#which honestly makes him even more conspicuous

[mythica0]

Rewarding revenge

🎂: epic the musical

🧁: Hermes

🍫:Odysseus

Summary: Hermes has tickled Odysseus one too many times for his liking. Time for a little payback.

A/N; thank you to the anon who gave me this idea! If you see this I hope it’s to your liking! I’m not super proud of the ending but whatever. Also, yay, more shameless lee Hermes! Enjoooyyy :3

Cw: mild swearing, really intense tickles! (But don’t worry, he enjoys every second of it.)

Rewarding revenge

It was another day on the ship, and Odysseus was thinking.

He had just had another interaction with Hermes a few days prior, and like he usually did, Hermes had decided to tickle the shit out of him.

While he didn’t.. hate it.. it was still annoying, and he wanted a bit of revenge.

So, he sent up a hopefully non-conspicuous prayer to summon Hermes.

When Hermes got the message, simply asking to hang out, he was definitely suspicious, but also amused and endlessly curious. So, he decided to go. Might be fun, after all! And Hermes is always up for some fun.

So, later that evening, when Odysseus was spending some time in his room, Hermes appeared.

“Hey, friend! I got your little prayer!”

Odysseus was honestly a little shocked that worked. He sat up in his bed, gently patting the space next to him.

“Ah, Hermes! Come, sit!”

Hermes smiled brightly and sat next to the soldier. “Well, how do you do?”

“Ah, I’m well. You?”

“I’m good as well! I must say, it’s not often I get a request just to hang out! I’m quite delighted you wished to spend time with me!”

Odysseus chuckled a bit. “Ah, well, you’ve been nice to me, and you’re pleasant enough company.”

“I know I am, thanks for noticing!” Hermes winked, playfully posing in a showy manner.

Odysseus laughed. He had summoned Hermes for ulterior motives, but he actually was quite funny.

He scooted a little closer, hoping Hermes wouldn’t notice. Hermes did notice, but he pretended he didn’t. He was curious! Wanted to see where this was going.

“So, what did you want to talk about, friend?” Hermes asked, still grinning.

“Ah, nothing in particular. Just whatever comes to mind.”

“I see, just a causal chat! Always love one of those- I’m quite the conversationalist!”

The joking remark got another laugh out of Odysseus, which caused Hermes to grin proudly. He was always happy to make someone laugh.

“That you are.” Odysseus got a little closer again.

“did you have free time to come down here? Or are you skipping out on your duties?” Ody asked, a playfully teasing tone to his voice.

“Hmm, not telling~” Hermes shrugged and then sing-songed in response.

Odysseus laughed again. “So you are skipping out? I mean, I imagine you’re quite the busy god, with all the various domains you have.”

“True! But I’m also quite speedy, don’t you forget! Nah, I had some time.” Hermes revealed with a laugh if his own.

“Ah, well that’s good. Wouldn’t want to distract you from your job, now would we?”

“That we would not.” Hermes laughed again, his little squeaky giggle.

Odysseus posed a question, seemingly out of nowhere. “So, Hermes- do you like to laugh?”

Hermes seemed a little surprised at the sudden question, but answered nonetheless. He had a feeling this might be why he was actually summoned.

“Why, of course I do! Who doesn’t?”

“Ah, that’s good. Let me help you with that!” Without any further warning, the captain snapped his arms around the god and started to scribble against his ribs.

Hermes immediately bursted into happy giggles, not trying to hold back in the least.

“Ehehehe- Ohohody! Ahahaha!” He called a bit, squirming slightly.

“What’s wrong? Can’t take what you dish out?”

“Ehehehehehaha! Ohoho, thahat tihihickles! Ehehehe!” Hermes giggles were bubbly and almost childish in nature, such a purely joyful sound that it made Odysseus laugh along with it.

“Ha! It’s about time I got a little payback!”

Hermes could easily get out of this. Easily. He was very powerful, after all. But he didn’t want to, and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. But. He wanted to see if Ody could figure it out on his own.

“So, how’s it feel to be on the other end, huh?”

“Tihihickly!” Hermes snarked, an obvious statement, for amusement. It worked as intended, getting a small amused huff from Odysseus.

“Well no shit, Sherlock. That’s the point.”

To accentuate his words, Odysseus moved his hands to Hermes’ tummy, starting to press lightly on the surface.

Hermes giggles immediately increased in pitch, such a joyful, silly, sugar-sweet sound that Odysseus couldn’t help but laugh along. 

“Eeehahahahaha ohoho nohoho, dohohont doho thahat- ehehehehehe!”

“You know, you could probably escape easily if you really wanted to.” Odysseus commented, successfully realizing the thing Hermes wasn’t even trying to hide.

“Ihihi knohow! Ehehehehe!”

“So, why aren’t you? Do you perhaps like this?”

Hermes nodded, gleeful and giddy as he laughed. “Yehehehehes! Ehehahahahaha-! Tohook yohou lohong ehenohough toho fihigure ohout!” Hermes teased slightly, never one to hold his tongue.

“Oh, really? Are you in any position to give me sass?” Odysseus teased, getting far more into the role now that he knew his friend was enjoying it. He pressed down harder, vibrating clawed hands into Hermes’ stomach.

Hermes squealed, a bouncy, bubbly laugh falling freely from his chest. “Eeee! Ahahahaha thahahat reheheally tihihickles ehehehehehe!”

“Good. Maybe that’ll teach you not to sass me.” Odysseus didn’t let up, still pressing vibrating claws into the god’s belly, making him laugh giddily, his wings flapping slightly.

Odysseus’ eyes followed the motion of the white feathers, and he smirked. He took one hand and moved it up, grabbing one of the wings behind his ears and starting to rub the feathers in between his fingers.

Hermes squealed, a high pitched laugh leaving him. “EEEE! NOHOHOHO-! NOHOHOT THEHE WIHINGS!”

“Oh? Not the wings? Not these little wings right here?” Seeing how horribly it tickled the god, Odysseus brought up his other hand to grab the matching wing in the other side and do the same thing.

Hermes was completely lost to his laughter, chest and stomach shaking from the force of it as small tears formed in his eyes. That tickled so! Bad!

“EEEHAHAHA PLEHEHEASE, OHOHODYYY!” His laughter was squeaky and happy, and Odysseus found that it got more and more contagious the longer it went on, not being able to stop himself from laughing along.

“Hehe, that’s a pretty contagious laugh you’ve got there.”

Hermes was too busy laughing and squirming to reply, his sanity starting to slip in the best way from the ticklish sensation. It was driving him mad, unrelenting tingles racing across his wings and causing fluttering laughter to swarm in his belly.

“What’s wrong? Too ticklish to speak?” Odysseus emphasized the word with a teasing lilt, causing a slight blush to form on Hermes’ face.

The room was filled with the happy, bubbly giggles of the god of messages, squealing laughter echoing from him as his very sensitive wings were assaulted with happy, tingly sensations.

“EEE OHODY PLEHEHEHEASEE!” He begged through his loud, squeaky laughter, only partially true. Because he could probably get away if he really wanted to, although it might be harder considering how weak he was from laughter.

Odysseus just chuckled. “Tickle tickle tickle~” he spoke with a teasing lilt, and he could swear that Hermes squeaked at the words.

Hermes was overwhelmed but at the same time so happy. The tickles were driving him crazy and he didn’t even care, because it was so much fun, sending waves of pure joy through him with every wheezing laugh, every contraction of the muscles in his tummy and sides. Tears of joy had fallen at the point, trailing past the shaded boundary from his helmet.

“EEHAHAHA OHODY PLEHEHEASE STAHAHAP! EHEHEHEHEE!”

“I don’t know.. you tickled me first. Twice.”

“IHIM SOHORRRYYY PLEHEHEHEASEE!”

He was absolutely hysterical with laughter, face starting to hurt from being stretched into such a wide smile for so long. His thoughts were so foggy, his brain thoroughly turned to mush from happiness that he couldn’t even think straight enough to use his powers to get away. He loved it so much but at the same time he couldn’t take anymore!

Sensing that Hermes was getting a little overwhelmed, Odysseus decided to give him a small breather, just lightly tapping against his hips to keep him giggling.

Hermes took the chance to greedily take in air, letting his warm face cool down.

“Hehehehehe.. ohoho myhy gohods.. ehehehe- thahat wahahas aha lohot.”

“Oh, did you think we were done? Oh no no no, I don’t plan on stopping any time soon. I want you to be an absolute puddle of laughter by the time I’m through.”

Hermes eyes sparkled with excitement, hidden by the shade of his helmet, a few giddy giggles falling from him. He was honestly excited by the idea, even though he had just been wrecked within an inch of his life, he still wanted more.

Ody smirked as he saw the excitement ripple through the god of speed. “Oh, what was that~? Did that excite you?”

Hermes nodded, still unashamed for his love of being tickled.

Odysseus chuckled in response, before responding with a teasing lilt that caused more giddy butterflies to flutter within Hermes, making him giggle more than he already was from the light taps on his hips.

“Any last words before I make you hysterical again~?”

Hermes thought for a moment, before shaking his head, eager to get on with it.

Odysseus nodded and then started with kneading his tummy, making him burst into giddy laughter immediately.

“Ahahahahahaha! YohOU ahahare reheheally gohood ahat thahahat- EE!” He complained and complimented at the same time, half protesting but not really meaning a word of it.

“Oh, why thank you!” He grinned smugly, and then, just to be evil, he moved his hands to attack Hermes’ underarms and started to blow raspberries all over his belly.

“OHOHO NOHO- EEE! Dohohont dohoho THahahAT-!”

Odysseus felt his inner father emerging, putting on a sort of playful act and making silly noises as he blew raspberry after raspberry onto the messenger’s tummy, using his beard to add an extra layer of ticklishness.

“Omnomnom! This belly is really tasty!” He made little growling and nomming sounds, which made Hermes laugh even harder from amusement at the silly act.

Hermes was absolutely hysterical with laughter, kicking his feet slightly to try and expel the intense giddy energy rippling through him. Each raspberry sent waves of laughter and tingles across his belly, and it didn’t go away. It lingered, and then layered with each new raspberry or nibble, growing more and more ticklish as time went on. Hermes was crying with laughter and happiness, the feeling so intense and so amazing.

He squeaked and squealed as Odysseus blew a raspberry on his lower tummy, then on each side, then right over his bellybutton, then on his ribs, all over his torso, leaving waves upon waves of giddy tingles.

“AHahahahahHEHA! Ihihit tihihickles sohoho BaHAD EhehehehEHEHAHA!” His chest and stomach were shaking and bouncing from his laughter, the wide, giddy smile never leaving his face, his genuine happiness being contagious to Odysseus.

Odysseus chuckled as well, unable to stop himself at hearing the silly, contagious sound of Hermes’ laughter. He decided to lower the intensity for a bit, moving his hands down to start scribbling behind his knees.

Hermes kicked slightly on instinct, but he didn’t try to truly escape. His hysterical, squeaky laughter died down to giggles again, allowing him to take in air.

“Ehehehehe ohoho myhyhy! Ehehe- ihihi cahahant breheheathe- hoholy moholy..” Hermes breathed out through his giggles, taking in breaths and still feeling so giddy.

Odysseus gave him a chance to breathe for a moment, wiggling his fingers behind his knees and tracing around his ankles, before managing to pry his sandals away from his feet slightly, and scratching gently at the soles.

Hermes giggles increased, not nearly as hysterical as it was earlier, but definitely more than it was from the more gentle tracing.

“EhHahHaha ohohohody plehehehease! Ehehehehe!”

“Oh, come on. We both know you don’t actually want me to stop.”

Hermes nodded again. He really didn’t. He protested, yes, but he didn’t mean any of it. It was only instinct, the natural reaction to such intense tickles, even though he enjoyed every second.

After a few more moments, Ody smirked and turned to look at Hermes, speaking with a teasing, taunting tone.

“I’m gonna get your wings~” he sing-songed, scratching at the edge of his ankle, right before where the wings met.

Hermes frantically protested, a giddy nervousness filling his chest and stomach. “Nonononohoho!”

“Yes yes yes~ these soft, little wings are gonna get tickled~”

A faint blush dusted Hermes’ face at the teasing words, so many butterflies and zaps of giddy, nervous excitement rushing through him as the anticipation drove him up the wall.

“Are you ready~”

“Nohoho!” Hermes protested again, even though he would much rather the soldier get it over with rather than deal with this anticipation.

Odysseus smirked again, responding instantly and with a faux lack of sympathy. “Too bad.”

Without any pause, he grabbed each wing on one leg and started to scribble against the feathers, scratching at the base of the wings.

Hermes was once again immediately thrown into heavy , hysterical laughter. “EEHAHAHA! OHOHO MYHYHY GOHODS- NOHOHOT THEHEHEHERE! EEEE!”

Odysseus chuckled again, the contagious laughter fully infecting him. “Oh my, quite ticklish here, are we~?”

Hermes blushed a bit more at the teasing, the fluster only adding to the ticklish experience, if you asked him.

His free wings on the other ankle flapped frantically, drawing the king’s attention.

“Well, would you look at that. It seems like your left set of wings is feeling a little left out.”

“NohOhOHO-! PLEHEHEHEASE!”

“Please tickle your other wings? Why of course!” He taunted, switching sides.

He once again pinched and rubbed the feathers in between his fingers, making Hermes toss his head back as fits of laughter racked his whole body.

He got such an evil thought just then, leaning to one of the wings being his ears and blowing a huge raspberry right on it.

Hermes squealed with laughter once again, absolutely hysterical as mirthful tears dampened his face.

“NOHOHO- EEEEEHAHAHAHAHA! IHIHI CAHAHANT HOHOLY MOHOLY-EEHAHAHAHA!”

Hermes was in absolute ticklish agony, his whole torso quivering with the force of his hysterical laughter from the blissful torture. It was absolutely horrible and yet he loved it so much, rushes of euphoria filling him with every laugh, every raspberry on his wings, every overwhelming ticklish touch.

After only a minute or so of that, Odysseus stopped completely with a final wiggle in his bellybutton, leaving Hermes gasping for air in between fits of residual giggles.

He wiped his eyes under his helmet from the tears of laughter, his face still split in two from his wide smile.

“Ahahahaha.. wohohoah.. yohou’re reheheally gohood ahahat thahahat… ehehehehe…”

Odysseus chuckled a bit. “Yeah, I really did a number on you, didn’t I?”

Hermes nodded, still giggling and trying to cool his breathing and blushing face.

“Are you alright? I didn’t go too far, did I?”

Hermes shook his head slightly. “No, Noho, yohou’re ahalrihihight. That was greheheat.”

“Man, you really like being tickled, don’t you?”

“Yeheheah! It’s fun to laugh like thahat.. ehehehe.”

“Well, I’m glad to have provided that for you.”

“Thahank yohou, daharling.”

“No problem!”

After another minute or so, Hermes finally stopped giggling, and dusted himself off before standing.

“Well, I best be off. I do have a job to do! But don’t be afraid to send a message whenever you want to hang! This was splendid!”

Odysseus chuckled a bit. “And you dont be afraid to come down and ask me for tickles anytime you want.”

Hermes giggled a bit in response. “I’ll keep that in mind. Ta-ta darling!~”

“See ya round!”

And with that, Hermes flew off, leaving with a light heart and a wide smile.

———THE END———————————————————-

[bumblingbabooshka]

Tuvok noting that the number of crewmen with framed photographs of captain Janeway is alarming. There's nothing to really DO about it but it is alarming nonetheless.

[brayneworms]

no, you hang up! | shota aizawa

kinktober day three: phone sex

word count. 2.2k

content. phone sex, reader and aizawa are coworkers, mutual masturbation, referenced age gap (once and it's minor + doesn't contribute to their relationship dynamic), dirty talk, no genitals for reader mentioned, gender-neutral reader, teasing (reader calls him names but it's all fairly playful), pre-relationship.

♪ agora hills — doja cat

kinktober mlist | regular mlist

You know it's him before you even look.

Your room is blue-dark, cold; the central heating must have turned off hours ago, still on to warm you to sleep even beneath two comforters. The recent winters were no joke—you walked around town at the moment with dry, blistering lips and dull skin and watery eyes. Even now, as you raise your head from the comfort of your sheets to the arid air, gooseflesh breaks over your skin.

Something pulses; it's what woke you in the first place. Some noise, some shift in the quiet. Outside it's still dark, not yet late enough for the light to start turning greyish and buoyant. It takes a muddled, groggy few seconds as the static in your head starts to clear that you realise it's your phone. 

You grope blindly for it; it's only vibrating, but you're a tepid sleeper at the minute, and it's more than enough to rouse you from whatever fitful slumber you'd managed to fall into. You have to be careful not to forget and turn on your side, put pressure on the sling that binds your arm as you reach under the sheets for your phone as it rings, rings, rings out. 

You slap a hand across the plastic case, lift it with a wince at the cold blue light that shines out like fingernails down a chalkboard. But yeah—when you read the name AIZAWA across the top of the screen in informal white capitals, you can't honestly say you're surprised.

You stab the green button on what's probably the eighth or ninth ring. "Yeah?"

There's a moment where he doesn't say anything. Where the line crackles the way the ozone layer does before the first strike of lightning. "...Did I wake you?"

"Yeah," you say again, returning to your back. Your bound arm gives a twinge of protest. 

"Sorry," he murmurs, in that dry tone of his, the one that rarely manages not to sound clipped and bored. "I guess I didn't realise how late it is."

You pull the phone away, glancing for the first time at the time in the right-hand corner. 02.11am. He did have a nasty habit of letting the night slip away from him—and his regular bouts of insomnia mean the lateness of the hour doesn't always impress upon him as it does for most people—but you suspect there may be more to it than that. There's a hesitance, a reluctance in his voice. 

"It's okay," you say finally. "Have to pee anyway."

The static rises as he huffs down the line. "How's the arm?"

"Feels like roadkill," you mumble, which doesn't make a lot of sense. But sue you, you're tired and the painkillers wore off in your sleep. "Why're you calling?"

Another crackle, a soft shift, like an out-of-tune radio adjusting frequency. "No... particular reason."

As the fatigue starts to clear from your heavy brain, you try to picture it. Shouta Aizawa—evidently not patrolling tonight, given the lack of cityscape din in the background of the call. It's quiet; you can maybe hear the low purr of a ceiling fan. Earlier, he'd shifted, and you'd heard the rustling of sheets. So, he's in bed. Lying there. Alone. Calling you.

He's pretty transparent. But to his credit, you don't think he's trying to be conspicuous. It's not incredibly in his nature. And it's not in yours to call him out on it, either, which he knows. It's why he does it.

Does, not like—like this is a regular thing, or anything. There have been one or two what you like to refer to as unrelated incidents over the eight-year course of your working relationship. A kiss at a New Year's party that lingered a moment too long, the time he took you home after a night at the bar with the other U.A. staff and you couldn't be in the staffroom alone with him for about a fortnight afterwards.

"Just missing the sound of my voice?" you ask, trying not to sound too coy. You don't want to make him skittish, and anyway you have a feeling he hates when you try to play up your (in your opinion) minor age difference. 

Another rustle, quieter, shorter. "...Something like that," he murmurs. His voice is soft, despite the timbre of it reaching down to some pit in his chest. 

"So should I talk?" you press. 

"Sure," he replies.

"About what?"

"Anything." He swallows. "Whatever... whatever you'd like to talk about."

You roll your tongue over your lower lip, suck it for a moment whilst you think. "I miss work," you start. Boring, mundane—testing the waters. "Being stuck at home sucks. And all my friends are my coworkers, so you're all at work every day. 'S pretty lonely."

"I see." There's a hint of strain in his voice, one that makes a dim chord strike somewhere low and pitiful inside you. You cross your legs over each other. "You know we'd visit if we had the time."

"Yeah, I know. I bought myself plants to give myself a reason to get out of bed," you say, casting a glance over at them as they rest on your windowsill. Their leaves wink and shiver in the current of cold breeze let in from the crack in your window. "I have to get up twice to water them. And then when I'm up, I think, I might as well get something to eat, exercise. Shower."

The last work is deliberately provocative, like pressing on a ripe bruise to see when it starts to hurt. Your reward is the faintest hitch of Aizawa's breath. 

"I talk to Hizashi every day," you continue, trying to keep your own voice even. The silence on the other end of the phone sounds deafening, your heartbeat starting to get uncomfortably forceful in your chest. "He texts a lot, about silly things. Keeping me up to date on stuff at the school. It's not the same as being there, but it's sweet that he tries." You pause. "I wish I could see everyone, though. Hey—can I see you?"

You let the question hang. Lining up a hunting rifle to a buck's head, letting it decide to stay or flee. Then,

"Hang on." It comes through gruff and short, but it makes your stomach twist all the same. A moment later, your phone hums with a notification. It hangs, a grey banner at the top of your screen. From Aizawa, with a photo attachment.

Your mouth goes dry as you stretch your thumb to tap it. It's a flash photo of a barely-lit room. You can see dark blue sheets and a grey comforter, and two legs in slouchy grey sweats, cocked apart, shoved halfway down his thighs. But in the crux of the photo—

"Jesus," you blurt before you can stop yourself. You hear Aizawa huff a noise on the other end of the phone, could be laughter, could be something else. It’s not like your entirely inexperienced with Aizawa’s cock, but that was a while ago and there’s a big difference between a drunken sticky fumbling in the dark and seeing it properly, in low warm light, heavy and hard with his hand wrapped around it. His fingers, thick and pale, you can’t help but want them on you. Circled around your ankle, maybe, pulling you apart for him with that quiet, unassuming strength of his. 

“Is that a good or bad reaction?” he asks, and the note of strain is thicker than ever. He sounds strangled. “Should I start worrying—about my job position?”

“Probably,” you answer. “But—no. How long’ve you been touching yourself?”

You hear his breath hitch again at the casual crudeness of your words. “How long’ve you been on the phone?”

A hot red flash zips through you. Before your head has given your body permission, you’ve laid the phone down flat on your chest, speakers buzzing through your shirt as you slip a hand beneath the waistband of your underwear. You go straight for what feels good, finding yourself already embarrassingly ready, shuddering as your fingers brush the most sensitive parts of yourself. 

“You’re such a creep,” you groan, head back against the pillow. Aizawa makes a quick, cut noise in the back of his throat. “One week without staring down my shirt in the staff room and you resort to this?”

“I don’t—” He cuts himself off, sighing shakily. “I don’t stare.”

He does fucking stare, it’s just quite subtle and it took you a while to notice. 

“Yeah, right.” Your fingers curl and search, press and glide. You’re hot and wet, for him, for the first glimpse of lust since your leave of absence began. “Bet you’d do anything for a taste.”

“...Maybe,” he stammers, breathing hard and quick against the phone. Now you can hear a soft stream of sounds coming through, a shlck-shlck-shlck that makes your blood hot and your brain fuzzy. “Maybe I’ve thought about it. Once or twice.”

“Dirty old man,” you say, half-babbling, and he groans low in his throat. You wish you could see him, God you can picture it—head thrown back, thick dark hair splayed against the rumpled pillows like a funeral shroud, sleep shirt ruched up to show the soft pale plane of his stomach dusted with dark spiralling hairs. You’d follow the pattern down to where the hair was thickest, push your hand through to where he was hard and hot as a brand for you. You didn’t get much time to play with him before, restless and lazy and horny off the cheapest champagnes you could order at the bar; he’d been inside you before too long and back out far too soon. 

“I’m n-not…” Hearing his resolve start to crack and fracture is the hottest thing in the world. Your own fingers work faster, jamming at the spots that make your legs gooey and your stomach start to tauten. “Isn’t my fault you look like that.”

Your giggle is breathless, half a moan. “Took that right out of the old perverts’ handbook,” you mutter. “Don’t break a hip on your way over here.”

“Shut up, shut up,” he grunts. “Damn it—shouldn’t have called—”

“I’m glad you did,” you say. Sweat is starting to collect in your armpits and the back of your neck. “Been so bored. This is the first time I’ve felt anything in weeks.”

His breath is ragged. “What do you feel?” he asks hoarsely. 

“Hang on.” The photo you send is conservative compared to his; just a shot of your hand disappearing into the waistband of your shorts. But you hear his stifled whimper, low in his throat, crackling with desperation. 

“God,” he hisses. “You have no idea what I’d do to you.”

“I have—some idea,” you mumble. 

“No, not like before,” he growls. “I was too drunk to do much of anything. What a waste. I’d never let you go if I had you now. I’d make you cum three times before I even thought about fucking you. My mouth, my hands, my thigh, anything.”

You imagine the scratch of his stubble on your inner thigh, or your own legs clamped around the thick muscle of his thigh, and nearly white out. You’re not in control, not of the way your hips cant desperately against your hand or the desperate moan his words pull from you, turning to stifle it into the pillow. 

“I want you inside me so bad,” you find yourself babbling, hot with embarrassment over the desperation in your voice. You sound close to tears. “Jesus—your hands, I’m always thinking about it. Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He makes a keening, desperate noise, like a starving animal going for food. “Show me.”

You barely hesitate, ripping your shorts and underwear all the way off, and it’s only a few more desperate strokes of your fingers until you feel them flood over, your whole body shuddering and legs twitching. Your chest heaves and you blink up at the ceiling, withdrawing your hand from between your legs. Very awkwardly, you manage balance your phone enough in your slung hand to take a photo, the flash illuminating the mess between your thighs, the gleam of your own spend on your fingers. Before you can let embarrassment get a hold of you prematurely, you send the picture to Aizawa.

The result in instantaneous. He pulls a breath through his teeth. “God—fuck, look at you. So messy. God, I’m—” A choked-off moan, the breathiest noise you’ve ever heard from him as he cums. You lie there, warm all over, your skin singing as you listen to him fall apart on the other side of the phone. The speakers tickle your skin as you scrub a hand down your face.

After, you listen to his harsh panting breath. Then there’s a pocket of silence, the sort neither of you know how to break.

Finally, you cave. “...Feel better?”

“Don’t,” he mumbles. “This was… highly inappropriate.”

“Agreed.”

“I shouldn’t have called.”

“Probably not.”

There’s a pause. “...Is it fine? That I did?”

A smile touches your mouth. “Yeah, it is.”

He huffs. You picture him rubbing at his eyes, drawing the skin inward to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “Well, then… yes. I do feel better.”

“Get off work early sometime,” you murmur. “I get so bored around here. Could use the company.”

You’re not sure why, but you think he’s smiling. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

taglist: @deltamel (+ask to join!!)

[hamliet]

Hazbin Hotel Has Better Theology Than Most Modern "Christian" Stories

As a Christian who was raised in a fundie cult and escaped to now have a far healthier and vital faith, I genuinely really like this show. The songs are bops. The characters are well crafted and interesting, and likable too. The art design is bizarre but appealing.

And, as a theology nerd who studied theology as part leaving said cult and also has since gotten papers published in theology, I'm actually fairly impressed by the show's handling of theology.

No, I'm not expecting the story to preach or even like, be explicitly Christian in a lot of ways. But it's taking a lot of the really beautiful aspects of Christian theology and re-contextualizing them in a way designed to provoke thought: by juxtaposing them with the antithesis of what you would think, by making demons heroes. In my opinion, this makes the beauty shine brighter.

Yeah, yeah, it's designed to be offensive and obscene in a lot of ways. Yet, it's never (thus far) mean-spirited. On the contrary, it seems to have a big, beating heart at its core that is perhaps best embodied by Charlie Morningstar, its protagonist and the daughter of Lucifer and Lilith.

Critique of the Church, with Caveats

The story works best with an interpretation that heaven isn't actually heaven or God (who has been conspicuously absent), but instead as a critique of the church. Specifically, the evangelical American church, and specifically, white evangelicals. (Same as She-Ra's premise, actually).

God's absence therefore makes sense, because while Christians do believe God is present as a living reality among us, we also can't like, see him physically now. So, God being not even mentioned in HH makes it seem more like a mortal reality rather than an immortal one. Honestly I kinda hope God doesn't appear in the story, not only because I think it could cross some lines (which is admittedly personal), but also because I don't see that the story really needs it.

Adam in particular reminds me of every "theobro" on Twitter (I'm not calling it what you want me to, El*n). Basically a dudebro coopting his supposed salvation to flex in an often misogynistic way, who doesn't realize that he has absolutely no love in him and therefore is actually a worse human being than everyone he condemns on the regular.

(Which is kind of why I'm expecting Adam to wake up in hell next season...)

Think red hats. And Mark Driscoll. And, I have a list of pastors. Sigh. They advocate for how "simple" Christianity is, except they themselves make it ridiculously complicated and don't even examine what they suppose is "simple" if it requires them to take the planks out of their own eyes. "Shallow" is a better description of what they actually preach.

But what sends people to hell or heaven anyways?

Eschatology and Atonement Theory

Hazbin Hotel combines a lot of theories, throwing not only the idea of a physical hell (albeit mixed with Dante's idea of what hell is the Inferno, but to be fair a lot of the church has adopted that idea too) but the idea of annihilation, which HH calls "extermination."

See, in Christianity, there's a lot of debate about hell. Like, since 2000 years ago. The reason is because a lot of Bible verses seem to indicate hell, but others indicate the eventual redemption and salvation of absolutely everything in the universe, so you have Christian universalism tracing itself back just as long. But, setting aside universalism, people who do believe in hell tend to fall into one of two camps:

Physical hell, aka suffering for eternity, or annihilation: the idea that souls that aren't saved end up annihilated, or snuffed from existence. HH combines both of them, wherein everyone lives in hell but then every so often heaven "exterminates" a certain number of sinners.

And then you also have Catholic purgatory, which is also adapted in HH in that... for most Christians, physical hell doesn't offer the ability to redeem yourself. Chance over, you're dead. But, Catholic Christianity, which draws on ideas of praying for the dead, has the idea that people can improve themselves or be prayed out of it and into heaven. This seems to be somewhat similar to the idea of Charlie's hotel, in that sinners can improve, redeem themselves, and rise to heaven.

And, I mean, it's already kinda worked. Sir Pentious acted out Jesus' words: Greater love has no man than this, that he lay down his life for his friends (John 15:13).

But anyways, the branch of theology that deals with the afterlife is eschatology. And Hazbin Hotel takes on a related form of theology as well, a type of theology I've only seen covered in stories once before (The House in Fata Morgana): atonement theory.

Atonement theory is something I remember well from my theology 101 class, as in I remember sitting with a friend and her turning to me and being like, "okay, so we know Jesus' death and resurrection give us eternal life, but we have no idea how or why?" To which the answer was "basically, yeah."

Most of the white, American evangelical church is very "penal substitutionary atonement," but the reality is that this theory has only been popular for the past few hundred years. It's also, imo, somewhat scripturally unsound. But there are a lot of other theories, and sometimes the theories overlap. Here's a fairly decent summary. (I'm in general a believer in Christus Victor.)

So how does atonement theory tie into Hazbin Hotel? Well, essentially the scene where Charlie and Vaggie are debating with Emily, Sera, Adam, Lute, and others in heaven is them going over various atonement theories and realizing that they actually know nothing at all. How does one get to heaven? How is one saved? They don't know.

Sera criticizing Emily for asking questions was also very relatable, and I feel for Sera. She's genuinely scared but the truth will set you free, Sera. John 8:32. Anyways, the point is like... the angels are an organized religion, an evangelical church, that preaches about simplicity but mistakes shallowness for simplicity and discourages depth and discovery.

Anyways, the whole crux of theological study and atonement theories is that they should promote humility. We don't know for certain on this side of the curtain. That's okay. So what do we have to guide us?

Love. After all, God is love (1 John 4:8).

Charlie is Jesus

"Why would you endanger your immortal life for these sinners?" 

Adam, the absolute worst, says the above to Charlie in the finale.

I mean... look. That's literally the premise of Christianity. That the immortal son of God comes down to earth, lives with sinners, loves us, and dies to save us. However that happens. Charlie even responds:

"They're my family!"

In other words, she loves them. Yeah, sure, they're destined for extermination, but they are going to be exterminated over her dead body.

In a lot of branches of Christianity, and even in some creeds--though I'm going to give into my pet peeves here and state that it is NOT Scriptural and relies on the faulty assumption that God is bound by time, when I think God exists outside of it--state that Jesus descended into hell after his death and took all the souls of people who were saved prior to his coming to earth to heaven. Again, I think that's small-minded at best. But, the idea that Charlie is working among them to bring them to heaven is pretty reminiscent of this idea. And I don't hate it lol.

Charlie sees worth inherent in everyone, and no matter what they've done, thinks there's a future for them. Honestly we need people like her on this earth.

Angel Dust

Angel Dust is clearly my favorite character. Bite back your shock, I know (I have a type). But his name is also a fascinating multi-layered pun.

Angel is clearly foreshadowing his endgame. Let's be real, we all know Angel is ending up as an angel. And "angeldust" is of course a name for PCP, and considering Angel's drug habits, yeah.

But, dust also has another meaning to it. See, when Adam was created in Genesis 2:7, the words in Hebrew are "apar min ha'adamah," which is translated literally as "dust of the ground." So the dust is what creates Adam, literally "ground."

In other words, I very much expect Angel Dust to end up being foiled with Adam even more so. Adam might be the first man, but Angel is the first sinner working towards redemption. And let's be real, for all Angel's flaws, he's already a better person than Adam. And if there's any hope for Adam (not that I particularly care if there is but) it'd be through realizing that he and Angel aren't actually different after all. Conversely (and not necessarily mutually exclusively), Angel might serve as a more symbolic "adam" in that he becomes the person all sinners look to for hope. Which, y'know, since "the last Adam" is also a Scriptural term for Jesus...

And so it is written, “The first man Adam became a living being.” The last Adam became a life-giving spirit. (1 Corinthians 15:45).

I fully expect Angel's arc, alongside Charlie's, to bring life and redemption for everyone around them. Maybe, maybe even the dramatic "all" of Colossians 1:20 (which means, literally, all, everything, everywhere, in the entire universe).

Closing Thoughts

But honestly, regardless of how the story ends--besides that it will presumably end happily because HH is at its core feel-good despite being profane--season one at least has got good theology. Why? Because it's digging into the questions that theology is concerned with. It's digging into the ideas of human nature, of what it means to be a good person, of what it means to redeem oneself, of affirming how precious each individual human soul is.

It doesn't offer cheap answers, and it specifically calls out the white American evangelical church for how it purports to be simple but actually just confuses people and punishes them for things they can't help, that creates more stumbling blocks than it does shine a light. And it does it in a way that is scandalous. Offensive to many religious people.

But, y'know, Jesus was pretty scandalous too.

So I really love the story so far because it emphasizes what I find so beautiful about my religion, and criticizes the parts that have also hurt me. I don't think it's remotely aiming to be a Christian allegory or anything like that, and I don't at all think anyone has to be religious to enjoy it or gain the core message of it, but I do think that it's doing a hell of a lot more good in the world message-wise than most evangelical movies of the past 30 years.

[trippingontheescalator]

Curious about the direction the HP fandom has gone

Okay, so as an old HP fan from way back when the books were first coming out, and then getting hit with the nostalgia and decided to return after years and years of not interacting with the fandom at all, the changes are truly mindboggling and I'd love to get to the bottom of some things.

Like, the disappearance of Blaise Zabini. Blaise was a fan favorite way back when we only knew his name but now I barely hear a whisper of his name. Now, the obvious answer is racism, which I think is the #1 reason why Blaise-pairings have dropped of significantly. Back then we all thought Blaise was a hot Italian girl, and then we found out he's a black man and suddenly people stop writing about him? Hm, yeah, seems the obvious answer (especially considering the popularity of other characters who are just a name on a page *cough*regulusblack*cough*).

Or the rise in Snape-hate. Like, Snape used to be the fan favorite. Everyone loved Snape. The meaner he was, the more we liked him. Being mean to children was a plus, not a negative lol. And this was back when we all thought he was a pureblood who came from a wealthy family like the Malfoys. Now by the time the 7th book came out I had pretty much moved on and so I didn't really see the fallout of readers discovering his actual background, so I don't know if his drop in popularity is classism and learning that he isn't a palette-swapped Lucius Malfoy or not, but honestly I would figure his impoverished background would be a plus in these times. Like Snape is obviously one of JKR's least favorite characters, and considering how she-who-must-not-be-named has destroyed her reputation with her increasing radicalization you'd figure the poor, abused, author-hating character would become more beloved instead of the rich, white, heteronormative bullies who barely even show up in the books. Like with our increasing knowledge of social injustice, I just don't understand why the fandom would want to latch onto the Marauders? And I just can't believe Snape's handful of snippets with Lily is the cause of his downfall (like what's there is barely enough to fill up a few pages, and there are certainly more toxic relationships in the series that are still beloved), or the fact that he was a Death Eater or that he inadvertently caused the deaths of the Potters (we already knew that in GoF and HPB respectively and he was still beloved, and this was when we assumed he didn't give a shit about the Potters or if they died when he went snitching). Draco is still popular. DRACO who doesn't give two shits about slinging around the word "mudblood," as opposed to Snape who actually changed for the better.

Am I just too old to understand? Is this like 90s fashion coming back in style (no, I won't do it again, I don't care if it's cringy I'm sticking with my millennial styles, I did the platforms and the slip dresses and the cargo pants in high school and I'm not putting myself through that again lol you gen z's can pry my comfortable mom jeans from my cold, dead fingers, I don't care if it makes me look old, that's the point, I AM old). Like, in addition to 90s fashion, has the 90s obsession with luxury athletic fashion like Lacoste come back in style? All those fashion ads of rich white people on yachts with popped collar polos? Are people starting to obsess over the Marauders because nouveau riche conspicuous consumption is coming back in style? It can't all just be young kids who have only read AtYD and have never actually opened one of the books, can it?

There also seems to be a trend of treating characters as if they're real people. I mean, we've always done it (Snape Wives, I'm looking at you), but now it almost feels as if the crimes characters commit are treated as if they're real crimes and that liking them is somehow a moral failing on the reader's fault. If you were to say "I don't like Snape, his douchy actions anger me, I'd rather skip all the parts he shows up in" I'd say, cool, I get that. That's normal. But "Snape is an abuser, a racist, and an incel and if you like him you're probably those things too" is fucking weird. Like, Harry and Hermione are not real children. Snape is not a real person. The things that happen in this book have as much influence on the real world as me imagining ninjas breaking into my workplace on a slow day. And that "media does not exist in a vacuum" pisses me off because it's blatantly misused. The pieces of media that have had serious consequences? Jaws, The Birth of a Nation. One resulted in the culling of sharks, the other helped restart the KKK. Do you know what those two pieces of media have in common? They're not about fucking wizards and magic schools. They instead paint a target on real groups. After twenty years nobody has ever tried to hurt a marginalized group of people because of a harry potter book (except for JKR herself).

Anyway, these are just some random thoughts, feel free to chime in with your own.

[diamondcitydarlin]

----LOTS OF SPOILERS FOR THE FILM BELOW BE AWARE---

The thing that's driving me kinda CRAZY about the sequel though is how perfectly it sets up a personal arc for Lydia to be intertwined with Beej's. Like I said in my reaction post after seeing the film last night, I feel like Lydia as a character doesn't really get much of an arc or a resolution by the end of the story, as most of the plot is focused on repairing her relationship with her daughter, with Delia, maybe even her ex-husband to a certain extent, and for as much as she's rid of someone actually preying on her (Rory) we have no reason to believe she's found inner peace or really discovered herself or isn't still constantly popping pills to help with the 'gift' of sight she still has to deal with. There's so much about her left unresolved that Tim is either going to have to make another film about or I will have to fanfic about. But again, what's also fascinating is the way the beats of Lydia's story become tangled up with Beej's by the end of this, and also the ambiguous suggestion that there might be some kind of red string of fate linking them together across life and death and centuries (my kingdom for Beej saying "I've crossed oceans of time to find you" in a deep sexy Dracula voice and Lydia being like "plz shut the fuck up" LMAO)

Like, the 'psychic connection'. The thing that makes Lydia able to see and interact with Beej in places other than the house/model in Winter River. At first I think we're led to believe these are genuine hallucinations she's having, but ofc that's debunked when Beej reveals he's aware of these sightings and has been participating in them on purpose. Does this suggest that their first marriage may have been binding in some way that didn't release him from death, but allowed him more range to manifest so long as he was attached to her? That's not really addressed or explained, but I feel like it opens the possibility of being a thing (as so many fanfics have had happen before, I LOVE it tbh)

Also, the parallel of them both having had predatory exes that tricked them into 'selling their souls' (one in a figurative sense, the other literally lmao). I'm honestly shocked more conclusions weren't drawn from that conspicuous parallel in the film itself, because it's VERY interesting. It seems almost to suggest they're both meant to safeguard each other's souls (which is why I'm still bitter we didn't get Lydia defending him from Delores, I think that would've been a nice follow up to Beej saving her from Rory, even if she was just doing it out of a sense of obligation).

And idk, on the whole I feel a lot of Lydia's personal struggle at this point in her life is defined by a need to feel 'normal'. I get how that can seem odd coming from the teen girl that confidently described herself as 'strange and unusual', but this is 30 years later, after several failed relationships, after becoming a mom and struggling with a strained relationship with her daughter because of her oddity, idk, I think it's a good case study on how society forces women to conform lest they be a bad daughter or a bad mom or a bad wife, etc, but I think it's obvious she's just fighting her 'strange and unusual' nature and the more she does that, the more difficult her life will be.

To me, that suggests her path to happiness has actually a lot to do with Beej, or very well could. Who else is going to understand her true nature the way he does? Who else is going to unashamedly encourage her to be balls to the wall weirdo like she REALLY is??? Who else can truly set her free that way??? Like I'm gnawing on wires here yall, if nothing else Tim gave us SO much fanfic material to work with on this one.

[fohatic]

(manip by me, original poster by art chantry)

welp there's a (short!) fic now 😏

for the "kink: condoms are fun!" square of my @cap-ironman stony bingo round 2 card, 1.5k, rated E:

Like so many 21st-century notions that most modern folks took for granted, getting Steve Rogers onboard with the idea of condoms for gay sex was yet another concept that required some getting used to. As ever, Tony was more than willing to help him adjust to it -- was particularly eager, in fact, to demonstrate it for him. 

So he took Steve’s hesitant objections in stride. Though he conceded that STDs weren't actually an issue between them, Tony still felt obligated to get Steve up-to-date on one of the primary functions of using protection. He didn’t blame the poor guy for assuming that “VD” was only something that men contracted from women, given how the sex-ed propaganda of Steve’s time pointedly ignored the existence of homosexuals at every turn (yes, Tony had become quite the WWII-era culture buff ever since he and Steve got together). “Rubbers,” ergo, were only used to prevent pregnancy and war effort-undermining cooties from ‘loose women,’ as far as Steve was concerned.

He hadn’t yet learned about the AIDS epidemic. He hadn’t learned anything at all, really, about homosexuality, aside from what little he’d gleaned from his limited exposure to different cultures and social norms during his stint as a soldier. Just getting him to come out of his internalized-homophobic shell even a little bit after Tony had finally figured out that the tension between them stemmed from a sex thing rather than the other kind of dick-versus-asshole thing was a huge challenge all on its own; one which Tony had only persevered through because he was already way too far-gone on the guy by then to consider giving up. 

But now— after way too much dithering and denial and a gradually-dawning acceptance of the earth-shattering truth of the matter— they were finally fucking each other. Enthusiastically, and often. Tony’s patience had won out big time, and his rewards just kept on coming. And coming. And coming.

Turns out, Steve has a refractory period that’s basically non-existent. One of the many benefits of being serum-enhanced. Truly, Tony has no complaints on that score, considering his own notoriously rabid sex drive. Match made in heaven, in all honesty. It would seem that Steve is intent on making up for lost time, and Tony is only too happy to oblige him at every opportunity—

—which is where the condom thing comes in. Tony doesn’t mind that they’re fucking like rabbits now. It’s great! Amazing! Best thing that’s ever happened to him, really! But honestly— it can get kinda messy, given how Steve seems determined to fuck on every conceivable surface he can think of -- and often during moments that might not be entirely convenient, such as in the immediate aftermath of a mission; be that during touchdown at SHIELD headquarters when he and Tony are still suited up, or even on the freshly-vacated Quinjet on a number of occasions... -- occasions which their teammates definitely weren’t as oblivious to as Steve had been quick to assume in his lust-clouded fever (Tony had seen Nat’s knowing look after Steve had asserted his captain’s voice to tell him, “Stark: hang back a moment. There’s something I need to discuss with you in private.”) He was so disastrously conspicuous sometimes, but Tony wasn't bothered by it. He just found it ridiculously charming. 

So Tony’s started carrying condoms around with him at all times now, knowing that Steve’s delightfully unhinged libido could strike at any moment. It's his privilege to always be ready for him. 

The first time Tony fished one of these out of his pocket and pressed it against Steve’s big, warm chest during a heated make-out session in the locker room, Steve frowned down at the little packet with the most adorably confused expression Tony had ever seen on a full-grown human. 

“...A rubber?”

“Uh huh,” Tony had breathed out, eagerly rolling his hips against the massive thigh still shoved between his legs. 

“What for?”

It was actually really funny, just how nonplussed his face looked in that moment. Tony bit back his reaction to laugh, though, knowing how sensitive Steve could be when he thought Tony was laughing at him. 

“For sex,” Tony grinned, deliberately pressing his hard-on against the larger man and feeling a little giddy with how much he wanted exactly that, pronto. “What else?”

“We’re both fellas, though,” Steve needlessly pointed out, getting that deep furrow between his brows as a particularly splotchy flush spread over his face -- Tony knew by now that these together were more of an indication of embarrassment than arousal. Uh oh. 

It was sometimes a bit of a tightrope walk, maintaining a modern homosexual relationship with a man as complicated as Steve Rogers. Tony was still learning how to navigate his changeable moods and specific triggers, but it was a task he was surprised to find himself more than willing to put up with. It was actually kind of thrilling, the way he was always keeping Tony on his toes.

So that first, clumsy attempt in the locker room hadn’t convinced Steve that condoms were a convenient means of mitigating the messier aspects of assfucking, which in retrospect was Tony’s bad: Steve wasn’t wrong when he'd pointed out that the showers were right there.

Then later that week, when Tony tried again by attempting to argue that condoms were actually “fun,” Steve had gotten a bit petulant when he'd mistakenly jumped to the very erroneous conclusion that Tony didn’t actually like getting pumped full of an unholy amount of hot supersoldier jizz on the regular. On the contrary, it was something he often enjoyed with a zeal that bordered on some kind of perversion… Only, there was a time and place for indulging in what basically amounted to a serious cum-inflation kink, which—in his modest opinion—was best enjoyed in the comfort of an actual bedroom. 

Later, ensconced in the privacy of said bedroom, he explained this to Steve. In so much detail. He made sure to be very clear about what he liked and when/where he liked it, ensuring that there would be no doubt as to how sincerely he meant it by encouraging Steve to properly fill him up right there on his oversized bed. Then—just because Steve seemed to really appreciate these sorts of practical demonstrations—Tony made it very clear what occurred afterwards, illustrating this by strutting naked around the bedroom and letting Steve’s jizz drip down between his legs while he continued to elaborate on the pros and cons of letting Steve put him in such a state while out in public. He definitely had Steve’s rapt attention, this time.

Still, he didn’t fully sell his argument until the following weekend, when they’d been out together at that gala all night in their well-tailored formalwear, making eyes at each other in between all the endless schmoozing and sipping from champagne flutes and munching on canapes. 

Steve found a little secluded balcony that wasn’t in use, because of course he did. Say what you will about him being a late bloomer; there was no denying that the guy had quite the aptitude for arranging semi-covert assignations at a moment’s notice. 

He wasn’t wearing his utility belt, though, which meant that he didn’t have his handy dandy lube tube that he’d taken to carrying around these days. So when Tony caught him trying to spit on his fingers after getting a hand down Tony's pants and squeezing Tony’s ass in a signal he’d come to recognize as Steve’s signature “I wanna fuck you right now” move, he intercepted him just in time to demonstrate the magic of 21st-century lubricated condoms.

Getting to bend Tony over the railing like that and have at him at the drop of his $3000 pants with no prep required—then coming profusely into Tony’s grateful ass without spilling a single drop of superspunk on either of their very nice garments—was something of an eye-opening experience for Steve Rogers. 

He could admit, afterwards— as they righted their clothing and kissed like they’d been waiting all night to get their mouths on each other in order to finally breathe properly— that Tony might’ve actually had a point about the “rubbers.” 

“They’re fun, aren’t they?” Tony smirked as he smoothed his hands down the fine weave of Steve’s black dinner jacket, continually enamored with the way that all that broadness narrowed down to such a grabbable little waist. “...Anytime, anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, looking at Tony with a fondness that couldn’t possibly have just been about the whole condom thing. Sometimes when Steve looked at him like that, it felt like his insides were melting; like Steve could reduce him to literal goo with just a look. Quite the superpower, that one. 

Steve’s eyes did that funny thing where they grew impossibly warmer as he reached to fix Tony’s hair with gentle fingers, telling him, “I think I’m coming around to the idea.”

♡

[deliciouskeys]

Cozy Corner Kinktober 2024 prompt #27: Temperature Play

Butchlander; Rated... G? But honestly has horror elements so probably not G. TW: I'm not going to say agere, but some kind of unhealthy mental state is portrayed.

This was originally supposed to be a joke fill of this prompt and ~500 words. Instead, it became >4k words and not funny at all, I'm sorry to report.

Just a quick (needless) note: This is set presumably some time after S4E5 where they get Stan Edgar out of prison for a hot minute, but in some sort of alternative timeline where all the turning points of S4E8 either haven't happened yet, or won't ever happen because of a canon divergence. Aaand that makes it sound more complicated than it needs to be. Carry on.

Butcher isn't sure if there's anything new he could learn about Homelander by going to the compound where he grew up, but it can't hurt to check. Stan Edgar tipped him off about the secret location, a nondescript office building with a largely empty ground floor and sham offices to act as a front in the windows, but underground there is a facility that goes six stories deep. It's close to the landmark Edison Labs in West Orange, NJ.  It's not a long drive from the city for Butcher to make. An afternoon trip-- he can be in and out. Stan assured him there was only one security guard on every floor and Butcher has a bulletproof vest and several guns hidden in his coat, so he's prepared to breach the facility, maybe grill the scientists he finds in there, although he has doubts he’s find many who worked there in the era he’s interested in. But right now the parking lot is completely empty. Odd, because Stan said the facility was still in pretty heavy use, though nothing like the heyday of the seventies and eighties.

It's too risky to park in the lot and be that conspicuous sole car, so Butcher leaves his car far away and walks. Something feels off. There doesn't seem to be a single person anywhere on site, although maybe he's doing something very stupid by just walking up to the facility's door in broad daylight. Maybe he's about to be snipered off of some other building or even the roof of this one.

There's no one anywhere that he can see. He tries the door and it opens, against his expectations. There's a security desk behind what looks bulletproof glass, but it's smashed or melted on one side and there's no one there. There’s caution tape in a lazy X across the elevator which Butcher doesn't even tear away before pressing the only button, the one with the down arrow, because he has no expectation that it will do anything. But the elevator dings and its doors open. And against his better judgement, Butcher pulls the tape off the wall edges and enters and goes straight for the lowest floor. B6.

His instinct says something is seriously wrong. Stan described a very different scene to him. This building looks abandoned and as if something violent happened. When the door opens to the B6 level a strong smell of bleach hits Butcher hard. The place looks empty, but there's still scientific equipment. Butcher can't tell whether it's modern or not, but something about the scene looks like people have been here recently. He steps out cautiously, half expecting a gun to cock and press into the back of his head, but there's no one around. Where's security? He saw a camera on the way in, and it wasn't obvious if it was on or not. There aren't even any cameras visible on this level.

Butcher's not one for getting scared, but there's something decidedly creepy about the place and how empty and silent it is, aside from the hum of some machines that are apparently still on, and the air being circulated through the ducts. Yet more evidence this building is in use, at least occasionally. It looks hastily abandoned, but there's no way it's been abandoned for years. He approaches the wall where there's a framed picture hanging up. Three scientists in lab coats, maybe four, if the woman with the big 80s hair is also one, although she looks like someone from corporate. But what Butcher's eye is drawn to is the child in the middle, dressed in a white nightgown. He stares at the face, at first not even certain whether it's a boy or a girl, but slowly coming to recognize the features that would later morph into the face of the man he's been so obsessed with over the years. It's completely uncanny. It was one thing to hear Vogelbaum wax sentimental about Homelander as a five year old, but it's quite another to actually see a picture before puberty really hit. His expression looks pouty, sullen. He's certainly more than five years old here, which means they had already "gone to work on him" for a few years, whatever Vogelbaum meant by that ominous sounding phrase.

Butcher takes a picture on his phone and looks around for more. He's got his curiosity to find more on the one hand, but he's also quite sick to his stomach. This all feels wrong. The place is hideously depressing, and Butcher's mind is starting to play tricks on him, thinking he hears someone or something lurking, maybe on some floor above. He wishes he'd brought someone else along. He can't believe he's chickening out but he doesn't think he can take any more of this. There's a heavy red metal door that's ajar, almost inviting him to look inside, but Butcher has never had such a strong premonition to leave without investigating any further. He heads toward the elevator, is about to press the button to go up when the elevator suddenly starts ascending, making a ding noise as it passes each floor.

Maybe it's just programmed to return to the ground floor, Butcher tells himself, but there's cold sweat running down his back. He presses the button anyway, sees the elevator reach the ground floor, pause, and then head back down again. It feels like it takes forever. Butcher cannot wait to get back up, leave this claustrophobic stuffy underground hellhole behind, go back to his car and never ever come back here again.

The metal elevator doors open and Butcher steps back when he sees none other than Homelander standing in the elevator.

"Long time no see, William. I'm so flattered you decided to investigate where I grew up!" Homelander walks out, effectively blocking Butcher's path to get inside, so Butcher stands still. 

As scared as he should be to see Homelander catch him in the act of snooping around this lab, he's almost relieved to not be alone in here. He'd prefer to be on the highway, hauling ass back to the city, of course, but this is how it's playing out.

Homelander raises his eyebrows dramatically. "Or at least that's what I assume you were doing. Hm?"

Butcher shrugs. "More or less."

"If you're wondering how I knew you were here, Vought Analytics kindly tipped me off when they caught you on camera. Pretty ballsy, just walking right in." Homelander grins, then takes a look around. "Wow, they really cleaned this place up since I last visited. Although the bleach fumes don't seem to air out very well from this level."

Butcher has no idea what to answer, or where this conversation is meant to be going.

"You want a tour? Or… what, a dramatic reenactment of my childhood, or…?"

Butcher stands still, mulling over whether there's any chance he leaves here alive, and whether what he says has any bearing on that.

Homelander takes it upon himself to start narrating some kind of demented walk-through without waiting for an answer. "Well, here…" He spreads his arms and gestures around. "Is where I spent all my conscious childhood years until they finally started letting me out at sixteen."

"You lived here?" Butcher asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Oh yes, all my time. In here. I don't remember seeing the sun or open skies until I was probably ten years old, and very rarely. I had books about the outdoors, I dreamed about it. But I never saw it." Homelander's smile falters, then reanimates itself. "So yes, not only did I spend most of my life on this floor, I actually spent quite a bit of the time just locked away in here…"

He gestures toward the ominous red door. Butcher follows him inside even though he takes one longing look at the elevator, knowing there's no way Homelander would let his captive audience just walk out.

The room seems blindingly bright compared to the rest of the floor, white walls everywhere, reflecting the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. It feels cold and clinical, and Butcher has a suspicion that the white paint is a thin layer over reinforced metal. It's completely empty.

"Yes, this room is where I slept, ate my meals, did my studies, took my shits. And if they felt like it, where I was just abandoned for days when they working on something else and couldn't be bothered with me." Homelander stops roving the room with his eyes and fixes them on Butcher, standing akimbo. "Well? What do you think?"

Butcher wonders if Homelander actually expects an answer. It seems like he's really waiting. "Mate… I think the whole thing is fucked up beyond belief. That's what I think."

Homelander smiles, and the smile almost looks genuinely friendly. "That's what I say! But as a child, I didn't know anything else, you know? They told me I was special and this is what they needed to do, and that this was an acceptable way for me to live, and who was I to argue with them? They didn't like it when I complained about anything. It was frowned upon. Moving on…" 

Butcher is all too happy to obey Homelander's beckoning gesture and follow him out of the claustrophobic little room. Butcher was never a believer in vibes, but the whole place makes him uneasy.

"Here's the table where the scientists who worked on this floor took lunch. They used to talk and joke and laugh, and I think listening to that banter was probably how I learned to sound like I was raised in a normal family. I could watch them out of the window in the door if they didn't cover it up with metal because they wanted privacy. I never got any privacy. There were four cameras in that tiny room, one in each ceiling corner, and my whole life was recorded. I wonder if they kept all those tapes. Must be the most boring footage in the world, so they probably recycled them unless I did something interesting. I should say that every birthday they did allow me to sit with them at the table and have my piece of cake and they'd all pretend we were friends and that we were celebrating my birthday and not their own milestone that they were congratulating themselves for. Back then they might have even been celebrating my real birthday, before the corporate one they came up with in committee that fit the television schedule well. Not that I remember what my real birthdate was. They didn't really emphasize dates or give me access to calendars or anything… I never had a good grasp on how much time was passing…."

Homelander really sounds like he's talking to himself at this point, processing something, face twitching as his efforts to smile keep drooping into a more sinister expression with bared teeth. He trails off and sighs at some point. "I'm sorry, where were we?"

Butcher just stares at him.

"Sorry, am I boring you?" Homelander asks, and his face is cold and collected again.

"Not at all, unfortunately," Butcher answers. "I don't know what the fuck they were doing to you, but it's sick. A company can't own a child."

"Oh it's completely illegal," Homelander says, laughing, and his face is friendlier again, an amiable smile playing on his lips. "But you don't make trillions of dollars without breaking a few people, am I right?"

"Why are you still working for Vought?" Butcher asks, suddenly feeling angry. It feels like anger on Homelander's behalf, which is a new emotion for Butcher and he's not sure he likes it.

"I'm not working for them," Homelander says. "I took over the entire thing. They're working for me."

"Keep telling yourself that. How do you know they're not raising another little supe like you, somewhere out in some other secret facility. Maybe tens of them. Maybe torturing them until only the strongest survives?"

"I- I'd know about that, as a board member."

Butcher hears the falter in his voice.

"Anyway. Sometimes Barb- the head of the lab would let me walk around the lab and sit at this table when the rest of them weren't having lunch and working. She used to give me pen and paper to draw and write, but… I guess eventually they didn't let me anymore when I kept drawing things they didn't like… One of the lab members, Joe, I think was his name, Joe Nesbitt, yes. I should remember them all, but it's not like they wore nametags and didn't always introduce themselves depending on how closely they worked with me. But Joe had this dog he'd bring in. I thought it was the most adorable thing I had ever seen. You have to remember, I didn't ever get to see other children or pets or anything except these labworkers and janitors. Everything else was just from books. Well Joe was bringing his dog in, even though I don't think Vogelbaum or Barbara approved at all. He'd let me play with the dog, which was… pretty remarkable if you think about how little they trusted me to control my powers back then. I wasn't supposed to touch the dog of course. But if I sat on my heels in the middle of the floor, the dog would usually come and want to play, and pounce on me, and even lick me. And I wanted to pet it so bad, but I just kept my hands behind my back to remind myself not to ever touch it. I played fetch with it, even though they weren't happy that I was making the dog run around the room. Eventually they told Joe to stop bringing the dog, that it was inappropriate and distracting to everyone. He was an actually kind guy. I remember they were discussing it, maybe thinking I couldn't hear behind the door of the Bad Room, but the Bad Room only blocked my vision, not my hearing. He said he wasn't bringing the dog in for himself, that he was bringing it in for me. That he thought I desperately needed a pet to take care of, to develop my personality properly. I remember when I listened, my breath hitching, wishing so hard they'd let me have a pet. But they said no, that it was an unnecessary distraction for me too. But he was right of course. A pet would have been so good for me. I should have told them I wanted a pet. I should have insisted. But instead I thought I shouldn't ask for something if they didn't want me to have it."

It's a bit bewildering to hear so much sadness pour out of this cruel, deplorable shitstain of a supe, but it's so hard not to feel something for him. Being here is creepy, and it's bringing out strange memories in this guy.

"I don't know what happened to Joe. I think he ended up getting sick. Died of cancer or something, even before I was twelve. Wouldn't be surprised if working here wasn't good for a mudperson's health, and yet so many people seemed to work here forever and carry on with their pointless little lives just fine."

"Maybe we should go upstairs…" Butcher says, cautious about saying anything that will make Homelander snap out of whatever mood this is, and maybe snap completely.

Homelander smiles. "No, we can't leave before we see the oven."

Butcher has had the sinking feeling all along that this is all one prolonged monologue before Homelander executes him, and now he knows the method by which he will die. Well, it was a good run, he guesses. He eyes the elevator, but there's just no way. Maybe getting lasered in the back is going to be less painful than whatever Homelander has planned for him, but he just can't force himself to make a break for it, his legs feeling strangely leaden. Maybe he's become hypnotized by the story, being able to imagine it all the more vividly now that he's seen the childhood photograph on the wall.

"This is where they burned me, to build up my resistance to heat damage. Probably weekly if not more often. I don't know why they had a window. I guess to watch the progress inside? Not sure they would have seen anything happening other than me crying my little eyes out. All the window allowed me to do was watch how people were just going about their work, except for the couple who were directly involved in baking me in the oven. No one gave a shit that I was suffering."

Butcher raises his eyebrows when Homelander leans down and starts taking off his boots. By the time he's taken off his cape and starts opening the magnetized flap of his top half, Butcher can't help himself any longer. "What the hell are you doing right now?"

Homelander turns toward him sharply. "I want to show you. I want to show you exactly what they used to do to me. It won't hurt me now that I'm an adult. It hurt back then, but it won't hurt now. They got rid of my sensitivities that way."

Butcher can barely follow what he's saying. "Are you … going into the oven?"

Homelander nods nonchalantly. 

"You completely off your rocker? There's no way it's still operational anyway. What the fuck's the point?"

"Oh it's operational," Homelander says. "I saw it in action a few weeks ago."

Butcher is so confused he finds himself literally scratching his head, trying to make sense of what's happening. It feels like that fairytale where someone has to trick the witch into looking into the oven to push her in, except this witch is hopping into the oven himself, fully aware of what he's doing. Or maybe not fully aware, since he seems to be in some weird giddy nostalgic fucked up spiral.

Homelander is already naked by the time Butcher shakes those thoughts away.

"Why the hell do they still have this oven? Doesn't that mean they're still doing this to other kids?" Butcher asks.

Homelander shrugs. "Maybe they use it to bake glassware now. You know, to sterilize it? I have no idea. They were using the Bad Room to store all their old broken and outdated equipment, so who knows. It's empty now though. They cleaned it out pretty thoroughly…" 

Butcher doesn't like the smile on Homelander's face. It looks crazed. And it's not surprising, since he's determined to do something absolutely nonsensical. Butcher really needs to leave this building. There's some terrible energy or feng shui or juju or whatever people call it in here. Butcher felt better energy in the Tower of London as a child.

Homelander walks in through the oven's door.

"Why do you have to be naked for this?" Butcher asks.

"Because this thing gets over 1000 degrees inside. There's literal gas flames that come through the panels. My suit's built against the elements but I don't know if it'll hold up to that."

Butcher just can't help himself anymore. "And why the fuck do you feel the need to get in there, again?" What is he saying? Why is he offended by the idea of Homelander doing something so stupidly reckless. He probably knows he won't be hurt. And what if he is? Since when has Butcher ever worried about a supe hurting himself by doing something moronic? But something about spending his time down here, listening to Homelander's disturbing stream of conscience, makes Butcher feel like he's the designated driver, like he's strangely responsible for whatever happens next.

"I just want to show you." Homelander motions him over. "Shut the door and turn on that button on the side. The numbers above the knob tell you the temperature it's set to reach."

Butcher shuts the door, staring at Homelander's face through the thick transparent window, made of who knows what material. 

"Well? Go on." Homelander's voice sounds very faint and muffled from inside.

Butcher stares at the panel. "1200C" is what the knob is set to. What the hell is he doing? And why is he hesitating? He hits the button, surprised at the immediate swell of guilt he feels. He hears the door automatically bolt locked, and watches as the back wall splits like some heavy duty metal Venetian blinds, revealing a wall of flames right behind them.

Homelander's expression is manic. "Doesn't hurt like it used to," he announces, loud even through the thick glass, and yet when Butcher approaches the door to watch what's going on inside, Homelander is hugging himself and cowering and wincing a little bit, scrunching his eyes shut. Doesn't look painless.

Butcher glances back at the elevator. Well, here's his fucking chance. Even if Homelander is capable of breaking the door open, Butcher might have time to take the elevator and bound across the lot and be long gone before he manages to do that.

He starts backing up, still watching Homelander inside, flames all around him. Butcher doesn't believe in Heaven or Hell, but it certainly looks like Homelander is in one of those two places. Butcher's so close, so close to just turning around, walking towards the elevator, and getting the hell out of there. But Homelander looks up at  him and his eyes widen when he sees how far Butcher has distanced himself. It looks like it finally dawns on him that he gave Butcher the perfect escape while trying to relive his demented childhood traumas.

Butcher can't do it. In spite of every rational thought telling him not to walk back, he walks back to the panel and shuts the oven off. The door remains locked, probably a safety precaution since the inside temperature is still scorchingly hot. Homelander stands near the window, eyes big and round, and it's fucking uncanny but Butcher can't unsee the child version of his face etched into his current features.

Maybe he should leave now. At least he's turned the oven off, right? That has to be enough. "Is the door gonna unlock on its own?" Butcher verifies, hoping the answer is yes and that he can leave with a clear conscience.

"You have to override the safety from the outside. It won't open from the inside after being powered up." Homelander says, and Butcher can't tell if he sounds sheepish because of how quiet and muffled he is behind the glass, or because he's embarrassed about trusting that Butcher will stay and do all the honors.

But Butcher does stay and do the honors, mad as it all is. The door unlocks and opens, a rush of extremely hot air blowing into the rest of the room, fortunately far enough away from  where Butcher is standing that he only feels the air gust and not so much the temperature. Homelander traipses out of the oven, arms still wrapped around his torso.

"Looks like it still hurts from where I'm standin'," Butcher says. Homelander is looking at the ground and says nothing before picking up his suit and trying to put it back on, hissing quietly when anything touches his skin.

"You're an idiot." Butcher can't help himself. He's in complete disbelief. "Why on earth did you think that was a good idea?"

"It hurt more as a child," Homelander declares, as if that answers the question. But he seems to be regaining his composure. No harm no foul with these supes, even if you stick them in an inferno. "I just needed to convince myself that it wasn't as bad as I remember it."

"I'm sure it was as bad," Butcher says. He still doesn't know what happens next. As much as he's calling Homelander an idiot in his thoughts, he might be the bigger idiot for staying down here and saving him from himself. Now he might pay the ultimate price.

"I think that's all I have to say about this place…" Homelander says. "Funny. I killed a lot of the people who could verify that all the stuff I'm saying they did to me is true. Now maybe no one will ever know. And I'm fine with that. You don't have to remember anything I told you here. It's dead and buried in the past and has nothing to do with the present."

"I think it has something to do with the present…" Butcher can't help but counter.

"Doesn't matter. I'm thinking about the future, About Ryan and all that. And how I'll make sure he never goes through anything like I did." Homelander's face twists into anger again. "Did I even need to go through all that? It still hurts. It still fucking hurts. Maybe they didn't inure me to anything. Maybe they just told me they did and I believed them. Maybe it was all one big waste of time that could have been avoided."

"Wouldn't be surprised," Butcher says.

Homelander sniffs something like a laugh without any mirth, walks towards the elevator and presses the button to go upstairs. Butcher hesitates to follow, not quite believing that his ordeal is over.

"Well?" Homelander sound impatient after he walks in and holds the elevator by sticking out his arm, waiting for Butcher to make his way in. "Or were you planning on trying to find secret documents or something?"

"Nope," Butcher mumbles. Maybe he should, but he's not about to stay down there any longer than he has to.

"They took all the important documents once they cleared the place out. They had to do a bunch of cleanup anyway after my visit. Think they took everything important and stashed it away from busybodies like you."

"Left that picture on the wall," Butcher says, not sure why he's engaging in this conversation, but it's surreal to stand with Homelander in an elevator and openly discuss his efforts to get intel on him. "Maybe you should have taken it with you."

"Oh that thing, with Barbara and the rest?" Homelander makes a sour face. "Should have thrown it out. That's a chapter of my life I don't ever want to think about again."

Butcher doesn't know who Barbara is but guesses she must be the woman in the picture. He, for one, is glad he has a copy on his phone. Something about it is haunting but very very evocative, like he sees the man in front of him in a new light, and he didn't think that was possible after all the research and study he's already done on him over the years, and how crystallized his hatred has become.

Butcher is tempted to get down and kiss the ground when they finally walk out of the building, grateful he's no longer six floors down below.

"Don't come snooping around Vought properties," Homelander tells him His tone sounds official, like the voice he uses to give PSAs on TV. Not at all like the broken, slightly stuttering voice that was recounting his childhood down in B6.

Butcher flinches away when Homelander takes off without any warning, pushing off the asphalt and launching himself into the sky with a completely unnecessary sonic boom. He watches him fly towards Manhattan and slowly makes his way to where he left his car, checking his phone to make sure he did save the photo from the lab wall.

For safekeeping. Nothing stranger than that.

AO3 link

[gonewildar]

So now we full on entered the phase of people throwing shade on George's character using the 'behind-the-scenes' shtick.

Limiting the scope of the issue to F1, somehow this two-faced guy is conspicuously adored by both teams he's been part of so far in F1. Which, a wild guess, those people spent CONSIDERABLY more time with George than all of those who make judgemental comments about him. And then the journalists I've seen interacting with George - practically always it's all smiles and good vibes. Something that could've been said about Max as well, before his trigger-happy anger didn't intervene.

I'm also thinking how he acted normally with George hours before the race, then told him off right before the start (the Sky journalists even asked Horner if they think it could've got into George's head) and then publicly smeared him in dirt the first chance he got. Honestly, the more I consider the situation, the more ridiculous and unfair Max's actions seem.

[tobiasdrake]

As a Sonic fan since as far back as i can remember, i don't care for the Sonic Movies. I didn't mind at first but learning that Paramount is Pro-Israel made me rethink a lot of Sonic's character in those movies. Sonic is one of my favorite characters in the franchise (along with Amy) so i can be particular about how Sonic is portrayed (i don't like IDW Sonic). I don't mind different takes but if you don't get him right where it counts i'm gonna complain. I also don't like Knuckles at all in the movies and Tails feels unbelievably tacked on.

I can understand that. I do like... well, Sonic 2, specifically. I think that one has more good than bad, though I'm less fond of Sonic 1 and the Knux show. But I do have my beefs with all of them.

Like. I love Jim Carrey's Eggman, but he's also definitely more Jim Carrey than Eggman. He's very entertaining, somehow managing to be even more of a cartoon character than the CGI anthro protagonists.

Knux is... complicated? Like. I think there's a lot of pushback in the Sonic environment right now against the idea of Knuckles as a dim-witted brute, because that was a popular portrayal for a while. Sonic Boom comes immediately to mind.

Sonic Movie Knux was hailed as a brilliant portrayal because they didn't play him as stupid, but instead focused on him as a proud warrior clan type. But also... they kinda did play him as stupid? It's just that they were making "Knux doesn't get it because of culture shock" jokes instead of "Knux is just stupid" jokes. Which is really just a different angle on the same thing.

I think Idris Elba's performance carried a lot of his reception. Also that a lot of his stupid moments are funny. But. Like. The complaint was never that he wasn't funny. Boom Knuckles is funny too. It still sucks to see him reduced to a comical goon.

Contrast his portrayal in Frontiers. Frontiers Knuckles actually gets to express his knowledge and expertise. He talks at length about Angel Island history and architecture, comparing them to the current environment; Things that would reasonably be within his field of expertise.

And then there's Tom....

...

...

...existing, honestly? I don't like Tom. He's here because Paramount has no faith in the Sonic IP to carry a film and thinks the audience really wants to see a relatable self-insert in order to be invested in the film.

You're not really supposed to be rooting for Sonic as "the protagonist". You're supposed to be rooting for Sonic as "my kid". The films are made from the P.O.V. of cheering from the stands while your ten-year-old hits a home run in his Little League game. You're meant to be proud of Sonic, not to relate to Sonic.

Which kinda sucks by itself but also the guy they think is a relatable self-insert to project onto? Is a smug white rural cop who yearns to be a Big City Police Officer and has conspicuously unexplored drama with his wife's sister.

Like, Rachel violently despises him for reasons that the films refuse to examine, because they just want to use her to make Sassy Black Woman jokes. And haven't really thought through how it looks when Maddie is married to a fucking cop that her sister ambiguously but firmly insists is the scum of the earth. The implications there went straight over the filmmakers' heads.

It's all just... There's a lot. They made bad decisions with Sonic 1 but managed to find enough success at the box office to justify sequels, and now those bad decisions are baked in. Paramount thinks that's what people want to see. They think people want a Knuckles series that's about another white cop with an alleged heart of gold battling the feds and confronting his personal family drama, guest-starring Knuckles the Echidna.

I like the movies enough to check them out. The second one was a fine enough "Turn your brain off and just look at the lights and sounds" film. I actually had a blast with the "Maddie and Rachel beat the shit out of a bunch of cops" scene that everyone hates. The fights between Sonic and Knux were a lot of fun. Carreyman and Stone steal every scene they're in.

But it is all very not-Sonic.

[sapphorror]

Short Moderate Length List of Small(ish) Things I Appreciate About The Wettening

Dib being conspicuously absent from the opening pan of the classroom, only to cartoon-teleport into existence at Zim’s desk the second Zim starts expressing mild apprehension at the sight of unfamiliar weather. This kid spends his time just hanging around staring at Zim, waiting for him to show the slightest sign of discomfort, confusion, or unease in order to immediately taunt him about it—and the surrounding chaos, if anything, is just an opportunity to come watch even more closely. We all already knew this, but it still kills me to see it in action.

Also, he’s animated popping up from below, and like… were we meant to interpret this as him just chilling underneath Zim’s desk? No, absolutely not—but is it funny (and, to add to the hilarity, miraculously somehow not completely unbelievable within the context of the show) to imagine that he was? Yes. Yes it is.

Zim confidently walking out into a downpour he has already confirmed to be acidic just because Dib implicitly dared him to—no one’s looking, Dib hasn’t even said anything or made a claim against his humanity, Zim just can’t stand to give Dib the satisfaction of seeing him vulnerable or afraid of something (which backfires pretty spectacularly, since I’m pretty sure ‘writhing on the ground shrieking in indescribable agony’ is a significantly worse look in terms of appearing vulnerable, but all’s well that ends in Victory For Zim, I guess).

Also Zim's little baffled gesture right beforehand like he's silently asking Dib to confirm he's not hallucinating the rain dance (he does not receive an answer)

Gaz presumably seeing Zim sneaking up behind her brother, saying nothing and making no reaction that’ll tip Dib off… only to immediately be made to regret her choices when she gets caught in another splash. Shows her for trusting Zim to be at least a little bit cool about tormenting Dib (honestly, we see her exact fitting justice on Dib at the end of the episode, but I cannot imagine she wasn't still planning to do something equally petty to Zim).

The faucet drip scene and the underlying awareness that this is just what Zim and Dib do to each other during class. Every day. It is, in fact, probably one of the least disruptive forms their constant warfare takes on a routine basis. Suddenly I understand a little bit of why their entire class hates them.

Also Dib’s happy face while he's terrorizing Zim into a shell-shocked stupor is absurdly cute and heartwarming. If I cropped that picture no one would ever guess what he's smiling about. This kid? A sadist? Impossible.

“I don’t even feel good about winning this one,” and it's said with his hands clasped together, practically vibrating with glee, his expression vaguely reminiscent of a teenager in the throes of hormonal infatuation (the hypothetical object in this case not so much being Zim himself as a personified abstraction of Zim’s suffering). If someone hit him with the Return of Keef happy goo in this exact moment, I am completely certain it would kill him. His statement is only true insofar that a more accurate term for his current state of being would probably be euphoric.  I take back everything I’ve ever said about Zim being unreasonable in this episode—he was merciful.

Also this face the moment Zim gets up and starts threatening him. Zim still isn't even all that intimidating at the moment, but Dib knows he just fucked up. Maybe he's getting flashbacks to Dark Harvest.

Dib’s ridiculous water balloon device. Seriously. I feel like it gets (reasonably) overshadowed by the sheer absurdity of Zim’s entire operation, but it really is so amazingly stupid and pointless in a way that is… not dissimilar to the ultimate Irken water balloon. Not only is it really not necessary for the task it's meant to accomplish, it's actively detrimental in that it slows Dib down, blatantly telegraphs his attacks, and reduces accuracy by a significant degree. The only actual benefits I can think of would be the exponential increase in force and range and the instant accessibility of a water supply—the former of which is totally unnecessary in this scenario and the latter being possible to accomplish with a much simpler device (or even just… a water tank). To summarize, it is an incredibly impressive feat of both skill and creativity in design that is also completely and utterly useless! Which is just the perfect demonstration of what I mean when I say Dib really does share nearly all of Zim’s flaws, just to a less obviously ridiculous degree—he comes off just calm and clever enough to pass as moderately reasonable  at a glance, and in some ways, that makes him more of a potential flight risk than Zim. At least that's a lunatic you see coming. 

Irkens are collapsible, apparently

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey! Could I request headcanons of blue beetle dating someone who's a fan of blue beetle but doesn't know it's Jaime?

Thank you! c:

I honestly didn’t know where to take this, so if this seems crap then that’s the case. 🦦🪲

Would ironically use the words ‘he’s a lot closer then you think.’ Whenever you rant talk about wanting to meet Blue Beetle much to your chagrin as you thought that this was just Jaime taking the piss. (Affectionately)

However this would be his attempt at subtlety in regards to disclosing his identity, however this would only happen when Jaime feels as though everything in his heroic life has calmed down enough for him to tell you of his secondary life without having imminent fear of the dangers he could possibly be unknowingly throwing you headfirst into without realising it.

Yet even if everything seemed safe, Jaime is still reluctant in letting you know, he just wants to keep you safe and sound and let him deal with the ass kicking; After all it came with the territory of being a protector in prioritising the well-being of others to the detriment of your own.

Jaime would use this to his advantage by keeping an eye on you when he knows you have to go somewhere on your lonesome. It’s not stalking, defiantly not, how could it when all he wants is to make sure your making it from point A to point B as safe as you could be on your journey there.

No street anywhere is safe at night so Jaime acts as your silent guardian…well as silent as one can if he wasn’t having a back and forth with Khaji-Da on whether or not what he was doing is considered stalking.

Khaji-Da: so you’re stalking them?

Jaime: no I *sight* I’m just making sure they’re okay, that’s they’re safe form a distance. It’s not creepy at all! Is it wrong to make sure that my partner is okay at night?!

Khaji-Da: …given what you’ve told me, have you ever considered the possibility that you might be the primary source of their unrest?

Jaime: …

Khaji-Da: they’re walking down the street and all of a sudden they’re getting a gut feeling that they’re being observed, they look over their should and to their horror, they catch sight of a silhouetted figure of disproportionate proportions watching them from afar; your partner is naturally going to fear us more then anything that’s potentially lurking in the alleyways Jaime Reyes.

Jaime: …you know I hate it when you make a good points-

He’s probably saved you as Blue Beetle once or twice and each time Jaime had to fight the need to hold you in his arms as tightly as he possibly could, in hopes it would ease the worry that continued to batter him on the inside even long after he got you to safety. Which fucking sucked but while Blue Beetle the superhero might not be able to hold you without raising a few brows, but Jaime Reyes, your beloved partner, certainly could.

So you often found it conspicuous that the very second Blue Beetle vanished, Jaime would appear not long afterwards but all of that was thrown away when you were then brought into his warm embrace as he whispered soft words into your ears as he walks you to his, where you’d both would later fall asleep from exhaustion.

You’d figure it out sooner or later because Jaime would probably have gotten so use to Khaji-Da that often times the thought scarab in his back would accidentally slip his mind, leaving you to find out by accident when seeing him change shirts or whether he comes out and tell you about it himself, before then proceeding to show you the scarab in his back as certain points of your relationship started to make sense now you had context as to why that was.

Either way Jaime would get to a point where he didn’t want to keep it as a secret from you anymore as it never feels right to him in keeping you in the dark.

So after you are made aware of his identity, Jaime would then just straight up teases you for essentially falling for him all over again but would make up for it by taking you somewhere and showing off his capabilities to the point khaji-Da would probably think this was some weird human courting ritual they aren’t aware of.

Anyway Jaime has always found his inner strength from the people he loves and since that you were one of those people who gave him that strength alongside his family, he felt even more invincible.

[verdantmeadows]

Settling the (Non-existent) Debate—Gary Prince is Taller Than Marshall Lee!

In the new Adventure Time Series, Fionna and Cake, we are introduced to many new characters that come from the original Fionna and Cake series within Adventure Time. With that, we are introduced to both Gary Prince, the human version of Prince Gumball, and Marshall Lee, who shares his name pretty much exactly with Marshall Lee the Vampire King.

However, with them, they brought a new debate.

Who's taller?

At first, most viewers assumed it to be Gary.

After all, you can see him here in episode 6, clearly above Marshall Lee in height. But wait! You might say. Marshall Lee is doing that weird little stance! It's making him shorter! Maybe he's slouching in all the times we see him close to Gary!

Perhaps you could argue that. However, we can even see Gary slouch right here.

And he's still above Marshall Lee's height! Maybe Marshall Lee's legs are giving him a LOT of height.

Although I somehow doubt that, if he is slouching here, which he was slightly before straightening his back, it's hard to imagine he'd manage to make up for the height difference between them by standing up even straighter.

Regardless, let's move onto their next episode, episode 7.

This episode makes things...confusing, as well. Marshall Lee is visibly slouching here, which seems to be putting him at the same height as Gary.

Standing up pretty straight here, they both seem to again be at the same height. But! Something important to notice. Gary's legs seem to be significantly longer than Marshall Lee's! They don't stop until much higher on his body.

Now, onto episode 9.

What...what is happening here? Marshall Lee is clearly taller than Gary in this.

Marshall Lee seems taller again here, but Gary is slouching a little...

From this positioning, Gary seems to be taller...again...

But then, towards the end of the episode, we get this!!! This shot of them gives us a LOT to go off of! Both of them are sitting at about the same position on the bed, but Gary's legs are hanging off a significant amount more. Even though Marshall Lee is shown slouching, Gary is a bit too, and, if he slouched more, he would almost definitely still be taller. This also makes it more obvious that his proportions are, overall, generally longer than Marshall Lee's. And, considering that Marshall Lee isn't wearing shoes, but Gary is, and they were out on their date earlier...we can infer that Marshall Lee being closer to Gary's height came from his shoes!

So! Who is taller?

Well, in all honestly, despite episode 6, I initially thought Marshall Lee was taller, due to their height on their date in episode 9. In fact, I believe on an earlier post about their height, I hesitantly proclaimed that Marshall Lee was taller than Gary.

Before I say more, I'd like to say that regardless of what's canon, any headcanons on their height are completely valid. Even if they conflict canon! I personally have many height-based headcanons in other series that conflict with canon. I just want this post to clear things up for their canon designs.

So far, we've had evidence for both sides of the debate, although it seems to be leaning in Gary's favor. And at the end of this post...I'd like to solidify that, with evidence that isn't shown on-screen!

Gary's concept art!

Although this is clearly not what he looks like in show, and he definitely isn't this tall in show, thanks to the "conspicuously tall" note and his conceptual height next to Fionna, we can deduce that the most likely intention is for Gary to be tall. Not just taller than Marshall Lee, but generally speaking. His various positioning next to Marshall Lee solidify this, and any discrepancies can clearly be connected to the additional height of shoes (which we then see Marshall Lee shorter without). Gary's concept art is the icing on the cake, proving that he has always been and likely is still intended to be a tall character.

So, to conclude...

Gary Prince is taller! And tall in general! (Although if your headcanons are different, that's of course valid!)

Thank you for reading!

[ehlnofay]

Travelling with Martin the second time is more an ordeal than it was the first.

There’s the Blades tagging along with them, now, with their elaborate plans and zealous concern; every time any one of them takes a step they rattle like tin cans, so loudly that if any of the cult is trying to track them down it’s a wonder they’re not all gutted already. Then there’s all the extra bits the Blades insist on – like tents, which Pax is by no means opposed to but slows them down ridiculously, always needing to be set up at night and taken down first thing in the morning, or the horses, which speed them up but Pax resents, all the same. (They always need breaks to rest or eat or what have you, and riding for too long sets them aching to hell, their legs and hips and stomach all quavering with exertion. Pax rides the same horse they found halfway through their first journey with Martin, and she is getting more familiar than she ever wanted to be with its little snorts and stomping gestures. Martin keeps patting it on the nose whenever they’re down on the ground again. Martin rides the paint horse, too – it’s two to a steed, plus bags, which Pax knows would be enough to snap their spines like dried-out twigs but of course the Blades have spelled saddles. Feathered, Martin says, like Pax has any idea what that means.) They all spend as much of the day riding as they can without the horses withering away and dropping dead, unable to divert at all from the roads without riding face-first into a tree branch, the Blades getting all serious and severe at any passing glimpse of another traveller, or the edge of a town, or a suspicious-looking boulder. It’s fucking exhausting. Maybe if they’d dressed Martin in something less impractically fancy, and left their glittering armour behind, they wouldn’t all be so conspicuous. Pax is the only one here with any sense.

In Blackwood, the trees don’t sprawl so low down; you can ride horses well off the road as long as you’re careful of the muck. For the first leg of the first trip with Martin, they didn’t have horses at all – they both just walked, past razed fields and empty buildings, the span of land around Kvatch near entirely abandoned, scrounging what they could and sleeping wherever they wanted. They couldn’t proper restock on supplies until they hit Skingrad – certainly didn’t have tents or armour that reflects every whisper of starlight so bright it blazes, and they were fine. It all feels unnecessary. And annoying. This close to the end, all the little extra things to pay attention to make Pax want to jump out of his skin.

Because they are close to the end. They’re in the denouement, now.

The Blades set up a watch routine, too – everyone crawls into their superfluous tents and leave one person up to keep an eye out, until they wake the next person for their turn, and so forth. Pax hasn’t done watch shifts like this since he left Blackwood. (It doesn’t really work, when you’re alone. Besides, he wakes easy, and he goes to sleep quick. Martin’s bad at it, so swapping watch back and forth when they were together just would have left him confused or lethargic the next day. Not worth the bother.) Pax gets watch shifts, most nights, set in the dark hours just before the sun rises; Martin, though he asks, doesn’t get any. Pax usually wakes him up, instead of whoever else she’s supposed to. It isn’t like he has anything he needs to be especially well-rested for – just sitting on a horse in an enchanted double saddle, same as the rest of them, his too-long hair getting in his face, careful arms loops around Pax’s middle. He won’t even take a turn to direct the bloody thing, because he still hasn’t learned how – the fact that he’s never managed to fall off is a damned miracle, honestly.

So she wakes him up, if the Blades won’t – and she doesn’t usually go back to sleep, right after, because there doesn’t seem all that much point. They both stay up, around whatever burnt-down firepit was constructed in the night, the small tents arrayed around them; the leaves of the trees rustle, flickered through by some small animal, owl or bat or squirrel living in a hollow. Crickets chirp, loud and endless.  It would probably be peaceful, if it could be, but Pax is keyed up, taut as a bowstring ready to snap, and he can’t really remember how to feel peaceful anymore. They’re getting ever-closer to the capital and the temple and the end of this whole strange, terrifying thing, and he wants it over and done with instead of lurking in this strange in-between space. They’ve all done so much to fix this and none of it will feel like any kind of accomplishment until the fires are lit and the Gates closed and sealed beyond reopening. It’s almost, almost, almost done – but it’s not the end yet, and in the quiet night all there is to do is waiting, and Pax, antsy, irritable, is very, very bad at waiting.

Martin’s better at it. Which isn’t to say he’s not nervous – he’s all nerves, even more than normal, which is really saying something – but he’s patient, and doesn’t complain, even though Pax knows he wants it over just as much as they do. Probably more. (Definitely more.) He just sits, in the dark and the dew, all quiet and watchful in just his undershirt and warm wool trousers, and even those are fancy, all fine-sewn and slippery as water to the touch. They wear oddly on him. He keeps the Amulet tucked under his clothes, cold metal setting against bare skin, and the red gleam beneath his shirt makes it look, at certain angles, like his heart is glowing.

The fire is well out; no owls call. Pax lies, in their own much less swish sleeping-things, in the dirt and grass, all of it wet so thoroughly with dew that it soaks the back of their tunic. Through the silhouettes of leaves and branches, they can just make out the lustre of the stars.

The old Emperor talked an awful lot about stars, when Pax met him; she wonders, vaguely, what he’d make of these ones.

There’s a shifting, up nearer the firepit; and, “Pax?” Martin whispers, sound half-swallowed by the still, drifting night. “Are you awake?”

“It’s sopping wet,” Pax replies. He props himself up on his elbow and turns his head; Martin’s got a lantern lit, and it’s just enough to make out his face by. “Even I’ve got my limits.”

Martin exhales; Pax knows he’s smiling because they can see the dim white gleam of his teeth. It’s not too cold a night – they’ve travelled far enough from Bruma to be clear of its sodden snow and ice and winds – but it’s not warm, and the wet fabric plastered to their back is chill enough to make them shiver. The stars, up above, shine cold and clear.

“I was wondering,” Martin says, voice still hushed; his eyes flicker up to the snatches of sky between the tree branches, too. “What will you do, when all this is done?”

It’s a perfectly reasonable question; Pax realises, quite abruptly, that doesn’t have an answer. She sits up, shuffles awkwardly over the dewy grass. “I don’t know,” she says slowly; she shrugs. “Go back to the roads, I s’pose. Get some venturing work. Join a guild, maybe, if I get bored.”

(They haven’t thought about it; they’ve been busy. A part of them – quite a large part, if they’re being honest – kind of wishes the Crisis would never end, one way or the other. Wishes it would keep on in this sort of suspended state forever. But it won’t, and it can’t, and it would be ridiculous to say as much. Just – they’ve never done anything this exciting, before. And they don’t really know anything that could measure up, once it’s done.)

(Pax has never really been one to plan for the future. Back in Blackwood, he didn’t have to; he knew he’d just run with the same crew he always had, and he learned only from them. Learned letters and archery and what dregs of mage-craft he had any aptitude for – learned to scamp on the roads and crack locks reasonably well. And then he left, and became a hero, and that’s a good occupation in itself, but it’s not going to last forever. He’s not sure what his other options are – he could try to work square, but he doesn’t think it would last. He’s not one suited to an apprenticeship, or an honest job, or much of anything, really. The only thing he really knows is this.)

In the lanternlight, the shadows are so stark that Martin’s face looks creased with ink. “Oh? What guild? Fighters? Thieves?”

“Thieves’ Guild wouldn’t take me,” Pax tells him loftily; they wriggle a bit closer, goose-pimples rising on their shins. “They don’t like independent operators, and I’ve been one since I was born.”

Martin clucks his tongue. “You can’t say things like that around me, Pax. I’ll have to have you arrested.”

“Like you could,” Pax tells him, grinning, and leans over about as far as she can reach to elbow him. She has to lever herself back up, afterwards. The watery-pale stars are winking at her.

Martin is looking up at them again. “There’s always work for a hero, I’m sure,” he says, and waves a hand. “You’ll have endless people to save and feats of derring-do to perform. Perhaps you could write an autobiography.”

“Ha.” Martin’s received their letters, sent on longer stretches away from Cloud Ruler; he’s read their writing, their chicken-scratch hand and the less than delicate way they pick their words. Pax is fine enough as a communicator; they get to the point quickly and clearly. But metaphor and flowery prose is rather beyond them. And they’ve seen the speech Martin gave in Bruma, the endless editing of his drafts, debate over this word or that. “You know you’re the better writer of the two of us, Martin Priest. Reckon you should pen our book.”

Martin tips his head further back. “I wasn’t even there for most of the interesting parts,” he points out, “and I’m sure to be far too busy, besides.” His eyes are closed. Pax shunts themself another bit across the grass.

“Oh, I’m sure you can take a half-hour every evening to scribble out a few paragraphs in your four-poster bed and your kingliest pyjamas,” he says, unsympathetic, and flicks him in the shoulder. “With a silk canopy, and duckling-down blankets, and a pen nib of solid gold.”

“All right, all right.” Martin opens his eyes; they look grey, in the dim light, the orange lanternlight flickering off their whites. He reaches out an arm, and Pax rolls his eyes but shuffles damply into it all the same. “I suppose I have no choice.”

His arm, settled around their shoulders, is heavy-warm. Pax leans their shoulder into his ribs, under his armpit. This close, they can see the faint gleam of the Amulet through his undershirt. Quiet, they ask, “Still nervous?”

Without missing a beat, Martin replies, “Excruciatingly.”

He’s always nervous. But on this, Pax can’t even really make fun of him for it – if someone told her that she was the heir to the whole Empire, and tried to thrust her into court to take it all over, she’d tell them to eat shit. If the fate of the world depended on it, though, that wouldn’t really be an option anymore. And Martin’s too nice, most of the time, to tell anyone to eat shit. And Martin’s too nervous not to take every bit of it so painfully seriously. Not just the world-ending bit, but all the etiquette and legalese, too. Jauffre gave him some books to read to try to acquaint himself with it all; none of them seemed to help much.

“You’ll be fine,” Pax says, and leans their head on his shoulder, the post of their earring jabbing into the skin behind their ear. They gesture out at the silhouetted tents. “You’ve got all this lot, and the Elder Council – they’ll help you out. If they won’t let you take a piss by yourself they’ll definitely be there to assist with the stuff that’s actually important.” Martin exhales; it’s almost a laugh. The earring is beginning to hurt quite badly, so Pax lifts their head. “Besides, you’re trying. You want to get it all right. That’s more than some would do.”

“Thank you, Pax,” Martin says, and then they’re both quiet.

The stars above look watery-dim. The silhouettes of trees have slightly more dimension. Martin is pressing his palm, fingers splayed, to the smooth-cut bump of the Amulet under his shirt. Pax is still shivering, a bit – lying her whole back down in the dew was a bad idea. Now she’ll have to wear her one other tunic and hope this one dries out in time not to wet everything else in the bags.

“I hope,” Martin says, voice silver-soft in the dark, “that when you’re out roaming, shocking everyone with your valour and intrepidity, you’ll come to visit a great deal. You won’t have the excuse of being out saving the world anymore.”

Pax leans her shoulder harder into his ribs. “Only if you’re not boring when I’m there,” she replies. “You won’t have the excuse of saving the world either.”

“No,” Martin says. “I’ll be running it instead.”

Already, the stars are beginning to snuff themselves out, like candle-lights; in half an hour or so, the sky will start to lighten properly. The Blades will all wake, springing up like little clockwork puppets, and the tents will be packed up, and the horses saddled – they’re tied on slack ropes to trees down the other end of the clearing, and now, if Pax squints, he can just make them out – and then the day will begin, the timer trickling down.

Pax wets his lips. “Three more days,” he says. “Thereabouts.”

Then they’ll reach the city.

Martin breathes out, slow. “Then I’ll really be Martin Septim.”

The Amulet glows under his shirt, royal-red, rising and dimming like a heartbeat. If Pax hadn’t been arrested, that day – by chance, for one of the few robberies they actually didn’t commit – then they wouldn’t have been taken to the gaol, dribbling blood all over the floors, antagonising the guards trying to mark them down in the records, and they wouldn’t have ended up in that dust-coated cell with the shitty neighbour across the way, and the old Emperor would never have glanced at them twice, and the door never would have opened, and they wouldn’t be here.

Pax is not one for gratitude, generally, but they have never been so thankful to be falsely imprisoned in their life.

“My census name’s Camilla Patesco,” he says.

He’s looking at the first watery dregs of dawn in the sky, not at Martin’s face; but he can hear the smile in his voice when he replies, “I won’t tell anyone.”

[lucagray813]

A Need to be Better - Chapter 1

Rating: Gen

Word Count: 5,042

Characters: Mei, Macaque, MK, Wukong

Relationships: Mei & Macaque, Mei & MK, Macaque & Wukong

Summary: Mei is determined to to be ready for whatever comes next and Macaque is going to help her whether he wants to or not!

Additional Tags: Mentor Macaque

CW: None

Link to AO3 Version

Chapter: 1/2

Chapter Navigation: 1 | 2

----

Mei was on a mission.

A mission to find Macaque, who, she had on good authority, had taken to lounging about on the west side of the island.

MK hadn't been able to tell her why he'd been hanging out there but he'd told her he'd come across him a few times while he'd been training. Apparently he'd even given him some helpful pointers, although MK had made sure to whisper that little tidbit to her in case the overly sensitive Monkey King had been close enough to hear.

When she had expressed an interest in seeking him out for some pointers of her own, MK had warned her that Macaque's methods of teaching were incredibly frustrating but he'd also had to admit that they were quite effective.

While she still had her hang ups about Macaque - and rightly so if you asked her - she was willing to put all of her grievances aside temporarily if it meant that he could help her improve her stagnating combat skills.

Unfortunately however the "west side of the island" was a pretty wide area to search and she was getting increasingly frustrated the longer she searched with no success. And despite the fact she still had plenty of ground to cover, she couldn't help but think that Macaque was just deliberately avoiding her. Sure, she had no evidence for that but it felt like the kind of thing he would do.

Her irritation all but evaporated however when a familiar troupe of monkeys appeared above her, chirping curiously.

They were a bunch that often hung about Monkey King's house and she and MK had been starting to get to know them over the last couple of months - they were even getting good at telling them apart! So much so they'd even worked with the monkeys to give them names that they liked.

They were making good progress figuring out how to communicate too. Although MK was a lot better at that than her, especially when he was in his new monkey form. The sounds and body language were difficult to get right otherwise.

Honestly though the monkeys seemed pretty good at understanding Chinese most of the time, it was understanding the monkeys which was difficult. But they'd had great success teaching them how to respond to yes or no questions!

She waved cheerfully up at them, "Hey guys! What are you doing all the way out here?"

While the monkeys could go wherever they pleased on the island, different troupes seemed to have preferences and this group wasn't known for straying too far from the mountain.

They all jumped down to see her, a couple climbing over her to say hello.

She smiled at them, "Aw! Did you come all this way just to hang out with me? You want to know what I'm up to?"

This got some affirmative nods, and what she thought were some affirmative monkey sounds, so she reached and pulled the two monkeys climbing on her off and crouched down so she was on level with them all.

One thing she and MK had learnt about these particular monkeys was that they loved a bit of drama. So, she looked around her conspicuously before leaning close, and mock whispering, "I'm actually on a secret mission!"

They immediately started to chitter excitedly amongst themselves before one or two of the bolder monkeys started screeching at her for more information.

Gesturing dramatically, she explained theatrically, "That's right! I am on the hunt for an elusive target! I'm looking for a monkey about yay high, with black fur and a bad attitude. Sound like anyone you've seen?"

MK had told her that these monkeys had been all over Macaque while they were in the scroll so she didn't doubt they knew who she was talking about.

She took a moment to lament the fact that MK hadn't been able to take any pictures while they'd been in there because apparently Macaque had looked absolutely miserable being used as a climbing frame.

She stood abruptly with her hands on her hips, "This is a dangerous mission and some of us might not make it back alive but the reward for our success will be great! So who's with me?"

Cheering erupted from her attentive audience as they suddenly ran past her, one or two looking back to make sure she was following. She needed no more prompting and immediately took off after them, grinning widely.

They ran together through the jungle, jumping over fallen trees, swinging from branches and she matched their excited chirps and screeches with shouts and laughter. She felt invigorated! Her solo trudge had turned into a game with friends - this was the way secret missions should be!

Eventually, they pulled a head of her as they reached a clearing. All of them making their way up a tree and clambering over the grumpy looking monkey that had been relaxing on one of its branches.

She quickly whipped out her phone to capture the moment for posterity. She knew it would be hilarious to watch Mr. Sourpuss fend off monkeys and now she and MK could watch this whenever they needed to bask in his suffering.

But seeing as she was incredibly merciful by nature, she only let it go on for about five minutes before deciding it was time to get down to business.

She walked towards the tree as he managed to get the monkeys to settle down enough that he could relax back against the branch. Though the cool and aloof look he was no doubt trying to go for was ruined by the small pile of monkeys sat on and around him.

Speaking in the annoyingly dramatic way he always did, he called down to her, "Well, this is a surprise. The Horse-Dragon Girl looking for little, old me? To what do I owe the honour?"

Her grin showed plenty of sharp teeth, "You should feel honoured! I've graciously decided to let you train with me today!"

Macaque didn't even raise his head at her exclamation and scoffed, "And by train you mean fight, right?"

MK had warned her any interaction with Macaque would probably get on her nerves but she wouldn't let him put her off, "Yeah, no duh! Obviously I mean we should fight!"

He waved his hand dismissively, looking away from her and closing his eyes, "Not interested, go "train" with Wukong if that's all you're after."

Her eye twitched, but she took a deep breath before she replied, "Look, we both know that trouble is coming and we all need to do our part to be ready for it! So do your part and fight me!"

Unmoved, he questioned, "And what will fighting me do for you?"

She was really getting ticked off that he wasn't even looking at her as they talked. And paired with these pointless questions she was beginning to wonder how she'd thought she could stand to be in his presence long enough to learn anything from him.

Irritated, she explained, "Obviously, the more fighting you do, the better you get at it! Everyone knows that!"

Macaque only sighed in disappointment at her flawless logic. But he did sit up, monkeys adjusting around him, and look down at her as he drawled, "Ok kid, let me spell it out for you - what is the specific outcome you want from fighting me?"

She thought she had already made it pretty clear, and unable to help herself she pointed at him as she declared, "The "specific outcome" I want is the satisfaction of kicking your butt! What is it you're not getting here? Every fight you get better - stronger and faster - that's what I want!"

Macaque just rolled his eyes, "So what you're saying is that you have no outcomes for this fight other than to win?"

First of all, rolling his eyes at her? Rude. Second of all, how did MK deal with this guy? If he had something to say why not just come out and say it? Why ask questions around it instead of getting to the point!

Getting more annoyed at repeating the obvious, she responded, "The entire point of a fight is to win! And the more you fight, the better you get at winning!"

Her eye twitched again as he brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose - as if she was the unreasonable one here!

He stood to leave and answered, "If your only goal for "training" with me is to "win", then we're done here."

Through her frustration, a sharp feeling of panic managed to break through, "No! I need to train with you! I-You-Argh! You don't understand! I need to be stronger. I need to better. If you're saying fighting isn't how I do that then what is?"

She stared up at him desperately, withstanding his scrutiny, until he cast a glance up at the sky and sighed, "Alright, here's the deal, kid. You and I will fight and then we'll talk about your performance."

Relief flooded through her, quickly followed by excitement and anticipation - this was what she was here for! And her "performance" was going to blow him away!

----

"Alright, I think I've seen enough."

Her heart sank.

Macaque had barely broken a sweat while she was struggling to get her breath back as she leaned heavily against her sword.

She was better than this!

She roared in frustration, abandoning her sword to stomp atop the cliff they were on as anger and disappointment threatened to consume her.

"You were just toying with me! The whole time I was giving it my all and you just-!" She cut herself off with a frustrated shout.

She was so angry she couldn't even get her thoughts in order!

Her next step saw her falling through a shadow portal and landing on her butt in front of Macaque, who looked entirely unbothered as he sat cross legged before her, "So before I give you my assessment, let's hear yours. How did that go?"

Her anger had been interrupted by her unexpected relocation but faced with such an aggravating question she felt it flare up again, "How did that go?! That was maybe the worst I've ever fought! You've seen me fight before - you know that I'm better than that! You better take that into consideration in your "assessment"!"

He didn't seem impressed by her outburst but coolly he responded, "Okay, let's do a little word association here. I'm going to say a word and you're going to tell me how, if at all, it applied to the fight we just had." He held up a hand to silence her, "This fight and this fight only. Are you ready?"

Word association? What was this!? How did MK endure these monkeys and their stupid lessons? As if this whole experience hadn't been humiliating enough, now she was being treated like a child?

She could feel her throat and nose burn with fiery indignation.

But she reminded herself that this was all to be expected. MK had warned her that he would be like this but it could all be worth it if she was able to endure it.

She took a deep breath.

If MK could handle this then so could she!

At her nod, Macaque began.

"Accuracy."

She responded with enthusiasm, "Every attack I launched was dead on target! The only reason they missed was because of your dumb shadow powers! Anyone else would have been toast!"

"Strategy."

She had the awareness to be slightly sheepish, "Does hitting you with my sword or a dragon laser count as strategy or...?" At his deadpan expression, she conceded, "Ok, strategy is maybe not something that there was lots of in that specific fight."

"Strength."

Back in her wheel house!

She puffed up proudly, "Yes! And lots of it! Just look around - my dragon laser can cut through anything. Just look at the chunk it took out of that mountain."

She pointed to said mountain behind Macaque but he didn't turn around. She pouted but there's no way he hadn't seen it during the fight so she let it go.

"Emotion."

She scowled. She knew this was going to come up! It always came up! So she got angry! It just meant she fought harder!

She said as much, "Yeah, ok, so I got frustrated while we were fighting! But that's because you weren't fighting properly!"

Macaque didn't rise to the bait, instead summarising, "So would you agree that, during this fight, while your attacks were accurate and strong, your lack of strategy and your frustration meant the outcome wasn't what you wanted?"

She grumbled, "I'd say you not fighting me properly was the reason I didn't have "the outcome I wanted"." She took a breath however and begrudgingly admitted, "Maybe a cooler head and coming up with a strategy would have helped. A little."

Macaque nodded, "Alright, kid. You have a couple of options. We can leave it here and you can do what you want with this experience or you can come back here tomorrow and we'll discuss a training regime."

Her eyes widened.

An actual training plan? Tailored to her?

Too excited to care about playing it cool she exclaimed, "The second one! And why wait until tomorrow? Let's talk about it now!"

Macaque let out a small huff, "While I appreciate the enthusiasm, I'll need some time to put something together. And don't get too excited - I promise you less than half of it will involve fighting like this."

Her enthusiasm definitely took a hit but she couldn't say she wasn't curious about what he had in mind. Still, she clarified, "But even with it not being all fighting - my fighting will somehow get better?"

Macaque nodded, "If you're able to stick it out then yes. Although bear in mind I'm not going to take it easy on you. If you decide to go through with this, I'll work you hard and I'll expect you to put your all into it."

Resolve filled her.

If this is what it took to become better then she would do it, she responded confidently, "I've got what it takes! If you can deliver then I'm prepared to go all in!"

Macaque eyed her critically for a moment before nodding and standing up, "Well, alright then, looks like I've got a lesson plan to work on. Meet me here tomorrow at midday and I'll show you what I've got. In the meantime, I'll let you deal with these little spies."

As soon as he had disappeared through a shadow portal below him, another one opened above the same spot and dropped two very familiar looking birds.

She was quickly on her feet, "Were you two spying on me?!"

MK was quick to turn back to his human form, arms flapping, "We weren't spying! We just saw your dragon laser shoot into the sky and came to see what was up!"

Monkey King turned back and added, "And then we saw you were fighting with Macaque so we stuck around to figure out what was going on."

MK nodded beside him, before asking hesitantly, "So... What is going on? I mean, I can guess! But-"

He was cut off by Monkey King, "You really want to be trained by Macaque of all people?"

The look on his face suggested that he couldn't imagine anything worse.

She decided to deflect, "Hey! If MK gets a mystic monkey teacher then I want one too!"

"But Macaque? There's enough Monkey King to go around and there's no better fighter around than me!"

"No better fighter, maybe. But no better teacher? Not by a long shot!"

Monkey King looked comically wounded as he brought a hand to his heart, "First of all, you say a lot of hurtful things to me but second, Macaque?!"

This seemed to be a sticking point Monkey King wasn't going to get over and irritation spiking, she responded, "If your entire argument is "but Macaque?!" Then I don't want to hear it! Yes, Macaque!"

Honestly, spite was now also being added to the list of reasons to train with Macaque.

MK had been watching this back and forth with a mixture of amusement and anxiety but apparently realising things could get messy fast he decided to step in.

"Monkey King, would you mind giving me and Mei a minute? We can talk mystic monkey student to potential mystic monkey student."

He said it with a reassuring smile but it was obvious he was hoping Monkey King would take the hint without kicking up a fuss. She didn't care to protect his delicate sensibilities and glared at him while gesturing for him to shoo.

Offended by this clear dismissal, he huffed and turned to leave, "Alright, fine. I'm out of here. There's something I needed to check out anyway."

And with a pout, he transformed back into his bird form and flew off.

She and MK shared a look before she asked, "You think he actually has something to check out or was that the worst attempt at saving face you've ever seen?"

Mk sighed, a tired look on his face, "I really hope it was him trying to save face because otherwise I have a bad feeling I know what he's away to do and there's no way it will end well."

He did seem tempted to chase after him for a second but ultimately decided that being here was more important.

"So... Macaque?"

She resisted the urge to point out that this was not a massive improvement on Monkey King's line of questioning but she knew he was asking from a place of genuine care.

So with a sigh, plopped herself down on her butt next to MK and answered once he followed suit, "Yeah, Macaque... I'll be honest I just wanted to test myself against him with a fight but now I really want to know what he's got in mind. Although, you heard what he said, right? Less than half of it will be fighting? Surely, that's up for negotiation?"

"I did try and warn you - you never know what's going to happen when you interact with him but you can almost guarantee it's not what you're expecting."

He looked off in the distance for a moment, a somewhat traumatized expression on his face, but he snapped out of it quickly.

Arms thrown wide, she exclaimed, "But does he have to be so rude about it? Or be so annoyingly not straightforward! Earlier, he wouldn't even look at me when I was talking! And then when he did he just rolled his eyes at me! Like, hello!? That's so rude!"

MK nodded in total agreement before throwing an arm over her shoulder and commiserating, "Well, at least if you end up getting trained by Macaque we'll have plenty to complain about. Both about mystic monkey mentors and about Macaque's super rude teaching style!"

She could already picture it and in some ways she almost looked forward to having one more thing that they could share with each other but on the other hand she was well aware of how much MK had suffered as a result of mystic monkey business, how they all had.

"MK, is this a bad idea? Training with Macaque? I mean, I know he's not currently on the 'bad guy list' but he's also not exactly one of the good guys either."

Sure, he'd had a couple of moments of heroism but that all could have been to save his own skin - the world ending meant the end for him too after all.

MK took back his arm and struck a thoughtful pose, and after a moment he offered, "I know what you mean, I have my doubts about him too, but every time I see him I get to know him a little better and I feel I'm starting to understand him. To be honest, I think he's just really messed up by everything he's been through. Like, once he sort of implied that he'd died? He was probably just being all metaphorical or something. But if he wasn't then that's got to mess you up big time!"

He was quick to clarify, "And I'm not saying that excuses everything he's done - definitely not! He's still responsible for the bad things he did. But, I don't know, he seems to be working on it? He doesn't need to be helping us, y'know? But while I'm still watching out for, like, a relapse or something? I'm willing to give him a chance at redemption."

There was an earnest look in his eyes as he placed his hand in her shoulder, "But that doesn't you need to give him the same chance! Even forgetting everything he's done, he's not an easy person to get on with. And while some of that is probably from being messed up, I think he might also just be like that?"

She took a moment to process everything he'd said and marry it up with her own recent experiences with Macaque.

In all honesty, she didn't like the guy but she didn't have to like him to be able to work with him. Hell, they'd already proven that they could work together when they'd fought against Peng and it hadn't been nearly as painful experience as it could have been.

And he did seem to be offering genuine help to MK, even if he went about it in the most annoying way possible. She couldn't rule out that he had some ulterior motive but as long as she and MK were both on the lookout for any hints he was trying to screw them over then she thought it might be worth the risk.

After all, Macaque had a vested interest in the world not ending so it didn't make sense for him to mess with the heroes that were trying to stop the fabric of reality being torn apart.

Determined, she nodded, "I'm going to give it a shot! We'll both keep an eye out and if something isn't right then I can just stop training with him!"

Maybe her desperation to improve was clouding her judgement but MK had her back and the rest of the guys would too. They'd all make sure Macaque would regret it if he tried anything funny.

MK squeezed her shoulder before letting go. His supportive grin faded into something a little more concerned before he asked, "Y'know, I'm all for training hard but I have to ask... Is there something else going on? Lately, it seems like something's been bothering you and now you're seeking out Macaque...?"

Admittedly, she had been a little short tempered recently and she was pretty sure everyone had picked up on it but, in her defence, none of them had been able to just "bounce back" after Azure. And it wasn't helped by the unknown threat on the horizon that they weren't ready for.

That she wasn't ready for.

MK would get it. He was just as determined to push himself past his limits as she was, probably even more so. But after everything he'd been through, she didn't want him worrying about her.

At the same time however she was powerless not to admit, "I just want to make sure that I've done everything I can to make sure I'm ready for whatever comes next."

Pep talk mode activated, he responded, "I know exactly what you mean. But I know that we can do this, that we will be ready! Just look at everything we've accomplished already - we've saved the world, like, three times! And with how hard we're working we're only getting better! As long as we stick together, we can tackle anything that comes our way!"

She let herself be swept up in his resolve and grinned as she stood and pulled him up with her. With his hand in hers, she declared, "You're right - we've got this! And if Macaque's as good a teacher as you say he is then nothing is going to be able to stop me!"

His blinding grin suddenly disappeared as a contemplative expression took over, and he asked with far too much sincerity, "Wait, hold on, if you get trained by Macaque does that mean you'll needed to update your hero name? Dragon-Horse-Monkey Girl? Oh! We could have matching monkey logos!"

No way in hell was she getting caught wearing Monkey King's face anywhere on her person.

But God if she didn't adore how MK's stupid brain worked.

---

Wukong was on a mission.

A mission to find Macaque, who, he knew, had recently set up a couple of hideaways across the island.

And while he was extremely conflicted about that, he ultimately decided to keep his friends close and his enemies closer. If Macaque was up to something then better it be here where he could catch him in the act.

He found him in the third little nook he tried.

He had to squirm through a narrow opening in the rock face but eventually it opened up to a room sized cave that was apparently being used as a makeshift study, with a desk in the middle and books piled up against the walls.

Macaque had near perfect night vision but for whatever reason he had set up a handful of light emitting seals around the place. Quite possibly just to stop himself from being blinded by the laptop that sat beside as he wrote.

He was a little surprised someone so stuck in the past had kept up with technology but he didn't let that distract him.

Macaque didn't acknowledge his arrival, so with a huff he kicked things off, "What are you doing, Macaque?"

He mentally patted himself on the back for only sounding about half as accusatory as he felt. Look at him being the bigger person and avoiding a fight.

Not looking up from his work, Macaque responded, "Writing a lesson plan. I'm sure you're very familiar with the process having taught MK for so long now."

His tone suggested he knew that Wukong had never even strung the words "lesson" and "plan" together before.

He felt his eye twitch before he reminded himself to think of the kid. To think of how disappointed he would be if he didn't at least try to keep this civil.

He took a calming breath.

"What's your angle? Why are you doing this?"

Macaque sighed and put his pen down, before leveling him with a look of disdain, as if he was nothing but a waste of his time.

He bristled and internally asked himself how one person be so infuriating.

"I'd be lying if I said spite wasn't a factor here, Bud."

Immediately vindicated, he exclaimed, "I knew it! Leave the kids out of this!"

Whatever the hell this was!

Macaque's eye twitched but he continued smoothly, "But seeing as the end of the world is also looming. It would be irresponsible to just leave these kids without a clue."

Ignoring his angry spluttering at the dig, he added "The kid approached me, not the other way around. She knows that they're not ready for whatever is coming and she's using the resources available her. I can respect that. Besides, no doubt they'll be at the centre of it all and I'd like to increase my chances of surviving this mess."

Heroically recovering from the slights against his good name, he clarified, "So spite and self-preservation? Good to see you're still acting in character."

Typical. He should have known.

Macaque scoffed at him before picking up his pen, "Oh yes, self-preservation - the most villainous of motivators. Now, if you're satisfied I'm behaving in a nefarious enough manner, I have work to be getting on with. This is going to take me all night even without you here to distract me."

Irritated by the dismissal, he didn't budge as he tried to goad him, "All night? How? That bad a teacher you need step by step notes?"

Glancing back up with an incredulous expression, Macaque responded, "You couldn't just leave me with the hope you'd actually put any thought into how you teach MK? Teaching someone properly means knowing their history, understanding their strengths and weaknesses and tailoring your teaching style to them. It's not just about doing things your way and expecting everyone else to fall in line."

The atmosphere in the room was getting tense, and likely sensing that they were heading towards dangerous territory, with a heavy sigh, Macaque tried to be diplomatic, "Just go, Wukong. MK clearly gets your teaching style so why get hung up on what I'm doing?"

Macaque's attempt to diffuse the situation had caught him off guard and he felt unsure on how to respond.

Besides his pride, what was there to be lost from just walking away?

The chances of him actually gleaning Macaque's ulterior motives were slim to none and from what little he could see from here it did look like he was genuinely working on a lesson plan for Mei.

Obviously, he'd keep an eye on the situation but for now...

He hesitated before actually turning to leave however. Because the more he thought about it, the more a lesson plan didn't actually sound like a bad idea. And, y'know, just maybe, his track record as a teacher wasn't quite as illustrious as he would like it to be. So, if this was was something MK would benefit from...

And he was supposed to be trying to be at least a little more amicable towards Macaque and despite being his needlessly aggravating self he hadn't actually done anything wrong.

Yet.

Clearing his throat and rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, he asked, "So... Just out of curiosity... How would someone go about making a lesson plan?"

He really shouldn't have been surprised by the shadow portal opened up beneath him. But he supposed he should be grateful it had spat him out in front of his house instead of half way across China.

That didn't stop him muttering curses he knew Macaque would hear.

--Chapter End--

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LMK Fanfic Masterlist

[kick-a-long]

Forgot to explain antisemitism to my husband for the hours and months and years required for an interfaith relationship before marriage,

But he believes me unconditionally. I’m lucky I picked a good one. We even talked honestly about where we would run to (and what would happen to his law license) which he usually laughs off. The difference this time? He works at a very leftist ngo and has seen the statements his colleagues have been making.

Not all Jewish/goy unions are like this. I’m very very relieved that I got lucky.

For example:

Alice Walker, deeply and unapologetically antisemitic, was not always that way. her first marriage was to a Jewish man who worked in tandem with black organizations to legally dismantle black discrimination in the south. His family hated her for not being Jewish and for being black. They were awful. But their marriage ended many years later when she became very conspicuously antisemitic and refused to listen about its history.

My own mother converted to Judaism and was FAR more observant than my Jewish father but later in life became what I would generously call “Jewish hostile” when their marriage began breaking down.

I always knew there was a possibility of me becoming more Jewish or marriage related friction causing that same kind of situation. But we’ve been married 5 years and together 13. He has spent his time, body and soul helping poor renters protect themselves from being evicted. He doesn’t have illusions about the poor being “innocent victims” or even expecting his clients to be “worthy of help.” Some of them have threatened to kill him, one spent everyday spending hours yelling at him and then got her mother to call to do the same. He doesn’t need “good” clients to help him. I know that he’s a believer that all people are capable of switching between monsters and humans but that doesn’t diminish his work to help the vulnerable. In some ways he has a more Jewish perspective on humanity than I did.

If you’re Jewish and losing friends because they were easily converted into conspiracies and antisemitism try to keep your partner in the loop without letting your anger and suspicion get between you.

If your partner is Jewish and you aren’t, remember there is no Jewish history about finding lasting safety. Believing that you (Jewish) must be kind and respectful of others culture and defending peoples rights and also that at any given moment you (Jewish to any 1/2, 1/4, 1/8, degree) will have to drop everything and RUN because the people you helped, the people you loved, want you dead, are the twin beings inside almost every Jew.

One of the reasons why you don’t see a lot of Jews attacking the character of “good” anti Zionist Jews, is we all get it. They think they can bargain their way out of antisemitism. Just like house slaves that thought they could escape being a “real” slave by fully buying into racism (and maybe getting off on the power of being the slaves elevated by slave owners for hating blackness.)

It’s a lot to ask of any person to “get” the cultural history let alone the cultural trauma they partnered into. Forgive, forget, but don’t be shocked if either of you sounds a little nuts sometimes. I sometimes go full doomsday prepper on him. And he lets peoples shitty behavior slide when I would go full flaming sword. It’s important to remember the daily reality.

Politics is NEVER as important as deep love between two people. It’s essential to remember that and remind loved ones you want to keep of that. Politics is theory and your life together is reality.

I used to like the idea of relationships as romantic and dreamy, now I thank god it’s reality. It’s hard as a rock and just as flexible sometimes. That has its cons but I’ll take every single one for the pros.

Ride or die for each other is what it means. Be ride or die and expect nothing less from any partners in your life. Ask them for it but only if you can truthfully tell them they have it from you. You can’t be the singular unique person that anyone loves if you are only your identity and vise versa.