who knows? Maybe that fuckass Mohawk is his antennae.

Finally he’ll leave you alone, right? He adjusts his posture and decides to keep fucking taking to you

“Are you two….close?”

Ugh, what a douche “yes.”

“How close?”

“close enough that I wouldn’t want an outsider in our relationship”

His face looked even more stern and almost like he got the answer he was looking for. “Andrew. I am happily taken and am not looking for anything.” You force a polite tone He puts up his hands in mock surrender but has a weird look in his eye. “Yes miss. I’ll be on my merry way.” He finally leaves the coffee shop without ordering anything.

You take the opportunity to take footage of him. It’s too suspicious to angle the camera so you video him walking away, knowing he’ll look back, and when he does you try and keep your camera angle casual. There, now you’ve got police evidence if he tired to stalk you again. At least he was better than Ross. Ross tried to…."visit” you. You didn’t like how that went down, you ended up sleeping in a hotel and it’s great that you’re smart.

Well, yeah you’re smart but you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t learn a thing or two from Johnny when you asked him about his job.

(A/N: should I write the Ross 'visit' bit? It's not really important to the main story)

I wrote it, pt5

[shmisky]

Better world ford meet Reverse portal dtanley

Oh, boy, that would be something!

For anyone reading this, you might want to check out this first, or you won’t understand!

Ok, so. Moving on. I think that Better World Ford can be interpreted in two ways: 1) the one in which he’s devastated by the loss of his brother, but still functional and clinging to the morals he does have, and 2) the more dramatic and darker one in which he’s a bit... cray cray, as Mabel would say, driven mad by grief and potentially overprotective and possessive over any Stan he’d happen to find. From my profound fanfic knowledge, I think most people (not just shippers but the fandom in general) would prefer the second option, hahah. I will try to answer what would happen in both of these scenarios!

Let’s think of reverse portal!Stan first. I assume you can only mean a Stan who went through the portal instead of Ford. I’ve talked about this possibility before, here, and to shorten things: I don’t think Ford would ever genuinely value the “greater good” over Stan. He didn’t in Weirdmaggedon, when he was ready to offer the entire universe in exchange for the lives of three people (Stan, Mabel, and Dipper), and he wouldn’t back then, either, when he had much less discipline and control than old man!Ford. But Ford is a complicated little guy, isn’t he. So there are a number of reasons why he could, hypothetically, decide to not rescue Stan. 1) He assumes Stan is dead, 2) he somehow manages to gaslight himself for a while into believing he values the greater good over Stan (only to regret it bitterly, because that isn’t who he is at his core), or 3) someone (Bill or Fiddleford the Cult Leader) purposefully or accidentally messes things up for him.

Personally, I think the first option is the most likely one. Despite his admirable determination, Ford can be a pretty fatalistic, pessimistic man. When Stan lost his memories, he did indeed believe Stan was lost to him completely, and would have continued to think so, if Mabel hadn’t attempted to resurrect the old Stan through her scrapbook. “I’m sorry. Stan is gone,” he told his desperate grandniece.

Not just that, but there’s a very juicy reason (to me) why Ford would believe so: Bill. Bill, who knows exactly how much Stan matters to Ford. Bill, who already tried to hurt Stan to get to Ford once, in TBoB. (And who turned everyone into tapestry in Weirdmaggedon but spared Stan and the kids to use them against Ford! We have a pattern here!) Ford would sink into despair thinking of all the things Bill could have done to his brother before killing him. I think Bill could go and put more wood to the fire by appearing to Ford and making something up on the spot to brag about, about how Stan screamed and begged for mercy and died thinking Ford hated him. Ford would then assume Stan was really and truly dead, because if he were alive, then surely Bill would make an attempt to blackmail him, to convince Ford to fix the portal to get his twin back. The fact Bill isn’t doing that is proof enough. The possibility that Stan just managed to escape Bill and is still evading capture wouldn’t even cross his mind.

But while this Ford would be utterly devastated with the burden of having killed his brother, Portal!Stan would not know this. No, he would assume Ford decided it wasn’t worth it, to fix the portal and get him back. That he wasn’t worth it to Ford. He could easily be led to think that his relationship with Ford was now wrecked beyond repair. He’d feel like something he never noticed he still had (hope that Ford loved him deep down) was being taken away from him.

Most people, when they think of Portal!Stan think of... well, our canon Portal!Ford, but make it Stan instead. Same thing! But—I’m realizing only as I’m writing this—I don’t think Portal!Stan would be exactly the same thing as Portal!Ford. Ford is, surprisingly, more hardcore in his violence than Stan! There are many moments in the show that highlight this, but I’ll try to be somewhat brief.

Think about it: both of the Stans had their years running from the law. Stan was banned from US states, while Ford managed to make himself an outlaw in many dimensions. A state is inside a country that is inside a continent that is inside a planet that is inside a solar system that is inside a galaxy that is inside an universe that is inside a dimension, and somehow Ford want us to believe he was “just as wanted” as Stanley! Uh huh! Ford managed, somehow, to be known across the multiverse as “armed and dangerous,” even in his younger days, while he still had brown hair (which is what his Wanted poster in J3 says in code, btw!) The aliens were afraid of our guy! Mullet!Stan meanwhile, homeless and presumably struggling to survive just as Ford was, didn’t seem to have a similar (in)fame. We can see his own Wanted poster in his box of memorabilia in Not What He Seems, but they merely list his conman-typical crimes. Don’t get me wrong, he would end up very different from our canon Stan nonetheless. I think he would be just as hard to catch as Ford (Bill would be after him as well, for sure), and perhaps even develop a sense of revenge against Bill for hurting his brother if he put two and two together and Bill appeared in his dreams to brag. He just wouldn’t have the same vibes, imo, and would perhaps rely on different skills, such as his silver tongue and ability for lying and understanding people, instead of making himself known interdimensionally as a dangerous threat like Ford. Bill would repeatedly warn bounty hunters about not underestimating him, but somehow they always would, and Stan would always escape.

Now, now. Finally, let’s talk about Better World!Ford! I said there are two versions of him you could imagine, the more reasonable one and the cray cray one, but no matter the version, he’d be mourning his Stan deeply, like half of himself had died.

Let’s assign some names for them so we don’t get lost, first 😭

BW!Ford = Better World!Ford

BW!Stan = Better World!Stan

RP!Stan = Reverse Portal!Stan

RP!Ford = Reverse Portal!Ford

Moving on again.

I picture RP!Stan visiting the Better World dimension for some reason and BW!Ford immediately wanting him to fill the emptiness caused by BW!Stan’s death. I can’t see BW!Ford not being overprotective of RP!Stan, considering he’d be 1) traumatized about losing BW!Stan and 2) terrified of what Bill could do to RP!Stan. Because again, Bill knows how much any Ford, of any dimension, loves his Stan. Bill could try and use Stan to hurt him! (Which would be, in fact, exactly what Bill was trying and failing to do for so many years, hahah.)

RP!Stan would be shocked by BW!Ford’s transparent and overwhelming love for him. Didn’t every Ford Pines despise Stan Pines? Perhaps BW!Ford was faking his love! Perhaps BW!Ford was just completely different from RP!Ford!

But if so, where’s BW!Ford’s own Stan? What happened differently? Something terrible, perhaps? Did BW!Stan have to die or something for BW!Ford to start caring? But then again, RP!Ford (apparently) had left RP!Stan to die after pushing him through the portal, so perhaps an average Ford wouldn’t even care about an average Stan’s death... (I’m sorry if this is getting too confusing! 😭)

(RP!Stan also considers the possibility that BW!Stan was just a much better brother than him, but that hurts too much. BW!Ford wisely doesn’t tell him about the fact BW!Stan had obeyed his order to take away the journal.)

Let’s suppose that RP!Stan then makes the mistake of telling BW!Ford about RP!Ford, who (apparently) hadn’t bothered to fix the portal to get RP!Stan back. I think BW!Ford would realize what actually had happened, and then he would have a decision to make: to tell RP!Stan the truth or not. If he did, perhaps RP!Stan would then embark in a journey back to the arms of his RP!Ford. If he didn’t...

Here I think it depends on how you interpret Ford (and his morals) to be. I think his morals are pretty loose, but nonetheless he can be pretty noble and self-sacrificing and prone to profound, if sometimes repressed, guilt. He could still feel empathy towards his other self, knowing intimately the utter pain of living while blaming himself for Stan’s death. If he decides to be the good, selfless guy, then happy ending for RP!Ford, unhappy ending for him.

Could he believably decide to lie to RP!Stan and say that yeah, his own Ford didn’t care for him? Yes, imo, with the right rationalizion. As Alex mentioned before, Rob Renzetti (coauthor of Journal 3 and his Ford expert) made him understand a fundamental truth about Stanford Pines: that he can do anything as long as he manages to justify it to himself, because one of his greatest powers is rationalizing. I think even a Ford with canon Ford’s morals could justify lying to RP!Stan if he managed to successfully convince himself that what he was doing wasn’t against Stan, but against the other Ford. Ford on Ford violence, if you will. He can be very self-loathing and very hypocritical at the same time, so if he somehow twisted the narrative inside his head so as to paint RP!Ford as the villain who deserved to lose his Stan and himself as the one who will take better care of RP!Stan... Especially considering Bill, and the fact he could consider it unsafe for RP!Stan to leave the BW dimension at all...

And if you want to go a touch darker—now I believe we’re approaching a darker!Ford territory; that is, I don’t believe canon Ford would be capable of bringing himself to do this, but his BW version has been twisted by grief—he could ensure RP!Stan never leaves him quite easily, through many different means, including Fiddleford’s memory gun. That would mean a definitive unhappy ending for poor RP!Ford, forever without his Stan 😔

[petrichormore]

(This is kind of an analysis on Q!BBH (in relation to Q!Forever’s trust issues). All of the following is about the character, not the CC)

One thing about yesterday’s stream, I know people are sad that 4halo (still don’t have a duo name) had a minor fight/falling-out due to Forever’s (JUSTIFIED) paranoia. But. I want to make one thing clear as a BBH main:

Bad did NOT mean to withhold any information from Forever. To my knowledge, he has never purposefully refused an opportunity to share important information with Forever, not even when he was worried about Forever’s mental health in the aftermath of Cellbit’s betrayal (he never got the chance to withhold anything lmao).

The problem here is not that Bad is keeping secrets from Forever, he really isn’t. Forever is being trusted more than I think he’s aware of, because he doesn’t realize that everyone else other than him knows next to nothing about Bad (with the exception of Foolish). Forever was the only person that - at least in spirit - had full, unrestrained access to Bad’s secret-est secret base up until Foolish also gained permission to enter recently. And he’s still the only person that Bad has ever allowed into Dapper’s private enderpearl stasis chamber room. Now I know that Bad broke the waystone pillar and therefore Forever lost his ability to enter, but he didn’t do it on purpose!

Bad is distracted, Bad is busy, Bad is constantly being pulled in a lot of different directions by a lot of different people a lot of the time. The only reason Forever doesn’t currently have access to Bad’s home is because he just hasn’t had a solid chance to take him there; and when he does have a chance, he doesn’t remember. Because, again, he’s kind of dealing with a lot right now please leave a message he’ll get back to you later and also did I mention he’s raising a child (and several other peoples’ children sometimes) all by himself?

Same issue today: Bad knows almost everything about almost everyone. And while part of that is because he’s prone to spying - an undeniably large part of it is also because almost everyone on the server trusts him enough to constantly drag him into lore whenever he appears. If you don’t watch Bad’s streams, you maybe wouldn’t know it - but some days it’s a fairly constant stream of “Hey Bad, can you come here?”

“Bad, we need to talk”

“Bad, I need you for something.”

“Bad, can we meet somewhere private? I have an extremely lore-heavy secret that I want to tell you - but you can’t tell anyone else or I will hate you eternally and kill you and curse your bloodline and never trust you again. Thanks, say hi to Dapper for me!” <- (that might be an exaggeration but you get my point)

Like. It’s a lot to stay on top of for one man, and sometimes Bad is gonna slip. Sometimes he’s not going to remember what information he needs to tell everyone, and what information he needs to take to his grave. Sometimes he’s gonna assume Forever already knows about a semi-well-known bit of important information. And, yes, sometimes his assumptions will be wrong; but he is being as open as he possibly can be with Forever.

Not to mention, just like Forever, Bad is also famously paranoid. He also has trust issues. It’s not exactly easy for him, either. But he’s trying, he really is trying. And Forever has a right to get upset about not being told information, but that doesn’t mean he’s right about Bad withholding information on purpose.

This is to say: Bad and Forever have a lot in common in terms of what they’ve been through and I don’t think they realize how much they trust each other.

TLDR; RIP to my man Q!Forever but Q!BBH has not done a single thing wrong in his entire life.

[phoenixkaptain]

I don’t know, Cinderella and Charming both falling for each other without knowing each other’s identity… they dance together all night and before Cinderella leaves it’s implied they spent most of the night talking as well. But neither of them care about the other’s identity. Cinderella because even though she likes him, she believes that she’ll never see him again, and so it’s pointless to know his name. Charming because he doesn’t think he’s in a rush to learn her name. He probably assumed she would tell him when she wanted to, and that she wasn’t going to bail on him at midnight.

There’s something romantic about their relationship in the 1950 film that few others capture. And I think it’s that, to be completely honest, if it was a gay romance, people, especially the people who find it rushed and stupid, would find it romantic. If Cinderella was a man and another man fell for him and spent all night dancing and chatting, those people would think it was peak romance.

The way they find each other, and Charming doesn’t even care who she was, he’s just happy to find her. And we don’t know when the wedding took place, so I always assumed that, given the time period it’s implied to be set in, they spent time courting each other because if they didn’t take any time to court each other it would negatively impact both of their reputations significantly.

People are so harsh on 1950 Cinderella, but I don’t think it’s deserved. I really think the romance is sweet. I think Cinderella tries so hard to improve her relationship with Lady Tremaine and her daughters, she tries so hard to be nice and supportive and not get upset. She tries so hard to clean everything perfectly so she can go to the ball, and since she eventually does appear in the dress the mice and birds made, we can assume that she did so. She tries so hard to stay optimistic despite her entire life sucking.

The movie does it’s best to give Charming an identity in the small amount of time he’s on screen. He’s impulsive, he’s bored, he came here to have a good time and he’s honestly feeling so attacked right now. But, even though his personality isn’t as fully fleshed as one might expect, that’s because it doesn’t need to be. The plot is, ultimately, Cinderella escaping from her situation. The prince is a means to escape. He doesn’t need to be fully fleshed out.

Cinderella being trapped in an empty mansion, alone almost constantly, receiving only abuse when people do interact with her, her work purposefully ruined everytime she’s almost done, but still she tries to keep an upbeat attitude and all she wanted was one night to escape, one night where she wasn’t Cinderella, but a stranger nobody knew.

She didn’t plan to dance with anyone, just as the prince didn’t plan to dance with anyone. Both of them approached the situation as brief. Cinderella thought of it as a fleeting dream, something she would be able to cling to once it was finished to give herself the will to keep moving forward. Charming viewed it as a boring nightmare, merely something to prove to his father that he didn’t want to have a romance with anyone.

And both of them are proven wrong. When Cinderella arrived, Charming thought that maybe romance wouldn’t be so bad after all. When Cinderella found out that Charming was looking for her specifically, she thought that maybe there was an escape after all. Neither of them wanted romance but both of them found it and that’s the most romantic of all.

But, maybe I just like how their romance is portrayed. Dancing and talking. Running down the steps to the carriage. Only kissing on screen all of once and it being the most chaste kiss in the history of kissing. It’s so… queer-platonic. It’s so completely the opposite of sexual. I like that. I like that by the end, they feel like two people who are definitely going to go on their honeymoon and spend the entire time literally sleeping together. Cinderella in the sequels never even has a child. They are doing anything except fucking and that is my favourite type of romance.

[robininthelabyrinth]

@thedarkline ask which disappeared:

Can you do one where Huisang is upset about the loss of his best friends? After the cloud recesses and the training camp he looked forward to seeing Wei Wuxian and JC again and now they don’t even like each other and WW is so cold now. Maybe they deserve a forced vacation?

ao3

Nie Mingjue blinked.

“Oh,” he said. “I see. This is a hallucination, and I should go get checked out by the doctors.”

“Rude, da-ge,” Nie Huaisang sniffed. “Also, you should in fact go get checked out by the doctors some more. I’m still worried about you, you got out of bed too quickly after everything. But also: rude!”

“All right, I’ll concede that maybe I didn’t hallucinate and you in fact said what you said,” Nie Mingjue said. “But…why? I thought you liked Wei Wuxian!”

“I do like him! Of course I like him!”

Nie Mingjue threw his hands into the air. “Then why in the world would you want me to bring him to trial?”

“Because he hasn’t done anything wrong,” Nie Huaisang said. “It’s all a bunch of rumor and innuendo, and now Jiang Cheng had to throw him out of the sect and pretend he doesn’t like him – which is ridiculous – and we can’t all hang out the way we used to and it’s awful, da-ge! Just awful!”

“Pretty awful for Wei Wuxian stuck living on the Burial Mounds and Jiang Cheng having to rebuild his sect all by himself, but yes, by all means, let’s focus on how it affects you personally,” Nie Mingjue said dryly. “No fun hangouts with your friends. How will you survive?”

Nie Huaisang ignored him.

“My point is,” he said loftily, “if he’s found innocent after a trial, then he can come back. It’s perfect!”

“Huaisang…”

“I’m serious.”

Nie Mingjue rubbed his forehead and, reluctantly, started trying to actually think it through. Nie Huaisang could sometimes be distracted by shiny things, like a shopping trip or a new fan, but sometimes he would demonstrate his heritage by getting his teeth into something and stubbornly refusing to let up on it, ever.

It was nice to see him living up to at least some family traditions.

“Wei Wuxian did murder some Jin sect guards,” he pointed out. “He’s unquestionably guilty of that.”

“First off, no one cares about that,” Nie Huaisang rebutted. “And you know it.”

“They should. The fact that the Jin are soulless bastards isn’t exculpatory.”

“No, but also you’re wrong. The fact is, Wei Wuxian didn’t kill them.”

“What?”

“He didn’t! Wen Ning did.”

“…I’m not sure how it’s better that the Ghost General was involved.”

Nie Huaisang waved his fan at him. “Da-ge, don’t be obtuse! Wen Ning wasn’t the Ghost General at that point – he was just a fierce corpse. No consciousness.”

Nie Mingjue waited for his brother to explain his logic. He assumed there was some, anyway.

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes as if he thought Nie Mingjue was being purposefully slow just to mess with him, which he wasn’t, for once. “Da-ge. Wen Ning was a fierce corpse who had been killed by the Jin sect guards. If he’d resurrected without Wei-xiong’s help, would anyone have said anything?”

“Of course not. A murderer’s victim seeking vengeance for the crime committed against them is a classic case that calls for liberation, provided they haven’t killed anyone else in the process or gotten a taste for killing people such that they would continue doing so afterwards.”

“Exactly.”

“But Wei Wuxian did resurrect him.”

“Naturally he did! He was looking for his friend, he wanted to speak with him; he’s a demonic cultivator. What could be more natural? It’s no different from a Lan playing Inquiry to see if they can find a lost soul. How was Wei Wuxian to know that the Jin sect guards had murdered him, and that Wen Ning would therefore arise as a fierce corpse bent on immediate vengeance?”

Nie Mingjue wanted to laugh, and also possibly to suggest that Nie Huaisang consider picking up a sideline in advocacy, except that he really didn’t actually want a lawyer in the family.

“All right,” he said, suppressing his amusement. “Let’s say I’m following where you’re leading. Then why didn’t Wei Wuxian, demonic cultivator, stop the murder?”

“Da-ge, please,” Nie Huaisang cast him a horrified look. “You’re not suggesting a cultivator can be held responsible for not acting swiftly enough to stop something, are you? Imagine how much of the cultivation world might be at risk if that were the rule!”

“Mm. A good point. Didn’t I hear somewhere that Wei Wuxian had already known that the Jin sect guards had killed Wen Ning…?”

“Surely Wei-xiong would never make such an assumption about the good, upstanding people that a good, upstanding sect like Lanling Jin took on as their own. It must have been a misunderstanding. You know how young heroes are, all bluster and hot air. Are we kicking people out of sects just for that?”

Nie Mingjue’s shoulders were shaking with the effort to keep his laughter inside.

“There, you see! Perfectly logical,” Nie Huaisang concluded, throwing his sleeves up with a flourish. “Obviously the entire sequence of events that led to Jiang Cheng kicking Wei Wuxian out is simply a misunderstanding. Easily resolved!”

“Right. And the Wen sect? They were supposed to be in Jin sect custody.”

“Uh, da-ge, the Jin sect appointed guards that killed some of them, a fact we know for sure because we’ve gotten it based on the testimony of the dead – again, like Inquiry. Are you saying we can’t rely on things like Inquiry? What will the Lan sect say if they hear you suggest such a thing?”

“I’m suggesting that we still need to do something with the Wen sect.”

“Let Jiang Cheng take them and put them to work.” Nie Huaisang shrugged. “He’s got a whole sect to rebuild, hasn’t he? Anyway, they were the ones who were massacred, they should get first call on what to do with them.”

“Firstly, taking them in means that Jiang Cheng has to feed them –”

“The Jin sect can pay for that, if they’re so enthusiastic about helping deal with them.”

“Secondly, why would Jiang Cheng want the kinsman of the people who killed his parents? I thought you liked him?”

“I’m getting him back Wei Wuxian,” Nie Huaisang said. “He’s going to have to deal with the baggage Wei Wuxian picked up along the way on his own. What do I look like, someone who fixes things for people? Please, da-ge. I’m only human. There’s only so much that I’m capable of.”

Nie Mingjue gave in and started laughing.

[ambriel-angstwitch]

Batman Hush Thoughts Part 7

(Batman 619)

Ahhh! I love Harvey Dent. Poor Bruce just keeps getting betrayed by his friends.

I sure hope so! Bruce/Batman deserve more friends and Harvey was friends with both sides of him

I love Harvey’s absolute lack of remorse. Like he admitted to shooting Tommy the first time after just shot him again and this time he wasn’t clay.

Poor Jim Gordon looks so done with this shit though

I love how Harvey’s only goal was to save his friend. I need them to have a Happy ending (even though I know they won’t). Bat’s is still searching for a way for it not to be Tommy but there was no hope for that.

Have I mentioned I love the female rep in this? Like I know this comic purposefully does fan service like it says on the back cover that Catwoman has never looked so seductive

But still they don’t write them terribly. The women get to have meaningful conversations.

Here’s an older person of the cape society giving advice to a younger one who feels terrible after being messed with which Catwoman can relate to.

Idk I just like it

You know Clark does kind of have a point.

I love how Bruce goes to Clark for help thinking through all of this. I didn’t take a picture of it but Bruce says he goes to Clark because he can be more emotionally detached in a way. And that’s just so fantastic because so many people incorrectly assume that Batman is this purely cold logical hero. But even though he might not show it on his face or with his words, his actions demonstrate how much his actions are fueled by feeling, his love for people, his fear that he’ll lose them.

Superman is by no means not an emotional superhero but he wasn’t friends with Tommy which means he can be more impartial than Bruce.

I love how they’d do anything for eachother. Like all Superman doesn’t want to hurt him but he’ll still do what Bruce asks.

He wants to stay behind and help. Bruce thanks him even if he hesitates. I love their relationship

I love how threatening Bruce is when it comes to his secret.

Riddler 100% deserved that punch for how antagonistic he was being about Jason.

“He fell.” Is iconic stuff.

Agh! Bruce ruining his relationships once again. Selina had a point. What you have going is good, let it be good even if the beginnings aren’t that happy

< Prev.

[crushedsweets]

Does Nina and Kate have an argument before? 

Yes!!! Kate doesn’t know how to navigate relationships and Nina is so used to destroying all of her own, so it would be absurd for them to never argue..

I went hella off topic from the argument and just started talking about them randomly cuz I’ve been on vacation and miss my gf. Which means ninakate weighs heavy on my heart

The first time they met was an argument actually.. sort of.. kinda… Nina thought she was Jeff, nearly tackled her, so Kate slammed her against a tree and cussed her out till Toby came and made her back down .. LOL ok that’s not really an argument but Nina was really upset.

In an AU of creeped where ninakate happens, they mess around without telling anyone for a while. Mostly just making out and laying together and rapidly pretending nothings going on when someone walks in(cuz Kate doesn’t like trouble and Nina was specifically told not to bother Kate).

But it’s kinda difficult to figure out cuz Kate starts to feel kind of possessive over Nina(considering she hasn’t had anything like this before, Nina’s her first everything) and Nina likes to push that. Purposefully talks about people she’s meeting, scrolls dating apps in front of her, cries about Jeff. Thinks it’s okay cuz “I’m not your girlfriend we aren’t exclusive you can’t get jealous” .. eventually Kate makes a remark towards Nina and Nina is VERY defensive and VERY argumentative. Kate tries to be like “alright whatever Nina i don’t care this isn’t my problem you’re not my problem” but Nina keeps pushing and pushing. I can’t really imagine Kate having a screaming match with anyone, she has the most intense anxiety and lack of energy and little self respect, so she would just keep insisting “I don’t care.”

Which would only further upset nina cuz she wants Kate to care 💀💀💀💀 ITS BAD .

There’s a LOT for them to learn from each other. Nina desperately needs so much attention and validation. She grew up receiving material goods to make up for workaholic parents, and eventually only receiving positive attention on her appearance/what she can offer people.

Meanwhile, Kate thinks she wants to be left alone. She thinks she’s better off rotting in the mines and never making any connections. Frequently goes back to Lauren’s skeleton as a reminder of how badly she fucked that up. She doesn’t think she’s made for people anymore, considering she spent so many years just hanging out with Charlie (practically a zombie) and slendy (literally a monster.) she has no relationship experience beyond her rocky friendship with CR and an unrequited, stifled crush on Lauren.

Nina needs to learn how to be comfortable with herself, learn how to exist without external validation, learn how little her appearance should matter, learn how to love herself, learn how to be loved for who she is rather than how she looks or what she can do, learn how to be gentle again.

Kate needs to learn how to seek people out and let people in, learn how to communicate instead of shutting up when something bothers her, learn how to stop withdrawing, learn to stop hating herself for every little thing she’s done, learn to take care of herself, learn to see herself as a human being again. . . And also needs to learn how to be gentle

I like how they reflect each other in the gentle aspect too… like physically and initially Nina is really good at being gentle. Little lingering touches and sweet hugs and kisses and giggling and cupping someone’s face. But her words sting like hell. She throws plates and screams and assumes the worst of everyone around her. Meanwhile, I think Kate’s the opposite. She grabs too hard and her hands are so rough and she shoves and nudges and maims and hurts everything around her, even unintentionally. But she’s soft spoken, avoids eye contact, usually does what she’s told, tries to get in and out of every situation as quickly and quietly as possible. Yeah she’s blunt and straightforward and a bit too honest, but you can tell she doesn’t do it to be mean. She thinks she’s being helpful and good in that regard. So even that dynamic itself is something they’d likely argue about, but also something they really need to learn from each other about

Idek man omfg . I just really am fond of them. This is so goofy.

[gothushi]

my inbox is a bit buggy and some asks only give the option to post so😭gotta answer em like this.

anyway !

starting off with rob, i think he’d be the most respectful right off the bat. he’d be like … ‘did you mean to send that? i’m assuming not’ and calming u down whilst ur spamming his phone with apology texts and how ur so embarrassed. that doesn’t mean he wasn’t affected at all though. first glance had him double taking, and he’s ashamed to admit he stared for a good while before actually responding, too focused on how his cock throbbed whilst imagining the pretty lace under his palms. he does however send u back texts like ‘it’s okay i’m not upset’ ‘you look very beautiful, you don’t have to be embarrassed’ ‘y/n take a second and calm down .. i’d never be disgusted with you’ he soothes away ur embarrassed worries, and in the end compliments you once more ‘if you ever want to purposefully send some my way, i wouldn’t complain.’ overall, very respectful. though, once u guys start dating, he nvr lets u live it down

simon is probs pretty similar tbh. like, he’s surprised at first and he definitely feels his cheeks go red, his pants get a little tighter. but, he’s such a gentleman when it comes to u. same vibe as rob, reassures u it’s okay, u don’t have to be embarrassed, he knows it was an accident. even sends proof that he deleted the photos from ur chat. (he’s got them saved in his phone though.)

another one i see being totally respectful and sweet is seb. i mean, c’mon.. he totally drops his phone when he opens it, thinking it’s some meme or a cute photo, only to be met with u from the waist down in some cute new panties? he’s red in the face and stammering, wondering if u meant to send that to him. two seconds later and his phone keeps chiming with new messages, apologies and whatnot from ur anxious self. he deletes them upon ur request, and tells u ‘it’s totally okay u don’t have to be embarrassed’. later tht night though and for the rest of the week he gets off at least twice before bed with that image in his head

nikolai is … way different. u didn’t even realize u had sent smth by accident, having done so and put ur phone on the charger. he pops into ur place within the next ten minutes, cooing at u and getting all touchy. he fairly assumes u didn’t mean to do that, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t gonna tease. when u start getting all flustered and blushy, he croons something like ‘you weren’t all shy sending me that photo, mm?’ has u scrambling to check ur phone and he laughs at the red coloring ur face as u babble about how u don’t know how that happened, it was an accident and ur sorry. u may just be friends but he cradles ur cheeks and whispers a sweet little reassurance, ‘my sweet girl, i’m just playing with you, it’s alright. besides, i quite liked it’

luke …. he doesn’t even see it right away LOL. u realize what u had done when the image pops up instead of the dress u were asking his opinion on. he’s at practice so he had just set his phone down to return to the exercises. the next half hr of ur time is spent rushing to the field and watching them, wondering how u can get to his phone without seeming suspicious. ur just too late bc he’s grabbing his things to go shower, u try to offer holding his stuff but he insists his bag is inside so it’s fine, even tells u to wait so u can go get lunch together. before he gets into the bathrooms however is when he checks his notifications and ohhhh he goes red in the face… has to spend a couple extra minutes under the hot water before he comes out. it’s kinda awkward for a few minutes and ur worried bc he hasn’t said anything, maybe he didn’t check it yet? in the car ride u ask to use his phone to check the menu.. to see what time it is.. he gets what ur doing and ends up huffing and just blurting out that he seen it. it’s like dead silent for an entire minute before u both go to talk at once, some apology outta both of u. (ur both so hopeless w ur crushes on each other..) he gets himself together though and lets u know it’s okay, accidents happen. slides in a comment about how the color looked nice on u

i’m lumping quinten and ernst into the same description bc .. yeah. makes sense, right? they’re both different but the most similar outta the bunch. both of them wld be extremely flustered, especially knowing that’s you. chews on his lip so hard it almost bleeds. u end up calling him to apologize, saying it was meant to be this stupid photo of a dog in a tuxedo costume. he’d be breathy and trying to laugh it off like yeah… it’s alright, no problem.. but he’s throbbing in his boxers so hard it’s making him lightheaded. where they’re differing is i think quinten would be kinda moody afterwards, bc he’s frustrated that it wasn’t meant for him. his crush on u overtakes his emotions and has him being kinda sharp and pouty a lot. ernst will be flustered and blushy for at least a week after, which makes u feel bad until u talk it out

[russilton]

on the topic of totos relationship with george. i agree with what you said about toto showing his love for george in a very odd grey way.

we also dont know how they act in private. im not one to assume that george is a nieve idiot so the fact that he still has a good relationship with toto says a lot to me. i still think toto isnt exactly doing it correctly but id dare to speculate that theres a huge difference in how he speaks to george privately vs what we get to see and hear. it comes across to me like toto purposefully not being as nice to george in public because he thinks he cant be. trying to be a competitive ceo when you employ people you deeply care about is a thin grey tightrope to walk.

not defending toto being an idiot but i do think theres a large nuance

I think you’re right honestly and that’s why we get so frustrated a lot of the time because they way Toto speaks doesn’t line up with the way we are all told he feels— it can feel extra upsetting to have someone say “I love him he matters to me—“, and then in the next breath say some very critical things that WE know are going to be perceived cruelly by the media. But ultimately it is up to George and Toto to define how they feel comfortable interacting, and the only shaping we have in that is we are still rightly allowed to say when his behaviour comes off shitty.

That doesn’t mean Toto gets to say what he wants with the caveat that if George is fine with it it’s fine— a lot of us will defend behaviour from people we care about because we don’t realise or don’t want to admit that it’s hurting us (been there done that got my friends telling me I told you so when I finally left) — but I’m not going to act as if Toto is a cruel beast who abuses naive helpless George anymore than I would when it was Lewis. The only difference with Toto and George is Toto DID know George from an incredibly young age and George does have a career he owes to Toto, there is an additional element of behind beholden to someone you feel made you. Like a father

So yeah somewhere in that word salad what I’m trying to get across is that Toto isn’t evil and heartless but that doesn’t mean you can’t be critical of him, and George isn’t a naive damsel, but that doesn’t mean everything he says is okay, you have to also feel okay with.

[s-creations]

Fluctuates Chapter 2 - Sharing a Meal

One-Shot entries for the #RadioStatic Week 2024.

Yep, I'm doing this again! I'm going to make sure that I can keep track with uploading this time. Also, I will be sticking with the Fluff path, because I need more Fluff with these two.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Relationships: Alastor/Vox (RadioStatic) Warnings/Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Lots of Fluff because I want it, Rosie will be in this, Probably other characters not sure at the moment.

Roise was not used to having visitors in her small section of Hell. None cannibal types gave a wide berth to the town knowing that they’d be high on the list of being the next meal. Even those who were cannibals weren’t known for being the social type. They tended to keep to themselves so there wouldn’t need to be a share of their hunting spoils. 

The bottom line to reach here is the fact that visitors are not a common situation. More so, surprised visitors. Alastor was the only person outside of the commune that would purposefully appear here. But he also announced his arrival before actually appearing.

So, when Rosie had been informed that someone was there to see them and that it was not Alastor, her curiosity was high. Moving as quickly as she could to her front parlor. 

There was a moment of stunned realization upon seeing Vox. Sitting on the plush velvet red loveseat as he attempted to make himself look relaxed. But unable to hide how unease he felt about being here. 

Straightening out her dress and hat, Rosie walked forward with open arms and a joyous cry of, “Vox! What a wonderful surprise!”

The newly appointed Overlord couldn’t hold back the twitch of built up nervousness being released from Rosie’s arrival. Vox stood quickly to greet Rosie properly with a smile that she knew Alastor had trained him to make. “Hello Rosie, I hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

“Nothing that can’t be put off until later. Between you and me, the less paperwork I have to worry about, the happier I am. You’ll be a wonderful distraction!” Rosie laughed while placing a hand on the other’s shoulder. “But enough about me, what are you doing here? I’m assuming it’s something Alastor related?”

“Ah, I hope I’m not that obvious.” 

“Honey, let me be frank. We have nothing in common when it comes to being Overlords. Even if I could help, my tactic wouldn’t work for your building empire. The only point of connection that’s strong enough to bring you here would be Alastor. So, I’m going to assume this is an Alastor related meeting.”

Vox’s shoulders dropped a little. “I mean…yeah.” 

“I knew it! So tell me what’s on that mind of yours?” 

“I was able to make a huge deal for my company that was only created because of Alastor’s connections. I want to celebrate and thank him for what he’s done, and I figured the way to do that would be to make a home cooked meal. Together.”

“Oh, that’s so charming, I love it! I’m confused as to where the problem lies?”

“Because I want to cook a portion that’s specifically sinner meat, because I know Alastor loves it. But I don’t know how to cook! Let alone cook sinner’s meat. Since you’re the only other cannibal that I feel the most comfortable with…and I have less of a chance of being eaten by you, I figured I could ask for help?”

“You bleeding heart. Who says romance is dead in Hell? They clearly haven’t seen you two!” Letting out another laugh, Rosie hooked her arm around one of Vox’s, beaming. “You’ve come to the right place my dear, I’d be more than happy to help. I’ll even let you in on some Alastor secrets. Might prove some use to you.”

“But, let's just focus on getting your cooking skills in check first. We’ll just tackle one thing at a time.” 

__________________________

“Now, we’re going to focus on two dishes. Mainly due to that’s all we have time for and they’re Alastor’s favorite. So we’re just going to cut right to the chase.” 

Vox, now finishing the loose knot tying the apron to him, he followed Rosie’s movements as she collected what they needed. Wincing slightly when she slammed down two pieces of meat from the fridge. “Okay, so, what are we making today?” 

“Thigh and breast.”

“He eats breast?”

Rosie raised a brow as she stared the other demon down. “Mind out of that gutter. This is not in the ‘sexy way’.” 

“Oh, right, sorry.” 

“Now, I would recommend that when you’re planning on cooking these, you get them as fresh as you can. Same day would be best.” 

“Do they go bad easily?”

“It depends on the sinner and how far you’re taking it away from the original source. Once that sinner starts to reform, the meat starts to turn. This tends to be the reason why we will just take straight from the bone as soon as we can. It’s a treat when we can cook.”

“So this will be, like, extra special. Right?”

Rosie tilted her head as she thought about it, offering a wide smile after a bit. “Suppose so! Nothing makes a cannibal happier than knowing that someone went out of their way to not only cook for them, but even hunted.” 

Vox perked up a little more at that, eyes wide with interest. “I’ll impress Alastor?”

“You love sick little puppy, you absolutely will. Speaking of, Alastor prefers his meat cooked in a specific way. Only needs a number of spices to allow a nice zing of flavor without pulling away from what the meat already offers.” 

“Do we use different…everything for each piece?”

“The thigh is a tough cut of meat, we can make a rub that helps tenderize while it cooks. Breaks down the tight muscles. The breast is a fattier piece, so all it will need are spices that compliment the flavor it already produces. Now, I would recommend starting with the thigh as it will take the longest.”

“What about temperature?”

“Will be the same for both. Come over here, don’t be shy! If you’re going to learn, you’ll learn by doing and not listening.”

While he wasn’t the biggest fan of eating sinner meat, Vox apparently didn’t have an issue with working with it. He was fully focused on making sure he listened and retained what Rosie was instructing him to do. Brows furrowed in concentration as he tries to do everything as perfectly as possible. Nervously standing by when Rosie decided to taste test his creation. 

Only able to let out a sigh of relief when he received a nod of approval.

“I think you’ll do just fine.” 

__________________________

Alastor hummed as he walked into the familiar high end apartment complex. Nodding to the front door security and making his way to the elevator. While traveling up, he took one last look at himself to make sure he was put together in the reflective wall. Ears twitching when the familiar ding sounded. 

His interest perked up when the door opened. Sniffing the air as he took in the familiar scents of species. His eagerness didn’t deter him from acting as a gentleman, making sure to knock before entering the private penthouse. 

Alastor found the small dining table practically dressed to the nines, glassware reflecting the light given off by the three prong candle holder. Vox was in the kitchen, his new outfit protected by an apron (that looked very familiar) as he put on the final touches on the meal he’d been cooking. 

Said demon looked up hearing the door open, beaming as he watched Alastor take it all in. “Right on time, as usual. Hope you’re hungry.”

“Ravenous. But my curiosity is winning over at the moment. Did you cook for me?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I?”

“Because we’re celebrating you tonight.” 

“But I wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for you. Let me just spoil you for tonight.” 

Alastor laughed as he approached the kitchen, eyes on the dishes. “I suppose I can allow it… Are these- Did you cook sinner meat?”

“Not only did I cook it, I hunted as well.” Vox stated happily, hands on his hips with a smirk on his face. 

“You hunted. For me?”

“Yep! And, uh, I hope you don’t mind, but I made my own portion. Not interested in trying sinner meat. Maybe later! Just can’t get past that initial-” Vox was cut off when he was gently pulled forward. Screen sparking slightly as Alastor’s lips captured his own in a soft kiss. The Media Overlord let out a small hum as he kissed back. 

He held himself back from following Alastor as the other pulled away. Vox instead licked his lips before his smile returned once more. “I’ll take that as you impressed.”

“That’s a very minimal description of my feelings at the moment. I’ll demonstrate my full appreciation for you later.”

Vox swallowed weakly. “I- Uh- Shall we eat?”

“I love that idea.”

[mylo-space]

Aftermath

Summary: I don't have a particularly creative title or summary for this, but basically: Wukong and Macaque talk after the Lady Bone Demon fight and very quickly realize that they have no idea how to deal with each other. Attempts at conversation are made and, all in all, it goes? definitely not as bad as it could have gone, but that doesn't mean it goes great, either. They're making an effort, but the real MVP here is the rock.

Word Count: 9,407 Posted to Ao3: 2023-07-17

-

Fighting the Lady Bone Demon had taken far more out of Wukong than he would have ever liked to admit, and it didn’t help that he’d already been pretty tapped from getting the map. After a few hundred years of doing nothing but eating peaches and occasionally training MK, back to back fights were a little more exhausting than Wukong remembered.

Back when he ran with the Brotherhood, it seemed like he could go for weeks on end without ever putting down his staff. Starting fight after fight until they were faced with a full out war against the Celestial Realm, Wukong had felt like he could fight forever, and to think that he’d actually enjoyed it. It was all just so tiring now.

Maybe he was just getting old.

Watching the kid clamber down the mountain with all his friends in tow, Wukong couldn’t help but feel a little relieved. Not that he didn’t love the kid’s company, but after being possessed and still barely recovered from his fight with Nezha, the great Monkey King wanted little more than to sleep for an entire day, possibly a few decades.

Which was why the presence to his left was especially irritating, lurking at the edge of the treeline and the edge of Wukong’s patience. “I thought you left.”

“You assume that a lot, don’t you,” Macaque replied, emerging from the shadows with a smile that put Wukong on edge. Not that it was particularly menacing, it just didn’t sit right with him, the way it tugged at Macaque’s mouth like puppet strings. It’d looked like that for centuries now, but Wukong never got used to it.

“Not an assumption,” Wukong grumbled, “I watched you leave.” He returned Macaque’s smile, hoping it looked just as bitter and uncanny. “Guess you’ve always been pretty good at that, though, huh? Leaving.”  

“Learned from the best,” Macaque sneered. “How is it, by the way? Sitting on this mountain all by yourself.” He leaned against a nearby tree and crossed his arms, a routine Wukong was familiar with. Old habits die hard, he supposed, and Macaque never did like having his back exposed. “Is eating fruit for eternity the good life you thought it’d be?”

“As a matter of fact,” Wukong said haughtily, “it’s great, thank you for asking.” He wondered if the memory of peach-scented promises haunted Macaque’s dreams as often as they did his. “How was being the Lady Bone Demon’s puppet?”

Macaque shrugged. “I don’t know, Wukong, how was it?”

“Hey, I was possessed,” Wukong pointed out. “What’s your excuse?”

“I owed her,” was the frustratingly simple reply.

Wukong scoffed. “You owed her,” he repeated. “Was it worth attacking the kid and his friends?”

“If I wanted to hand MK over to the Lady Bone Demon, I would have,” Macaque snapped. “Do you have any idea how many times I had him in the palm of my hand? He offered to walk away with me once!” Then Macaque laughed, a harsh sounding thing that didn’t sound anything like him. “If you hadn’t done such a terrible job of coaxing his powers back out, I wouldn’t have had to push him so hard.”

And, fine, looking back on things, Wukong could admit that Macaque probably wasn’t trying as hard as he could have been. The guy could teleport, and it wasn’t like Wukong was in great shape for a lot of trip. There was no reason Macaque couldn’t have wrapped MK in shadows and opened a portal right to the demon’s lair, especially if Wukong’s selfless little successor was offering himself up.

But Macaque hadn’t done that, which meant that he really had been purposefully incompetent, to some extent. He’d taken on Ao Guang with no trouble at all, but MK managed to slip away? The kid was tough, but Wukong wasn’t ignorant enough to believe that MK could have taken on Macaque powerless, not if Macaque was really going at it.

If Wukong were a little less exhausted, he could’ve found a sense of relief knowing that Macaque wasn’t actually the revenge-fueled drama queen he pretended to be. Still, he had hurt MK on more than one occasion, and that was reason enough to be pissed off. He didn’t have the energy to be angry and grateful. “If you hadn’t been working with the Lady Bone Demon,” Wukong said, “it wouldn’t have been a problem at all.”

Macaque sighed. “I told you, I owed her. I had about as much choice in the matter as you did.” His claws dug into his sleeve almost imperceptibly. “Trust me, I didn’t like it, either. But if I had let it slip that I wasn’t really trying to bring MK back to her, she-” There was a beat of silence, a fraction of a breath where Macaque’s amber eyes betrayed him, lined with the same bone-deep exhaustion that Wukong could feel pulling at his limbs. “It wouldn’t have been great for my health,” he finished.

She would have killed him.

Neither one of them needed to say it, the implication was there. Macaque had to hunt them down, or the Lady Bone Demon would have sent him back to the Underworld the hard way. Wukong feared death without having ever experienced anything close to it, but Macaque… he had real reasons to be afraid. Wukong wasn’t sure what Macaque owed her exactly, what promises he did or didn’t keep, but it was clear the price he would have paid for failure was his life.

The thought made him sick. Even with the centuries of distance between them, Wukong couldn’t stomach the thought of another shallow grave with Macaque’s name on it. “Still pissed about the Samadhi Fire thing,” he grunted. Sympathy aside, Macaque was still an eternal pain in his ass.

“It was either I released Samadhi Fire on the mountain, or I brought the rings back to the Lady Bone Demon,” Macaque said. “Rock. Hard place. And I didn’t have time to wait around while you pretended to get your act together.”

“I had a plan.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Wukong bristled at the accusation, even though it was technically correct. Really, Macaque wasn’t being nearly as vindictive about the whole thing as he could’ve been, but Wukong still didn’t appreciate him pointing out his incompetence. “Well, you didn’t have to dip right after you ruined everything,” he said. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Oh, I ruined everything,” Macaque deadpanned. “Remind me again, how did the Samadhi Fire get inside of Mei? Whose fault was that?” Wukong, rather than justify that with an answer, exhaled sharply and turned away. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“You’re pretty smug for someone that took off as soon as things got tough,” Wukong muttered bitterly. “Even if I didn’t have a plan, releasing the Samadhi Fire was a really stupid idea.”

“Kinda like going to fight the Lady Bone Demon on your own,” Macaque countered. “Lot of good that did everyone, getting yourself possessed.”

“Oh, right,” Wukong rolled his eyes, “because you were so much help.”

Macaque raised an eyebrow. “You know, you’ve got a really weird way of saying, ‘thanks for saving the kid, Macaque’. And here I was, coming to check on you.” He huffed out a laugh, so quiet that Wukong almost didn’t catch it. “Serves me right, I guess. Maybe next time you get possessed, I’ll just let you hit him.”

At that, Wukong’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

For a moment, Macaque studied Wukong like a particularly challenging puzzle. He seemed to find whatever he was looking for in Wukong’s expression, because he asked, “How much do you remember about being possessed?”

“Uh-” Truthfully, Wukong hadn’t given it much thought. Hadn’t wanted to, the feeling of demonic power under his skin still sending the occasional chill down his spine. “I mean, it’s a little clearer towards the end there, when MK was snapping me out of it, but the rest is- it’s, um…”

And it occurred to him, suddenly, that Nezha was injured the last time Wukong had seen him. But he was so sure that the prince was in decent shape when he’d left to go fight the Lady Bone Demon. A little worn out from their fight on the train, maybe, but-

“What did I do,” he asked Macaque, hoping that the answer wasn’t going to be nearly as awful as the many possibilities that started swirling around his head.

Macaque shrugged. “Well, the demon rocked Nezha’s shit so hard that it put him in a small crater.” Not the worst he could have done, but Wukong’s stomach still turned itself inside out. It took a lot to bring down Nezha, and the Lady Bone Demon clearly hadn’t been kind with his puppeteered body. “And then she turned you on MK.”

It was blurry, the whole being possessed thing, and part of Wukong had been frustrated about it, at first. Hearing what the demon had done with his body, though, he was almost thankful that he didn’t remember. The brief flashes he could remember would haunt his nightmares enough, and if he closed his eyes, he could almost see MK’s terrified expression before it dropped through the ground.

Through the ground.

“You-” Wukong fumbled with the words for a moment, “so, they followed me, and you-”

“Don’t read into it,” Macaque interjected. “If you got yourself taken out by the Lady Bone Demon, MK was going to be the universe’s only shot at getting saved. No sense in letting her take you both out in one go.” Self-preservation, of course. That was what it always came down to, with Macaque.

Macaque’s motivation for helping aside, it didn’t change the fact that he had saved MK from Wukong. “Where did you send him?” he asked.

“Right to his spicy friends,” Macaque answered. “Er- somewhere close, at least. They were in one of DBK’s little secret hideouts, so I didn’t know the area super well.” He scratched at his neck absently. “Gonna be honest, I do kinda miss that guy, sometimes. And his kid’s a real firecracker.”

Wukong let out a surprised laugh. “Redson? Yeah, uh- yeah. He is.” It occurred to him that he and Macaque weren’t arguing anymore. He thought it’d be weirder, talking to Macaque again, after everything that had happened between them. Everything that continued to happen between them.

The strangeness of the situation wasn’t lost on Macaque, either. If asked why he returned to the mountain, he wouldn’t have been able to give a completely honest answer. The one he’d give would be something along the lines of kicking Wukong while he was down, but the truth was something a little closer to Macaque being incapable of leaving.

Might as well ask an asteroid to leave its orbit. Entirely possible, but never of its own volition. Something would have to hit it pretty damn hard first.

In any case, the banter Macaque had grown used to had long since petered out into something much more familiar and, yet, infinitely more unsettling. This was the closest to civil he’d been with the Great Sage in centuries, and he didn’t hate it as much as he thought he would. He wouldn’t say he was having a great time, but it was… it was kind of nice, talking to Wukong again, if he ignored the steady, phantom throbbing behind his right eye.

“Wukong,” Macaque prompted after a few moments of the king trailing off. If Wukong was anything like he was when they were younger–and he probably was, he never changed much–then getting in his own thoughts about things was going to be more detrimental than anything.

Not that he cared. He couldn’t afford to be pulled into Wukong’s orbit a second time.

“Wukong,” Macaque said again, this time shaking the king from his thoughts. “You’re still hung up about almost hitting the kid, aren’t you.”

“Huh?” Wukong blinked at him for a moment, then scowled. “No.” He crossed his arms, mirroring Macaque’s stance. “What do you care?”

The easy thing to say would have been, “I don’t”. And Macaque almost said it, brushing off the concern entirely, because what did he care? The kids were safe, the city was safe, everyone was safe and everything was fine. Why should Macaque care if Wukong still looked stressed out and exhausted beyond belief? The king wasn’t the only one who walked away from the fight with ice in his veins and a lingering voice in his ear.

And maybe that was why Macaque didn’t say it, knowing how it felt to be so exhausted that it burrowed into him and made a home in his bones. So, “Do you still draw?” was what he said instead, because he was curious, and it’d been a while since he’d seen Wukong’s art.

Wukong opened his mouth to give a scathing retort, then closed it again with a confused stare. Macaque could almost see the words being processed behind Wukong’s blank eyes. “Do I- you…” He shook his head briefly, as though trying to clear it. “What?”

“You know, like, art? Pencil and paper, crayons, markers.” Macaque spoke slowly, as though talking to a toddler, “Do you still draw?”

“No, I heard what you said, I just-” Wukong gave an annoyed huff. “Whatever. Yes, I still draw. Why?” Then he looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do, uh… do you draw, still?”

Macaque snorted. “I never really did. You were always the artist, not me.” He looked around the mountain. “Not gonna find anything to draw with here, though.” Macaque used to know every rock and tree on the mountainside, but after a thousand years of avoiding the place, his memory was a little blurry. “You got a temple or something nearby?”

All at once, the tension from earlier crept its way back into their conversation. “You’re not allowed back in Water Curtain Cave, Macaque.” It wasn’t quite a threat, but it was a very clear warning.

“I’m aware,” Macaque said, and he ignored the pang of hurt. He hadn’t even thought about returning to Water Curtain Cave in decades, but the reminder that he wasn’t allowed bothered him a little more than he thought it would. “I don’t want to hang out in your little hole in the wall, anyway. That’s why I asked if you had a temple nearby.”

The question seemed to register, the anger easing out of Wukong’s shoulders. “Right. Uh…” He jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve actually got a little- like, a house? Nearby. I was probably just gonna head there before I went back to the cave.”

“Great,” Macaque pushed himself off the tree. “Lead the way.”

Wukong gave him a strange look. “And… where, exactly, do you think you’re going?”

“We are going to find your little house in the woods,” Macaque replied easily, “and find you something to do before you combust.”

“I am not-”

“Look, do you wanna go draw something,” Macaque asked, “or do you want to sit here and argue about it for an hour before we go? Because we’re both going, either way.”

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Wukong relented, “Fine,” he waved for Macaque to follow him, “but if you try anything, I’m punting you over the side of this mountain.”

Macaque hummed, following behind Wukong and just to his left. “In your condition? I’d like to see you try.” If he took another two steps forward, they’d be walking side by side, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It’d been far too long since he’d stood at the sage’s side.

“Don’t tempt me,” Wukong warned, “You’re a pretty throwable guy.”

“And you’re a pain in my-” The rest of Macaque’s sentence caught in his throat as a new pain shot through his leg. Not new, really, but Macaque had gotten good at tuning out things that made him uncomfortable, the injury he sustained from his fight with a possessed Wukong included. Unfortunately, a gnarled tree root catching him off balance brought the pain right to the forefront of his mind. “Ah, come on-”

He steadied himself and leaned most of his weight on his right leg, timidly checking the left before taking a few careful steps. Now that the injury had been irritated, it was a lot harder to ignore, especially with the amount of walking he was doing trying to get Wukong home.

Wukong had stopped a few paces ahead of him, watching Macaque with an unreadable expression. “You, uh… you forget how to walk or something?” he asked. “What’s going on over there?”

“Nothing,” Macaque hissed, straightening his gait, just barely keeping the limp out of his steps.

“You sure?” Wukong asked, “Your leg looks-”

Macaque glared at him warily with a clipped, “What about my leg,” daring Wukong to continue his line of questioning. The Sage could hardly acknowledge the damage he’d caused a thousand years ago. There was no way Macaque would get sympathy for the battle they’d fought just a few hours before.

Apparently realizing Macaque wasn’t going to admit the obvious, Wukong’s brow furrowed. “Okay, yeah.” He went back to leading them through the forest. “And you think I couldn’t throw you down a mountain.” Macaque was almost relieved that Wukong picked up the banter right where they left it, unsure of what he would’ve done if the king had kept pressing. “I may be tired, but you’re not doing so hot yourself.”

“I’m doing just fine,” Macaque muttered.

“No, you’re not,” Wukong replied. “You’re definitely not. You’re just better at hiding it than me.”

“I’ve had more experience getting hurt than you,” Macaque pointed out. “We can’t all be made of stone, you know.”

Wukong hesitated for a moment. “Yeah, I… guess not.” Gold eyes trailed back to Macaque. “You holding up okay? Not gonna collapse on me again or anything, right?”

“Relax,” Macaque rolled his eyes, “I might not be made of stone, but I’ll heal fast enough.” Healing would fix his leg fine, but it probably wouldn’t do much for the ragged fur on his right arm, destroyed by the demon’s ice and the fire that had melted it. His sleeve hid it well, but he wasn’t entirely sure that the fur would grow back right, if at all.

Luckily, the fur on his face hadn’t taken too much damage, having not been covered in ice for nearly as long as his arm. It would have been a pain to have something new to hide. Between his ears and his eye, Macaque had enough to cover up already.

With a curt nod, Wukong said, “Good. Because I was not carrying you back to… wherever you live now.”

“Wouldn’t have expected you to.”

Wukong didn’t appear to have a retort, and they fell into a relatively peaceful silence. With the sun going down, most of the animals on the mountain were settling, giving way to the much quieter nightlife. Macaque was sort of grateful, both for the lack of noise and the fact that wouldn’t have to deal with any of Wukong’s subjects.

It wasn’t that he didn’t miss them or anything, because he did, but he couldn’t bear to see their chipper faces.

Maybe another day, assuming he and Wukong weren’t at each other’s throats after this.

Whatever this was.

“Just up ahead,” Wukong said after a few minutes of walking. “I can see the lanterns.” Macaque squinted into the forest, noting the faint glow of firelight in the setting sun. “About time, too. I am tired of being on my feet today. I don’t even think I’ll make it back to the cave tonight, I’ll probably pass out here and fly home in the morning.”

Macaque made a noise of agreement. “I’m probably gonna sleep for a week straight whenever I finally get horizontal.” For the moment, Macaque couldn’t imagine closing his eyes. Not that he wasn’t tired enough, just that he had already felt so close to death again, even lying down with his eyes closed felt like a daunting task.

Wukong chuckled. “I know, right? I already wanted to sleep for a century after getting the map from Nezha. Between fighting the Bone Demon and… well, you,” Macaque hummed in acknowledgement, “I’m pretty wiped out.” He rubbed his arm. “But, weirdly, kinda too wired to sleep. If that makes any sense.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Macaque replied, gently pushing a branch out of his path as he and Wukong entered a small clearing. “Like I said, I’ll probably sleep for a week when I get around to it. Probably won’t be for a while, though.”

The house was a modest looking thing, and it looked old, something from their past that was recognizable. Looking around, Macaque could recall a few memories in this clearing, though everything had looked a little different, then. The house seemed relatively untouched though, aside from a hasty patch job on one of the walls. 

Pushing open the door, Wukong immediately told Macaque, “Don’t touch any of my stuff.”

“Not even coming in.” Macaque leaned against the doorframe, looking around what he could see of the house. It was a lot different than he remembered, more modern, a TV and a gaming system sitting across from the couch. It still looked cozy, though, apart from the mess sitting by the wall that stood behind the TV. It looked like whoever destroyed the wall hadn’t exactly cleaned it up before nailing some boards over the hole. “What do you even use this place for nowadays?”

He could hear Wukong shuffling around the house, moving things around, presumably looking for art supplies. “Can’t get electricity to a lot of places on this mountain, and I wanted a place to play videogames. This was the easiest place to get a TV set up.”

Macaque snickered, genuine amusement finding its way into his voice, “Videogames? Seriously?”

“Hey! They’re more useful than you think.” Wukong reappeared with a box of what looked like paint. “Great way to kill time, and the artwork is pretty great, too, if I do say so myself.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you do say so yourself,” Macaque said. “And I’m sure that it’s full of the corniest pictures known to man.”

Wukong made a flapping motion with his hand, “Yeah, yeah, you’re just jealous ‘cause no one ever made a videogame about you.” Macaque scoffed from his place in the doorframe, but it sounded… not as annoyed as Wukong expected it to. “What?”

“Nothing,” Macaque said, though his grin said otherwise, “It’s just- that’s probably the most you thing I’ve ever heard. Being a fan of your own videogame.”

“It’s a good videogame,” Wukong protested, checking a shelf for any loose paper. He was almost certain that he didn’t have any, and he was lucky he even managed to find the small box of paints, but he was mostly trying to avoid Macaque’s gaze. “MK was just telling me the other day that he used it as training while I was gone.”

There was a thoughtful hum from Macaque. “Is that right?” he asked, and Wukong could hear the sly smile before he even turned around. “Interesting.”

He could see the gears turning behind amber eyes, and put his free hand on his hip to make himself look more stern, preparing to throw the box of paints he’d found if he needed to. “Don’t you do it.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Macaque replied smoothly, inspecting his claws.

“Macaque,” Wukong warned. “Do not make a videogame for MK. You’re not his mentor, I’m his mentor.”

“Well,” Macaque drawled, “I don’t think that’s for you to decide. The kid should get a choice.” He slipped out of the doorway, standing on the porch and just out of sight. “And who knows! Maybe I’ll make just a nice, normal videogame, with no mentoring involved at all.”

Wukong followed Macaque outside. “Hey!” he called. “You can’t- you were just talking about how you can’t draw, you can’t make a videogame.”

Macaque raised an eyebrow at him. “Actually, just because you said I can’t, I think I kinda have to.” He shrugged. “You know, just to spite you.” His gaze caught the box of paints in Wukong’s hand. “No paper?”

“Huh? Oh, uh- no, couldn’t find any.” Wukong lifted the box of paints. “But I found these, so…” He glanced around. “I mean, we could probably paint on a rock, or something.” He jumped the stairs leading up to the house and glanced around the clearing, looking for a decent-sized rock with a smooth enough side to paint on. “Gimme a second.”

“Out of curiosity,” Macaque said from the porch. “Was the kid responsible for whatever happened to the wall? Because I do not remember that being there.”

Wukong laughed. “Yeah, he got a little too immersed in the game, I think. Sandy was telling me about it on the trip.” He grinned in triumph upon finding a good rock at the clearing’s edge. “Got one!” Using his free hand, he rolled the rock a little closer to the house. “Can you grab some water for our brushes real quick?”

“I thought you didn’t want me touching your stuff,” Macaque taunted, though he still disappeared into the house. It was weird, the way Macaque was so different, and yet, eerily familiar in some ways. Like nothing and everything had changed, all at once, and forever ago.

Reaching a hand into his hair, Wukong yanked a couple strands free, effectively distracting him from thoughts. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned two brushes for him and Macaque to paint with and sat down, setting the box of paints next to him. He wondered if Macaque had an idea for something to paint, or if was going in as blind as Wukong was.

Macaque returned with a bowl of water in one hand and two small pieces of wood in the other. “Here,” he said, tossing a piece of wood in Wukong’s direction. “Makeshift paint palette. Plenty of wood laying around from the DIY project in the living room.”

“Yeah,” Wukong sighed. “I’ll probably have to get that cleaned up before I go to bed.”

“Don’t bother,” Macaque said absently, “portaled the rest of it away while I was in there.” Wukong blinked at him. The staring didn’t go unnoticed, Macaque’s brow furrowing. “What? It was in the way.” He plucked a brush out of Wukong’s hand. “You gonna paint, or what?”

Wukong shook himself. “Uh, yeah, I-” He hesitated, watching as Macaque reached for the black paint. “Actually, I’m not sure what to paint.”

“Paint yourself,” Macaque suggested, uncapping the black paint. “It’s your favorite subject.”

“Very funny,” Wukong muttered, though he did rummage through the box for something resembling his fur color. “They never have my color in any of these things. Everything is too orange.”

Macaque pressed his brush to the rock’s surface. “You know how to mix colors, don’t you? I know you never learned how to read, but surely the Great Sage has mastered colors by now.”

“You’re just full of quips tonight, huh,” Wukong said, but he couldn’t help the smile that crossed his face. “I can read, you know, just not well. Let me know when you’ve learned how numbers work, and we’ll talk about my ability to read.”

“I don’t need to know how numbers work,” Macaque replied. “What part of my life requires me to know anything about math?”

Wukong tsked, “Excuses, excuses.” He pulled a light shade of red to mix with the orange he’d found, the color far too yellow to look like his actual fur. “Language is hard, okay? It changes a lot. But numbers have been the exact same for literally forever, and you’re hundreds of years old.”

“If I can go hundreds of years without learning math,” Macaque said, “then I clearly haven’t needed it.” He frowned at his painting. “You know, I started painting myself because I thought it’d be easy, but I don’t even know if I want to attempt drawing eyes.”

“Eh, just slap a circle on there somewhere and squish it around until it looks right,” Wukong said. “People are mostly circles and rectangles, you know.”

Macaque made a vaguely frustrated noise. “It’s a painting, Wukong, not a sketch. I can’t make any- I can’t make circles.” He tapped his brush against his leg, glancing over to Wukong’s side of the rock. “You’re making this look too easy. I thought you were tired.”

“Not as tired as you, apparently.” Wukong gestured at the crude outline Macaque had made of his own hair. “Like, what is- what is that? A porcupine? Or maybe a hedgehog-”

“You’re hilarious,” Macaque muttered. “You know what? I’m just gonna make it like one of those- whatever they’re called. The cartoons that MK likes so much.”

Wukong turned to look at Macaque. “Dude, don’t even pretend you don’t know what anime is.”

Squinting in concentration, Macaque waved Wukong off with his free hand. “Yeah, anime, whatever.” Another small smile crossed his features. Mischievous, but not malicious. “They make an anime about you, yet? Or are they still making that dumb cop show?”

“Probably? Honestly, I have no idea,” Wukong answered, picking out a light blue. “I don’t bother keeping up with what the mortals do with my name, anymore.” He held out the paint for Macaque to look at. “Does this look like the right color blue?”

Macaque tilted his head at the color. “Uh… yeah, that looks pretty close to your bandana.” He turned back to his own painting, seemingly oblivious to Wukong’s blank stare. “You said the body is mostly circles, but this arm is not making shapes the way I want it to.”

“What-” Wukong quickly shook his head, ignoring that the first thing Macaque had thought of when he saw the color blue was his bandana from a thousand years ago, and not the skirt he’d seen Wukong wearing for the last few hundred years. Although, he supposed he had been wearing it on their journey to the get the rings, and maybe that was why it was the first thing Macaque thought of. “Wait, the body is circles and rectangles.” He leaned over to inspect Macaque’s painting. “Oh, you-” His voice caught in his throat as he desperately tried to bite back a laugh. “Alright, well, that’s… not how that works.”

“Something funny?” Macaque asked.

“Dude, why are your arms ovals?” Wukong’s question betrayed him, a giggle slipping through his wavering voice. “They’re, like, football-shaped, how did you do that?”

Looking affronted and a little confused, Macaque looked between Wukong’s painting and his. “You said the body is circles and rectangles! That’s, like, an oval. Right? A circle and a rectangle.”

This time, Wukong couldn’t help the laugh that exploded out of him. “You know, maybe I do want you to make a videogame,” he managed through his giggles. “I’d love to see a playthrough of nothing but this.”

Macaque shoved Wukong out of his space. “Shut up,” he said, but there was a playful lilt that made Wukong think he wasn’t actually as irritated as he made himself out to be. “You’re saying it to make fun of me, but I will make this game just to spite you.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Wukong managed to compose himself, turning back to his own painting. “Except you better get some art lessons or something first, because, man-”

“Alright!” Macaque interrupted. “I dragged you up here to get you out of your own, stupid head, not for you to criticize my art skills.”

Wukong paused at the admission, that Macaque had stuck around this long to… help. Of course, he'd mentioned something like that earlier, too, that he’d come back to the mountain to check on Wukong. And, really, Wukong hadn’t forgotten it, he just wasn’t sure how to feel about it. Far easier to pretend that there was no motive to keeping each other company other than banter and borderline arguments.

Most simply, neither one of them wanted to be alone. And if they couldn’t have the company civilly, then they’d have it violently, or reluctantly, or in the dying rays of sunlight pretending they didn’t miss each other just as much as they hated each other.

Only, Wukong wasn’t sure if they could call this hatred anymore. He wasn’t sure he wanted to and, when he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he ever did.

“So, what are we doing about… us? This?” Wukong pointedly kept his eyes on his own painting, but he could still feel Macaque stiffen beside him. “You know, because this whole situation we have going on isn’t- I don’t think it’s working out.”

Macaque took the bowl of water and idly swirled his brush around the sides. “Wanna be more specific?”

“You’re not going to attack the kid anymore,” Wukong stated matter of factly, because he knew Macaque wouldn’t. “And… I mean, it’d be really cool if you stopped attacking me, but, you know.” Macaque set the bowl down and flicked his brush in Wukong’s direction. “Hey!”

“Look, can we not have this conversation right now?” Macaque picked out a deep red and golden yellow from the box. “I’m too tired to deal with… us.” He gestured around them vaguely. “This.”

Wukong frowned. “Why not?” he asked, picking out a brown for his animal pelt skirt. It was strange painting his old clothes again, pulling the past from his memories and sealing them onto the stone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even seen his clothes from before the Journey, much less drawn them. “You’re here trying to get me out of my own stupid head, so why can’t we just talk-”

“You know why not,” Macaque said sharply.  “I don’t want to fight, Wukong. Don’t make me regret doing this.”

And his exhaustion be damned, Wukong almost bit out something mean. Wukong turned to Macaque, ready to ask about all the other things he should regret doing.

But then his gaze caught Macaque’s picture. It wasn’t bad, considering Macaque’s painting experience was limited to set pieces. Wukong could see where Macaque had painted his black and yellow sleeves, though the style didn’t look quite like what the warrior had on, and the crudely shaped smear of red around the neck looked distinctly more like a bandana than a scarf. 

“Can we at least agree to be civil?” Wukong tried. “I mean, for MK’s sake, you know? I think he wants to- I don’t know, befriend you?” He chuckled awkwardly. “I can’t imagine why, but-”

“You can’t?” Macaque asked, taking them both by surprise. Really, Macaque wasn’t even sure why he’d said anything at all, but he chose to blame his lack of filter on the post-battle exhaustion.

Maybe it was the way Wukong was so willing to forget what Macaque couldn’t help but remember. A closeness that Macaque couldn’t imagine having with anyone else, and Wukong couldn’t imagine Macaque having with anyone at all.

Though, he supposed he couldn’t blame Wukong, either, even if it hurt to admit. Why would anyone bother befriending the shifty Six-Eared Macaque? It wasn’t like he made it easy.

Macaque shook his head. “You know what? Never mind.” He went back to his picture, determined to finish it before he inevitably got pushed to a breaking point with Wukong. “Yeah, we can be civil for the kid.”

“Macaque-”

“Wukong,” he interjected. “We can be civil for the kid, and that is all you’re getting out of me right now.” For a moment, Wukong was blessedly silent, leaving Macaque to detail the armor in his painting in peace. There was a tension in the air that felt borderline electric, and he wasn’t sure if breaking that tension would be good for either of their healths. It certainly wouldn’t be good for Macaque’s, in any case.

But Wukong had never been very good at long silences, and only graced Macaque with a few moments of quiet before speaking up again. “That’s all I’m getting out of you… right now,” Wukong repeated slowly. “Does that mean we can talk more- uh, later? We could- I mean, if you want to.” Wukong cleared his throat. “Because I don’t, you know- I don’t really care-”

“No, of course, you don’t,” Macaque said bitterly. “The kid’s managed a damn miracle, getting you to care about anything.” And he knew that wasn’t fair, because there were certainly plenty of things the great and powerful Monkey King cared about, like his kingdom and his subjects and the precious few friends he managed to make over the years.

The Great Sage cared, of course, he did. He just didn’t care for Macaque.

Wukong’s expression flickered for a moment, and since Macaque refused to look directly at him, it was hard to tell what was going through his mind. “Fine, Macaque,” he said finally. “Fine.”

“Fine.” Macaque swallowed back his anger. If he got angry now, he’d be forced to retreat from the mountain. More than that, he’d have to go back to his empty dojo, and convince himself that the never-ending sounds of the city made him feel less alone.

“Can I-” Wukong started, and Macaque made a vague warning sound. “Come on, dude, I just wanted to ask you something. You don’t even have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Macaque considered him for a moment, letting his gaze drift to Wukong’s painting. It looked infinitely better than his own, a perfect replica of Wukong before the journey. Before the Brotherhood, even, and Macaque… he missed the days when he and Wukong could promise each other a forever. Back when living in eternal peace on Flower Fruit Mountain didn’t seem like some hopeless pipe dream, back when the promise was more than just an excuse for Wukong to seek out sources of power.

He took a slow breath, bracing himself for whatever idiotic question Wukong might have prepared. “Sure,” he relented. “Ask.”

Wukong hesitated for a moment, like he wasn’t sure if Macaque was setting a trap for him. And, given Macaque’s track record, he supposed that wasn’t an unreasonable assumption. “You knew the Lady Bone Demon was coming,” he said. Not a question, Macaque noticed. “You tried to warn MK that something was coming–that she was coming. And you were… I don’t know, you were trying to teach MK, I think? About his powers, and listening to his friends.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I was, uh- also, trying to do that.”

“You don’t use a weapon,” Macaque quoted himself, “you are a weapon.”

“He doesn’t need his staff to use his powers, right,” Wukong agreed. “Although, I gotta say, I did not approve of your methods on that one.”

Macaque shrugged. “Eh, to be honest? Kinda did it to annoy you more than I did to teach him.” He picked up the bowl to rinse his brush again, noting how murky the water was getting. “I know better than anyone that there’s no way to actually kill you, it wouldn’t have mattered how much energy I stole from MK.”

“And,” Wukong added, “you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.” He snickered, “I mean, you really punched the side of a mountain trying to hit MK with your giant shadow demon thing. Like, I still blocked it, but you seriously weren’t even close-”

“Trust me, if I wanted to hit MK, I would have. Could’ve done it literally anytime I wanted,” Macaque pointed out. “Like I said, I was mostly just trying to annoy you. And maybe prove a point.” He spun the brush in his hand for a moment, contemplating on what to paint next. “I was taking that other lesson a little more seriously, though. You know, about not ignoring his friends? Listening in general, actually, doesn’t seem like his strong suit.”

“Yeah, I sent him a magic blindfold trying to teach him some listening skills,” Wukong mused. “I don’t think it worked out too well, considering the whole gambling fiasco that happened in the desert.” He chuckled. “You know, maybe we’re both just really bad at teaching. I’m too lazy and you’re too mean.”

“Probably.” Macaque agreed. “I thought you were going to ask me a question. If you wanted to compare lesson plans, you could’ve just-”

“Why-” Macaque heard Wukong’s breath catch for a moment. “If you knew she was coming,” he said slowly, “and… you knew how absolutely screwed you were,” he glanced at Macaque, “I mean, I know we’re not on great terms, or- like, barely tolerable terms. But if she was really- I mean, if you were… you know.”

Brow furrowing in confusion, Macaque tilted his head at Wukong. “If I was… what?” He allowed himself a small smile. “You’re pretty bad at asking questions, you know that? You haven’t even-”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Macaque’s smile fell faster than a rock through water. “What?”

“Er- you could’ve run away? Or something. I just-” Wukong shifted uneasily. “Look, I may not want you back in the cave, but that doesn’t mean I want you back in the ground.” Macaque blinked at Wukong, struggling to attach a meaning to the words he was hearing. “You should’ve told-”

“Who?” Macaque asked in disbelief, finally realizing what Wukong was asking of him. “You? And why the hell would I tell you anything?”

Wukong shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know! You could’ve told the kid, or-”

“No, because MK would’ve told you,” Macaque interrupted, “and you would’ve done something stupid about it, and made my whole situation worse. Not that it was great to begin with.” The paintbrush in hand felt close to snapping, and Macaque forced his claws to loosen their hold on the slim, wooden handle. “Last thing I need is you getting involved in my business.”

“Oh, right,” Wukong said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “because what you did was so much smarter than anything I would’ve done. Going along with her plans and hunting down the kid, that was all real smart.”

Macaque felt a smile tug at his lips, too sharp around the edges to be friendly. “Yeah, actually, I think I handled the situation a lot better than you would’ve,” he bit out, “considering I made it out alive.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he could feel the regret coiling around his stomach. Wukong looked ready to say something, but Macaque wasn’t ready to hear it. “I’m-” he snatched the bowl of murky paint water and stood, “cleaning this. You’re done painting, right?”

“Macaque, put the bowl down,” Wukong protested. “I’m not gonna-”

But Macaque didn’t want to hear what Wukong wasn’t going to do, hauling himself to his feet and ready to abandon the situation altogether. His left leg creaked in protest, buckling under the strain of his sudden movement. Pressing his free hand against the top of the painted rock, Macaque steadied himself, though the bowl still jostled, water cresting the rim and dripping down the side in two small rivulets.

“Hey!” Wukong shot to his feet frustratingly fast, a hand hovering awkwardly between them. “I thought you said your leg was fine.”

“It is fine,” Macaque hissed. “I’m fine, would you just-” He didn’t like that Wukong was standing steadier than him. They weren’t fighting–not yet, at least–but Wukong having any advantage over him made an uneasy static burrow into his skin. Wukong hadn’t attacked yet, but what would Macaque do if the sage decided he was no longer interested in playing nice?

He refused to show weakness in Wukong’s presence again. Almost entirely forgetting about the bowl in his hand, Macaque shoved himself away from the rock and out of Wukong’s reach, trying to prove to himself as much as the sage that he was fine. Despite his determination, another bolt of pain tore through his leg at the motion. His tail whipped back and forth in a futile attempt at regaining his balance, but his leg refused to cooperate with him, determined to send him careening into the ground.

“Macaque!” Wukong took a step towards him, a strong hand grasping Macaque’s upper arm to keep him steady. “Alright there, bud, now I know you’re lying about your leg.”

It almost didn’t register at first, the warm hand encircling his arm, because the only thing Macaque could feel was the pressure. And it didn’t matter that the pressure was keeping him upright, it still felt far too much like chains. “Stop-” he barely choked out, then angrier, “Stop it!” He tore himself out of Wukong’s hold, hands raised before he could think about it, “Get off me!”

Wukong reeled back, his expression something between confused and hurt. “Macaque-” Whatever he might have said was lost as the bowl clattered to the ground. Macaque stumbled back from Wukong, his leg stooping dangerously before righting itself, and took a few steadying breaths once he’d regained his balance. Wukong’s hand still hung limply between them, the sound of the bowl spinning around until it settled the only thing breaking the silence.

Macaque took a stuttering breath. “I’m-” Empty hands closing into fists, Macaque slowly dragged his gaze away from Wukong to stare at the bowl of water he’d dropped. “Wukong-”

The bowl was the absolute least of Wukong’s concerns.  The water that had spilled out of it, on the other hand, was an entirely different story, because it was grayish brown with used paint and currently splashed across the rock that Wukong and Macaque had just been painting on. And he wasn’t even angry that his picture had been ruined, he was just upset. The pictures had barely been given time to dry, there was no way either one of them would remain fully intact and, his rocky past with Macaque be damned, Wukong had wanted those pictures to stay right where they were.

“I didn’t-” Wukong’s gaze snapped back to Macaque, who flinched a little under his stare. “Um… I wasn’t trying to do that. That wasn’t-” His expression crumbled for a moment, in a vulnerable way that Wukong hadn’t seen it do for at least a thousand years, “I didn’t mean to,” he finished lamely.

A very awful, bitter part of Wukong wanted to blame Macaque, anyway. It was a small part, though, a part of him that never really left the Five Elements Mountain, and he smothered it with a strained smile. “It’s all good.” Macaque hesitated, then started forward, hand already outstretched to grab the fallen bowl. “I got it,” Wukong said quickly, not wanting to risk Macaque falling again, and swooped down to grab the bowl. “I’ll, uh… I’ll just go put this away.”

If Macaque had a reply, Wukong didn’t stick around to hear it. He quickly brushed past Macaque and into the house, trying to ignore the lump of emotions that had started crawling up his throat. He wasn’t even sure why he was so upset. It was a painting. He’d made MK destroy a thousand year old mural, and he was upset over some painted rock.

A rock he’d painted with Macaque.

Wukong walked to the sink and turned on the hot water, letting it reach temperatures that anyone without stone skin wouldn’t have been able to touch. Under normal circumstances, Wukong probably would have made a clone take care of the bowl, but he needed a distraction, so he took his time rinsing out the residual paint and letting the scalding water slip through his fingers.

He wished Macaque were a little more open to talking about… them, whatever it was they had going on. They certainly weren’t friends, but Wukong couldn’t imagine them being enemies again after this. Not only because it’d be a really stupid decision on Macaque’s part, but also because it didn’t seem like either of them wanted to.

But Macaque didn’t want to fight, and their past looked a bit too much like a battlefield to start charging into things blindly, so Wukong settled for the strange no man’s land they’d created.

Turning off the water and tossing aside the bowl, Wukong quickly looked around for something to dry his hands on before giving up and shaking the water from his fur. With the bowl clean and nothing else to stall him, Wukong put on the best smile he could manage, and mentally prepared himself to deal with the situation he’d left outside.

“Hey, Macaque,” he called, making his way back to the door he’d left standing open. “You see our paintbrushes out there? I was gonna-” He halted at the sight of Macaque crouched in front of the rock, the end of his scarf clutched tightly in his hand and pressed against the face of Wukong’s painting.

Wukong almost called to him again, demanding to know what he was doing. Hadn’t the painting been ruined enough without Macaque wiping it off?

Then Macaque pulled back, shifting a bit and pressing the scarf into a painted, light blue bandana. His brow furrowed in concentration as he continued to meticulously dry off the rock’s surface without disturbing the artwork. There were some spots that rubbed off more than others, and the gray paint water clouded the pictures a little, but they were still intact.

“Hey,” Wukong said quietly, trying not to startle Macaque. “You’re gonna ruin your scarf.”

Macaque’s ear flicked at the sound of Wukong’s voice. “Eh,” he shrugged, “it’s been through worse.” He pressed the red fabric to his own picture. “I’m… I didn’t mean to-”

“I know,” Wukong interjected, “I know.” Macaque gave a minute nod and then returned to his task. “Kinda my fault, anyway, for startling you.”

“You didn’t startle me,” Macaque said defensively.

Wukong chuckled, “Uh-huh, sure.” He waved for Macaque to move over. “C’mon, scooch. Lemme see.” Macaque moved from his crouching position, falling more than he did sit, and Wukong heard him wince. “You good?”

Macaque hummed as Wukong settled beside him. “Fine.” Then he scowled at the painting. “Ah, man. Smudged it a little.”

“Well,” Wukong said reluctantly, biting back his own wince at the face of Macaque’s picture, “I mean, that eye was giving you a hard time, anyway.”

“Yeah,” Macaque let his scarf fall, leaning back to see their partially ruined handiwork. “You know, maybe it’s just because I haven’t seen your art in a while, but I think this is probably one of my favorites.” Something in Macaque’s expression softened a bit, the lines around his smile easing. “I’m kinda glad you dragged me out here.”

Wukong spluttered for a moment. “What- you dragged me out here!”

“Doesn’t really sound like something I’d do,” Macaque replied. “I think your memory is starting to fail you, old man.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Wukong said, though a smile still tugged at his lips. “Fine, I dragged you out here, whatever.” He jutted a thumb over his shoulder. “Do I have to drag you inside, too? Or are you going to try portaling home with no sleep?”

There was a moment where Macaque didn’t say anything, and Wukong was sure he’d messed something up, somehow. Maybe after their near-argument from earlier, Macaque wasn’t interested in staying longer than he had to. Maybe Wukong was embarrassing them both by crossing a line that they weren’t nearly ready enough to approach.

Then, slowly, Macaque nodded. “I could probably use the rest,” he admitted. “At least a few hours, you know, so I don’t portal myself into a wall trying to get home.” He fidgeted with the hem of his scarf. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gone before you even wake up in the morning.”

At that, Wukong could feel his smile fade, though he tried his best to keep it in place. “Oh! Well, I mean- do you have to be?”

Macaque’s gaze stayed trained on their painting. “Yeah,” came the quiet response, his voice hoarse with an emotion Wukong couldn’t pin down, “I think I do.”

And there wasn’t much that Wukong could do to argue with that, so he didn’t. He and Macaque slipped into an easy silence that Wukong would have  given anything to never break. If it meant that Wukong never woke up to find Macaque gone, he’d have gladly stayed awake in the lantern light until the moon laid itself to rest again.

That wouldn’t be very fair to either of them, though, not with how tired they both were. So, Wukong only allowed himself a few minutes of selfish peace before clearing his throat. “Alright, then.” He pushed himself up, offering a hand to Macaque. “I think I’m gonna pass out right here if I don’t lay down somewhere. You good taking the couch?”

“Are you kidding?” Macaque grunted, gently knocking aside Wukong’s offered hand–not harshly, Wukong noticed, just a polite denial of assistance, “I could fall asleep on a bed of nails right now. A couch sounds like actual heaven.”

Wukong gestured to the door. “After you, sleepy-head.” Macaque snorted, but took the invitation. “There should be a blanket somewhere, I’m gonna throw a hammock up or something.”

“I will never understand your love of sleeping in the air,” Macaque all but collapsed onto the couch. “Seriously. Tree branches, hammocks, not to mention all the times I caught you sleeping on a cloud-”

“You do realize that we’re monkeys, right?” Wukong plucked a hair from his hand and blew on it gently, summoning a hammock that swayed gently from the rafters. “It’s weirder that you want to sleep so close to the ground.”

“Not all monkeys sleep in trees, dude,” Macaque pointed out, grabbing a blanket off the back of the couch. “Gorillas make nests almost exclusively on the ground.”

Clambering into his hammock, Wukong said, “Yeah, okay.” Settling into the cloth and tucking his arms behind his head, he continued, “Hey, I got a question for you, Macaque: Are you a gorilla?” He had just enough time to register a shuffling coming from the couch before he was hit with something soft. “Hey!” Snatching the pillow off his face and shoving it under his head, Wukong gave an annoyed huff. “Rude.”

“You’re welcome,” Macaque replied, settling deeper into the couch and pulling the blanket around him. “Now shut up and go to sleep before I teleport you to the North Pole.”

“Alright, alright,” Wukong closed his eyes and sighed contently. “G’night, Macaque.” Macaque gave a noncommittal hum in lieu of response, but Wukong wasn’t bothered. He turned onto his side and tucked an arm under the pillow Macaque had thrown at him, practically wrapping himself around it and nuzzling into the fabric as the last bit of tension left his body.

In his last lingering moments of consciousness, Wukong could hear Macaque’s breathing slowly even out. Macaque was always so slow to fall asleep when they were younger, his sensitive ears doing him no favors in finding peace, and his vigilance refusing to let him relax. The recent battle must have been just as exhausting for Macaque as it had been for Wukong if he was able to sleep within moments of laying his head down.

Still, Wukong knew Macaque would be gone when he woke the next day. Regardless of how tired Macaque was, sunlight never failed to wake him, and there was still a gaping hole in Wukong’s wall. Macaque would rise with the sun, hours before Wukong even stirred, and then he’d leave.

They would never speak of this night again, of course, and they probably wouldn’t even see each other for weeks or months or however long it took for the world to be in danger again, but Wukong couldn’t find it in himself to mind. He didn’t care that it almost took the world being unraveled for them to talk civilly, Wukong and Macaque were not hopeless, and there was proof painted on the stone outside.

If anyone had told Wukong, however many months ago it was that Macaque had reappeared, that they’d be sleeping under the same roof again, he’d have laughed. Surely, neither one of them would dare to be so vulnerable around the other without fear of being at each other’s throats. But now, finally losing his fight with exhaustion to the sound of crickets and Macaque’s quiet, rattling breaths, Wukong couldn’t imagine a better way to fall asleep.

[bluvlet]

hi ted!!

can you please talk about your opinion/thoughts on the relationship between robbie and drew bc you've mentioned it a few times in your posts and I'd like to know more about it 💕

Hi!! Thank you for the ask!! I’m afraid I can't offer a very well thought out analysis for you. But I’m happy to just ramble for a few paragraphs about some of my most steadfast thoughts about Drew and Robbie!

I really like the dynamic between Drew and Robbie; I think its significance can easily go overlooked compared to the other relationships in the episode. I suppose that my thesis statement is that it’s a parallel to Blake and Ellie’s relationship. Of course you have the general narrative parallels between Ellie and Robbie: the faceless children. And the parallels between Blake and Drew as fathers, which all work to naturally create a peculiar sort of four way mirror of reflection - where everybody's relationships are comparative. In that sense, Drew and Robbie mirror Blake and Ellie by virtue of what the narrative puts them through.

But I also understand this to be how Drew himself views his relationship with Robbie. I’ve talked about this a few times before - I think Drew purposefully recreates the circumstances surrounding Ellie’s death with what he does to Robbie. ‘I want you to know what it’s like to be me.’ he tells Blake, rather solemnly. If we take Drew as telling the truth (which I do here) then he’s admitting what he’s doing is supposed to represent Ellie’s death. I don’t mean this in a literal sense (that whatever Drew imagines happened between Blake and Ellie he recreates with Robbie) but more as a lens through which Drew constructs and executes his plan.

To Drew, Robbie is Ellie. Robbie represents this precious thing that Drew has lost, his daughter he is prepared to die for to avenge. He wants Blake to know what it's like, so he will try his best to replicate the circumstances he lost Ellie in with Blake’s son. But for Blake to know how it feels to be Drew, Drew has to assume Blake’s role. Drew has to be Robbie’s abuser in order for his plan to work. As a consequence, Robbie takes on two juxtaposing identities to Drew - something precious Blake should sacrifice everything to keep safe, and a pawn Drew can bury in a box underground to punish Blake.

There’s a sequence in the first half of the episode, before Drew drops his act, where I think these two roles merge into one in Drew’s mind. I’ve said all this before. Drew knows what he’s done to Robbie is killing him. I interpret Drew’s ‘I think I might’ve killed somebody’ and the outburst that follows as a genuine slip of his composure. I’m struggling to find the right way to word this but I think that in that moment Drew views (if not entirely then at least partially) what he’s done to Robbie as how he views Ellie’s death. He recognises that he’s buried Blake’s son alive, outside of the game he’s playing. That despairing recognition turns into anger, and he snaps at Blake. He then composes himself in the bathroom, and channels that rage back into acting on his plan. It’s hard to say how guilty Drew feels over what he does to Robbie. As a father who has lost his child he knows the pain he’s inflicting on Blake, and is willing to put him through that regardless. But he also formulates his plan so that if Robbie dies he dies, meaning he would not have to live with the guilt.

We never find out how Drew got Robbie into that box underground. In the same way we never know exactly what Blake was doing at the hotel room. The only thing we know for certain is that Drew spoke to Robbie at some point. During his phone call to Blake, Robbie tells him: ‘He said you’d come get me. He said everything would be fine. He said you’d do the right thing.’ I’m sort of obsessed with this. I just think it’s such a choice, that this is the only thing we find out about what Drew did to Robbie. I fluctuate between interpretations of this but in general I think Drew is comforting Robbie - whether insincerely or genuinely is debatable. You could interpret this as Drew imitating Blake. Again I struggle to articulate this; that reassurance that everything will be fine whilst you’re twisting the knife - it’s twin with Blake and Ellie. If that’s the case then it feels almost spiteful, that Drew knows Blake isn’t coming. He’s almost indulging in replicating Blake’s cruelty. Or, you could understand Drew as genuinely comforting Robbie that his dad will save him - perhaps instead indulging in that precious aspect of Robbie I mentioned earlier. It all depends on how much faith you think Drew has in Blake to ‘do the right thing.’

Robbie’s phone call itself acts as a sort of imitation of Ellie’s audio recordings. Drew had to listen to Blake prey on his daughter, knowing she was already dead and he could do nothing about it. Now Blake has to listen to his son cry and suffocate, knowing he doesn’t know where he is to save him.

Drew also acts as a surrogate for Robbie. How Drew is treated by Blake directly influences Robbie’s fate. Drew dies, Robbie dies. Drew’s identity in the episode is one of my favourite things to rack my brain about. He is Robbie and Ellie.

I hope these were the kind of thoughts you were looking for! I have a few more thoughts about Drew and Robbie but they’re more like little fragments than real points. I'm always concerned that what I’m thinking doesn’t translate well to written words when it comes to this episode. Do let me know what you think!

[ask-the-royal-absol]

(@ask-gizmo-and-vigil) Gizmo: So, Hope. How strong exactly is your Blaze Kick? I assume you know that move, so you could essentially melt those steel bars and kick some ass for us!

*Hope sighed. This idiot didn’t even know what EVs were. Clearly this pokémon has had no training or they’d know about them.*

Hope: Effort Values, or EVs for short, are the values gained when Pokémon engage in combat. They increase your attacks and defences and can be key to obtaining victory. And judging by your stats…

*Hope eyes, at the mention of this, changed from their usual blue to an orangey-brown colour, carefully studying Destino. They soon fade when she finished what she was doing.*

Hope: You’ve definitely been slacking on your training. Sure, you have some attack EVs. But you haven’t truly maximised them. And nothing in speed too? You really need to step up. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were to be easily knocked out by a simple attack. You look frail enough as is. I doubt you’d even be able to land a scratch on me.

*How dare this Pokémon make a criticism like that?! Destino was incredibly strong. They knew it. No Pokémon in the Underdark could best them. Except their parents. And the Bisharps. But that was it. The rare candies they were given raised them up to a solid level 30. Destino had to get to her in some other way.*

Destino: Hope Hope Hope. I see what’s happening here. You can’t fool me. You’re purposefully avoiding my claim that you can’t break the bars by going into this nonsense about “EVs”. I get it. You’re too weak. I understand. Not everyone can be as strong as me.

Hope: You mentioned your lack of knowledge on EVs and so I had to tell you what they were. What do you mean avoiding your claim?

Destino: I mean, it’s clear you’re too weak to break out. You would have done so already if you could.

Felix: Hey Des, maybe don’t taunt the Pokémon who almost kicked your ass? She’s told me she’s had a lot of training.

Destino: Really? Too bad that training clearly hasn’t made her strong or anything. No wonder she was so easy to capture.

*This Absol was frustrating. Hope could feel herself getting angry.*

Hope: You seriously think I couldn’t break through?

Destino: Huh. You know I always thought those were a lot stronger than that. Guess we’ll need to get new ones. Good going. You do realise those take time to make? Wow Hope. Destroying property that doesn’t even belong to you. What kind of a princess does that? Clearly one that hasn’t been trained in royal etiquette. I expected better from you.

*The audible, frustrated growl that came from Hope brought a smug smile to Destino’s face. Felix floated forward. He didn’t want Destino to get their ass handed to them yet again.*

Felix: Alright. Destino pal, I get ya havin’ fun with this but ya do need ta stop. I’m finding it entertaining but there’s only so far ya can go before it gets violent.

Destino: But I was only just getting started! I was gonna throw a few more verbal insults here and there. See how far I could push her.

Hope: Would you like me to come out there and kick your ass?! I am super effective against you!

Destino: And I’m Destino, how’s it going? I could easy beat you when it comes to combat.

*Their smug grin broadened as Hope got more riled up. Felix, seeing this happen, floated in between the two of them, holding his hands out to stop them from doing anything further.*

Felix: Alright! Destino, stop now. Ya gone too far. Ya gotta work with this Pokémon on the surface. What’s the use in taunting her when she’s gonna be the only one helpin’ ya up there?

*Destino gave a nonchalant shrug.*

Destino: Pure entertainment really. It’s just so much fun to see her squirm.

Felix: No more, or I’ll have ta possess ya ass until ya behave. I spoke to ya about shit talkin’ tough opponents earlier. That applies here. She’s here to bring ya up there safely so ya can do what ya need ta do. This insultin’ is gonna do more harm than good.

*Felix didn’t do it much, but when he did possess Destino, they hated it so much. They hated that loss of control they had as they were powerless to overcome it. Sighing, the smug grin faded from their face.*

Destino: Urgh, fine. I’m only doing this because you asked, Felix. The next opportunity I get, however, I’m going straight for the personal insults.

*When Felix got between the both of them, Hope felt a little calmer. Someone dealing with this annoyance. She looked intriguingly at the pair as they spoke. Looks like Felix had some weapon that he could use against the Absol. And threatening its use seemingly worked. Hope had heard stories of ghost types possessing Pokémon and using their bodies for their own sick, twisted desires from stories that had been passed around. Looks like this was one of the things that were partially true. She wondered how much control the Gengar had over someone’s body when he possessed them and for how long.

So many questions she wanted to ask. It seemed Felix was going to be more reasonable to speak with. He definitely had a strong sense loyalty when it came to the Absol. However, if she could get him also on her side, she may be able to use that to get the Absol to do whatever she wanted.*

[duckiemimi]

Will you talk more about virgin Satoru? I feel like this concept is becoming quite popular among the fandom and i think it makes sense. will you share more?

also did Sukuna in latest chapter imply something or just that he couldn't connect with anyone? it's kind of similar with Satoru except he connected with Suguru but they never slept together smh

really?? this is surprising to me considering we’ve gone years with ppl characterizing him as a womanizer! baby steps!

realistically speaking (well, as realistically as it gets considering any opinion about characters’ sexual lives in jjk is mostly headcanon territory), there’s a big chance that he is a virgin. but there’s a big chance he isn’t either.

all we really know in canon is that he eats sweets to stimulate his brain, and that’s really the only cemented and stated fact we know about him with any proximity to sex (yk, bc “stimulation”). we also know he loves a good fight and can tend to almost lose sight of the point of the battle because of it. he’s also a non-drinker. i assume it’s because alcohol more so serves as a depressant than a stimulant (perhaps that wouldn’t bode well with the cycling of reverse cursed energy in his brain).

so far, we can infer that gojo likes certain stimulations. taking these things into consideration, we can either further infer that a.) he only looks for stimulation from sweets and battle-adrenaline, or b.) he looks for stimulation everywhere, he wants to feel. the first inference would imply that yes, he could be a virgin. the second: no, he is not. gege has also mentioned that whenever he wears his sunglasses out, he could be meeting girls. (edit: this was a mistranslation; this is what gege meant.) whether or not that leads to sex, we’d never know…

he could either have a typical guy-in-his-late-20s-who-has-no-time-for-himself sex life (which isn’t a big roster to boast about, not that gojo would really care about boasting purposefully), or he could actually be a virgin (implying, none of his dates ever went that well). i don’t think he has any particular interest in other (living) people, at least romantically or sexually. like you said, the only person he’s ever really connected with is geto. (have they slept together? i don’t know, maybe. those are some long 10 years, but again, there are no cemented or stated facts. in my opinion? they have mindblowing sad sex every now and then and it leaves gojo hollow. hehe.)

but then again, would gojo need connection to have sex? or would he be fine with a simple hook up/one night stand? after all, it is just stimulation—unless he puts meaning to it. and while i do talk about his metaphorical infinity a lot and how he unknowingly pushes people away because of it, is sex off-limits because of it? or is that metaphorical infinity just an internal shield for his feelings only? for the unaddressed emotions he’s locked in a box in the back of his brain?

in my opinion? he could definitely be a virgin! if he does see meaning in sex, then the only person he would’ve done it with is geto, but alas, they’ve either never had sex before or we don’t have any on-screen proof (yet…hehe). i’m leaning more towards gojo having the very, very rare night with a stranger. he brushes it off his shoulder the next morning and goes back to work.

as for sukuna??? i honestly think he grew up an unwanted child until someone showed him care and love, then they betrayed him and he became cold all over. (sound familiar? well, except the gojo clan wanted and expected gojo, and gojo became warmer because of geto.) i think sukuna got his hopes up and opened his heart up to someone who tore it into pieces and as a result, he’s spent hundreds of years working to prove that he was never that weak and vulnerable and that love is a fantasy concept. the typical thing you see with some men in real life. what’s new?

[snakeautistic]

Thinking about how when horrible acts are committed often our immediate response is to deny the humanity of their perpetrators. How often do you hear that someone who has done something so terrible, so vile that you could never imagine doing it yourself must be less than human?

It’s meant as a source of comfort in some ways, I think. It serves to distance yourself from even the potential to do harm. Surely, only someone who is irreconcilably different from you could do that. Surely they must have been born evil. But, as we in a way mythologize these people, we obscure a fundamental point.

All of us are capable of the worst aspects of humanity. Does that mean we would ever, in our circumstances, our lives, reasonably seek to do them? That we would even humor the idea? No. But that is not an inherent difference in you- that is a difference in context- in circumstances, in choices. I think that’s why we become fixated on the idea of labeling people around us who have done terrible things to us as irreparably broken- that to hurt is their nature as a living thing. But that’s not true. No one is inherently bad.

And that doesn’t at all take away the weight of someone’s actions. In fact, in some ways it places more burden on them. If you argue that a person is born to inflict pain, that they have no other potential- can you reasonably blame them for doing that? You can’t- it wouldn’t be their choice, they would lack any agency over their own actions. (Of course, not all harm is inflicted purposefully and maliciously- but for the sake of keeping our scope a little narrower, as broad as it already is, we are focusing on malicious harm.)

I think recognizing this humanity, even within the worst of people is incredibly important. When we demonize people, they become more representative of abstract concepts than real people. Actions are no longer seen with nuance or intent behind them- they are assumed to be the manifestation of some greater dark force- one with a satisfaction for evil. (To be super clear here- this nuance does not lessen the responsibility of whoever caused harm or its impact- it simply gives us a fuller reason of why something was enacted.)

And then we fail to see how the people around us we don’t immediately recognize as ‘monsters’ (including ourselves) can inflict harm. We say- “I know that guy, he was always nice to me, there’s no way!” We say- “those were just a few bad apples- the system itself is fine.” We say- “bad people will find ways to get their hands on weapons. It doesn’t matter what we do to regulate them- the shooters will always exist”.