#124 of you actually

[softpine]

i love stevie and matt so much 😭 is something bad going to happen to them

[portuguesedisaster]

How did...how did Jon know Martin was there?

[mythicalcoolkid]

Just wanted to say I've read through a lot of your posts, and you are amazingly well-spoken and thoughtful, particularly in regards to LGBTQ issues in society. I am a follower and a fan. You rock!🏳️‍🌈❤️

Thank you so much, this made my day. I pride myself on being nuanced and thorough but sometimes on the Worst Faith Approach website it's easy for me to feel like I explain myself poorly. It means a lot to hear that other people understand what I mean and that I actually do explain myself well - some people just love getting angry and that's not my problem

[nightmarecountry-a]

📖 + 124. (For Dream or anyone else you’re interested in)

He sounded helpless. It was strange to hear that from him, when he'd been so unassailable before. Perhaps more than a century in captivity had changed him after all--or perhaps he was realising for the first time that the Corinthian was truly beyond his reach. That he could not be coaxed back into the Dreaming with threats, or pleas.

The Corinthian liked to think that it was the latter. It could not begin to imagine its creator to be capable of changing; they had always been immovable, before.

"You've changed," he observed, sounding hungry, like a predator spotting a weakness in its prey. "A century ago, we wouldn't be having this conversation. You were all too willing to uncreate me then - what's different, lord-shaper? Why not now?"

[mansplainmanipulatemalewife]

Tunglr lying about my follower count again

[ddarker-dreams]

Nexus II.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Descriptions of Blade's body regeneration ability, Blade is just kinda weird idk, some spoilers for his backstory. Word count: 6k.

Nexus index.

The LOTUS-EATER’s maximum capacity tops out at 124. This number takes current fire codes and oxygen generator parameters into account. There are eight Arbiters — including yourself — and fifteen other employees who work The Club floor on rotation. Additionally, some automatons assist with carrying refreshments to clients. Lucky for you, those fellas aren’t on the payroll. 

The other twenty-two are, though. 

Nona swings her legs back and forth while sitting on the main bar��s countertop, humming a song from an underground band she likes. She’s sent you a link to their discography enough times that you recognize the URL immediately and know not to tap on it. 

“Hey, mom, dad, we’re on the news. ‘IPC Places Eris Under Temporary Travel Ban While Investigating Claims of Fraud’. Why didn’t anyone tell me we were doing fraud? Was I not invited to the group chat?” Nona hums. 

You glance up from your account book, sigh, then glance back down.

Meanwhile, Lear carries a hefty wooden crate from the back and places it on the floor. The sound of muffled glass clinking together can be heard, along with liquid sloshing.

“You shouldn’t make jokes like that,” he frowns. He shoos her off the counter with a wet rag, to which she takes refuge behind you. He rolls his eyes at her shenanigans, ties up his sandy hair, then gets to cleaning. “People could get the wrong idea. It’d tarnish [First]’s reputation.” 

Snickering, she replies, “And casually referring to Our-Lord-And-Savior-The-Exalted-One by her first name wouldn’t?” 

He bristles. “You…!” 

On instinct, he winds up his arm, wielding the now dirty rag as his ammunition. He pauses when Nona points at you. Seeing that there’s no way to hit his target without you joining the casualties, he huffs, and returns to shining glasses, using excessive force this time. 

Nona sticks her tongue out at him. After celebrating her victory, she situates herself on a nearby barstool, stretching her arms out beside your workspace like a content cat preparing to nap. 

“You’ve been staring at that silly book forever,” she notes, exasperation coloring her tone. “I know you aren’t reading it, either. Your eyes give you away. So, what’s up?” 

You shuffle in your seat. This line of questioning was inevitable as the four moons that hang everlasting in the sky, taking in everything as impartial observers. During instances like this, you envy the marvelous masses, how they can exist peacefully without living. No one asks the moon troubling questions. Or, if they do, they have more pressing issues at hand than their spoken query. 

“It’s nothing,” you dismiss. 

She blows a tuft of hair from her face. “Hey, Lear.”

“Mm?”

“Did you hear that?”

“Well, yes, I’m only standing a few feet away.” 

“Right, right. Let me ask a trickier question then, since that one was obviously way too easy for someone of your intellect. Do you believe her?”

“I…” he swallows thickly. “... Yes?”

Nona throws her arms up. “Gah! I’m surrounded by liars who can’t lie. That’s almost worse than liars who can lie— blegh, hey, did you actually throw a rag at me?” 

The rag in question slides down the side of her head and hits the ground with a sad squelch. 

“I’ll do it again too. You shouldn’t bother [First]—” Lear abruptly cuts himself off at the last syllable of your name, “The exalted one when she’s trying to concentrate.” 

You raise your head and frown. “Lear, I told you. Call me by my name when it’s just us. It feels wrong if you don’t.” 

“Seriously? That’s what gets your attention?” Nona laments. 

You both elect to ignore her. 

“I know, I know. It’s just… what if he comes back?” 

Silence descends and clings to the three of you like the suffocating scent of smoke. It’s there again, the uncomfortable, skin-prickling sensation of eyes sticking to you. Amber and sapphire coalesce into one, unspoken plea, forming a disconcerting shade. Nona’s visage betrays nothing, whereas Lear’s concern would be obvious from galaxies away. 

You square your shoulders and try to make yourself appear as decisive as you need to sound. “I’ll know when he’s back. He’ll text so I can let him in.” 

The two exchange knowing looks. It’s Nona who tries her luck. 

“That’s reassuring and all, but, I think the question Lear wanted to ask is why that man’s here in the first place.” 

Magenta eyes, rosy iris’, words that drip like venom-coated honey. 

When you asked how you should explain Blade’s presence to your staff, she told you she’d hate to abuse her authority, and that you’re free to decide those specifics yourself. You would’ve preferred some guidance or hint at her expectations in such a pivotal situation. It’s easier to avoid a landmine if you know how to best watch your step. The uncharacteristic lack of instructions goes on to birth unease. 

“My answer hasn’t changed. He’s here to act as my bodyguard until some concerns are settled.” 

Nona’s lips twist to the side. “You never wanted a bodyguard before.” 

“I never needed one before.” 

A glass shatters violently. 

You and Nona snap your head toward the noise’s origin, finding Lear’s face wound tight in pain. You both jump the counter. The remains of crystal shards are strewn across the floor, catching and refracting light. Watching your step, you make your way over to Lear, who is muttering expletives under his breath. 

No, that isn’t right, you realize. His lips aren’t moving. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he tries waving off Nona, who is inspecting the hand that held the glass, “Just an accident, s’all.” 

The private tumult boiling in his head threatens to overflow, stating loud and clear thoughts no one other than himself should be privy to. You grimace and focus on blocking the intrusive voice out. It’s so resounding, so sharp, that snippets penetrate through and spill their scathing secrets.  

‘My fault — should’ve killed — now she’s — because of me…!’ 

Block it out, block it out, block it out, you chant the mantra incessantly. 

Lear’s psyche wishes to illuminate itself to you in its entirety. The spotlights turn on one by one, focusing intently on the visible portion of the stage that any audience member can see. The overlapping beams penetrate the stage’s back curtain, revealing the silhouettes of the backstage crew. 

You don’t want to witness these delicate inner workings. It isn’t for your eyes, his thoughts aren’t for your ears. Sins committed in days past grant you a front-row seat and sew your eyes wide open. You haven’t attended this theater in some time, so it brought the show to you. 

It requires great effort to struggle against the needle and thread that wants to practice its stitches on you. This pain that feels like your skull is being crushed beneath an anchor could ease away if you were a good audience member who sat still and mute. You resist subservience at the cost of yourself. Eventually, the lights dim. The stage’s back curtain turns opaque. The actors shift their shouts into a normal speaking volume, a whisper, then finally, stop orating altogether. 

Your mind’s dictation is decided by you — the ink of Lear’s thoughts expunged. 

You’re aware of your physical surroundings again. 

Presently, you’re crouching down on the floor. You move your foot back to maintain balance, and there’s a crunch, warning you to tread carefully. You inhale and exhale shakily. At this sign of lucidity, Nona and Lear crowd over you, repeating your name on a loop. You check twice to ensure their mouths are indeed moving and you aren’t hearing what you shouldn’t. Once you dispel your fears, relief embraces you. 

This paroxysm has run its course.

Nona’s shoulders slump. “It’s okay, it’s over. She fixed it.” 

They both hold their breath until you nod in agreement. 

Lear extends his hand to help stand you up, to which Nona swats at it. 

“No touching,” she reminds. Sternness doesn’t sound right in her cadence. He considers arguing, only to decide against it. His fingers twitch, go still, then recede. 

You have to stand on your own strength. 

Neither of them knows what to say in the immediate aftermath — it’s been so long that they’re out of practice. While they think over the best-sounding platitudes, you spare your phone a glance. Several messages mar the screen from an unknown sender. The most recent is time-stamped at five minutes ago. 

You grumble a few choice words. 

“Mr. Personality is back?” Nona asks. 

“Yeah, I’ll handle it,” you close your account book and fold it under your arm. “You both should head home, it’s late. Just let Loopy take care of the glass shards.” 

Nona gives a mock salute. After a moment’s consideration, Lear nods. 

And so the three of you part ways. 

Your fingers blindly grope at the expanse beneath your desk. Finally, you come in contact with a protrusion, then press it. Electricity thrums then turns hushes. For peace of mind, you glide your hand through the air. A holographic keyboard flickers into existence and responds to your vigorous keystrokes. The monitor reads that your noise-canceling software is up to date. It prevents sound waves from escaping a perimeter you’ve set. It’s installed in every room on the second floor, which includes the private rooms in The Lounge, your office, and the bedroom attached to said office. 

Ever since Kafka started slinking around, the software’s uptime has increased exponentially. 

Unlike Kafka, Blade doesn’t sit across from you or relax on the couch against the silver-colored wall. He stands by the door that leads to the hallway like a statue. He hasn’t so much as uttered a word to you since you let him in, not that you put in much effort to rouse conversation. It isn’t as childish as him ignoring you, either, you swear his eyes haven’t left you for a millisecond. 

The keyboard and monitor dissipate at the flick of your wrist. 

“I know I said I didn’t have anything major scheduled this week, but the IPC’s new policy changes things,” you start. Still no reaction. Frowning, you continue, “I’ll have to break the house arrest you’ve imposed.” 

He doesn’t so much as blink. You thought a little provocation might earn you some material to work with, but you thought wrong. 

“Who will be there?” Blade asks. 

Instead of experiencing relief that he’s broken his vow of silence, tension coils its barbed limbs around you. It refuses to squeeze or apply any pressure. No, it intentionally denies you that, for it knows pain precedes understanding. A motive, an intention. Any degree of emotion is better than an unknowable void. Frustration, you can soothe, doubt, you can dispel, but total apathy? That’s a nightmare crossed into reality. 

“The other two leaders of the quadrants and myself.” 

At long last, there's a sign he is indeed a sentient lifeform and not the latest android model. A flash passes over his eyes. Suspicion or disbelief, perhaps. 

“Shouldn’t there be four leaders, if the city’s divided into quadrants?” 

“That’s a fair assumption. As far back as our records date, the southwestmost quadrant, Arc, has rejected the idea of having any fixed governance. They act however they see fit. It’s where that man who attacked me a few cycles back was sent to, since we look down on involuntary confinement.” 

“The prison planet without prisons,” Blade’s wry wording belies his flat tone. 

It’s always been a divisive topic, earning scorn and acclaim alike. You’ve had the misfortune of listening to clients regurgitate talking points that were made digestible by popular media, who started the cycle by devouring journal articles they read one paragraph of. They repeat what’s been said thousands of times with the bravado of the original theorist. Normally, you’d consider it more agreeable to bash your head against a wall than speak on the exhausted topic. 

So why is it a kindling of intrigue burns by a Stellaron Hunter’s offhand comment? 

“What’s this? The wanted criminal isn’t a proponent of prison abolition?” 

“Every decision comes at a price,” he says. “Sins should be punished.” 

You blink. Sins? Punishment? Is this a textbook case of cognitive dissonance, or another beast entirely? 

“What do you consider a sin?” 

“Anything that defies the natural order.” 

“Such as…?” 

The maelstrom that envelops him is potent enough for you to feel it breathing down your neck. Your body prickles all over. 

“Defying death.” 

“Not inflicting it?” 

“No,” Blade’s response is immediate, straight from the heart. “Taking life is permissible. It’s accelerating the inevitable.” 

This callous sentiment should chill you — maybe it would, if you heeded the alarm bells ringing in your mind — but fascination triumphs over any deterrent. This isn’t a creed one stumbles into by happenstance, it’s a burden made to order. His preoccupation with death is personal. A necessity. 

“Show me what it’s like to die.”

Is this request self-flagellation or redemption? 

If you’re ever to fulfill the Synalink you promised, you’ll need to dig deeper. 

“There are ‘sins’ committed with altruistic intentions, though.” 

“Hah,” he barks out a bitter laugh. “Those… those are the worst kind.” 

This is a personal slight he’s grappling with. The shards scattered around him like stardust condense, though the sight they create remains out of focus. It doesn’t have to be a sharp picture for you to discern its immense stature. 

Each person’s psyche is distinct in its manifestation. This image is a culmination of everything that defines them. Their core values, history, relationships, culture, ambitions both met and not fully realized; these colors leave an indelible imprint. In truth, this detailed representation is but a single dot amidst an ocean of stars. The mind of a sentient being must be vast if it is capable of ascending to an Aeon’s status. Still, you need something to work with, even if it doesn’t encompass the full scope. A pianist cannot play their instrument if there are no keys. 

This scale, this sheer magnitude that towers higher the more you crane your neck up, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever encountered. 

“... You’re going to give me a run for my money, Mr. 8.13 billion,” you murmur. “Your head looks like a warzone.” 

He leans against the wall with a hmph.

“With all your impending problems, that’s what you choose to focus on?” 

“I can multitask.” 

“Can you?” He challenges. Sensing your confusion, he elaborates. “You look awful.” 

Blade must be irresistible across all genders with that nuanced level of word crafting. 

“I appreciate your candidness,” you deadpan. 

He shakes his head at your sarcasm. “Don’t act obtuse. Your complexion’s off, your eyes are bloodshot… everything was fine when I left. Must have something to do with your earlier delay, I take it?” 

You underestimated his acumen. This would explain why he’s been sizing you up since you opened the door. His sword proficiency isn’t the only threat you should be wary of. You know to be mindful of your presentation when Kafka’s skulking about, you didn’t think he’d need to be treated with a similar caution.

“It’s nothing serious, just your typical mental overexertion. There’s a lot on my plate, you said so yourself.” 

“Hm.” 

Whether he believes you or not, the conversation is left at that. 

Transportation on Eris functions differently than what’s commonly found in other worlds. 

Traditional gas-based motors aren’t favored due to the frigid climate. Instead, a gemstone mined in the Nectary by vetted groups is the preferred resource. It contains special thermodynamic properties that can emit immense power under the correct conditions. The gemstones have been altered and assembled in such a way that they function as a railroad for insulated cabins to travel from one station to another. These paths were nicknamed 'nectar guides’ or ’guides’ by the first engineers to embed them in the ground. This is in reference to how the eight main paths lead to Perianth II’s center, built above the Nectary. 

The design serves a dual purpose — it optimizes travel and the heat radiating from the ground produces light. The accommodations have outworlders in mind. Your species, the Nymphalians, have long undergone enough natural selection to survive the hostile conditions fine enough. Your species’ eyesight excels in the dark and your physiology resists the cold. Aside from that, your body functions identical to any other humanoid species. The lone visible difference is a thin white ring around most Nymphalians’ iris’. You and Lear display this quality, Nona does not. 

The cabin you sit in has a quaint design. There are plush, brown loveseats lining the wall, glowing orange lights in the arched ceiling, and light refreshments atop wooden table stands. It’s split into a common area and a bedroom suite. More enchanting than any ornate embellishment are the expansive windows. You only get to see your quadrant in person during these trips to Perianth II’s center and back. 

“You warm enough?” You call over to Blade, who is bundled in extra layers of clothes and wearing an especially dour expression. 

He doesn’t dignify your quip with a verbal reply. 

This brief jaunt has earned his ire. For someone who’d likely prefer to be anywhere else, he’s taking this guard assignment quite seriously. He explained that taking this straightforward travel route begs for people with nefarious intent to come slithering out. You could see his point, but the matter isn’t up for dispute. Recent cyberattacks have called electronic communication into question. What you’ll be discussing with the others — Chrysus of Ade and Caicias of Mele — is highly sensitive information. The IPC catching any sliver of it could prove disastrous. 

“You shouldn’t be by the windows,” Blade eventually says.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a major buzzkill?” 

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t respond. 

With some reluctance, you pry yourself away from the glass granting access to the outside world. 

“... Just a bit longer?” You try plucking a sympathetic cord he distinctly lacks. 

“If you like it so much, why not experience it in the safety of your room where your head is a less visible target?”  

“It isn’t possible to perform a Synalink on yourself.” 

“Have an underling do it.” 

The presumptions air to this suggestion eliminates any grace you may have extended.

“The only other Arbiter capable of performing Synalinks on me was my mother,” you say. “Note the past tense.” 

You experience a phantasmal ripple with him as the epicenter. It’s the weakest emotion you’ve inadvertently picked up from him, so you assume it’s nothing of consequence. 

“Passing blurs aren’t worth risking your life over.” 

You rise to your feet. 

“How do you know that?” You challenge, heat rushing to your cheeks. “These homes, these buildings, these streets… they’re either data on my screen or conveyed to me through someone who acts like they’re listing parts in a machine. I have to see it. I have to commit each ‘passing blur’ to memory. Otherwise…” 

What have I sacrificed my freedom for? 

Blade’s eyebrows furrow. 

“Otherwise…” you shake your head. “Forget it.” 

During the ensuing silence, your phone buzzes. 

You had set it on do not disturb for the upcoming meeting. A few contacts were granted an exception, meaning that this message must be urgent if it went through. You swallow the lump growing in your throat. An exhausted part of yourself reasons that it can wait until the meeting’s conclusion. It wouldn’t do you any good to get worked up beforehand, would it? The message will still be there when it’s finished. Then you’ll be able to commit all your bandwidth to its contents. This reasoning is a tempting mistress cooing at you to come join her in bed. The momentary relief will be as sweet as the aftertaste is bitter. 

Responsibility triumphs in the end. After inputting the necessary passcodes, a message four words long scrawls across your screen.

The product is ready. 

A simple code had been devised between you and the alchemist entrusted with testing Kafka’s synthetic tonic. The product isn’t ready yet would mean the sly woman bluffed, or at the very least, exaggerated her 70% comparison claim. You’d gladly take either. She’s sewn deceit before, she’d have no trouble doing it again. In case the alternative was true, you prepared another code; the code you just received. 

You reread it once. Twice, then thrice. You check if the message came from the right number. It did. You check again. 

This frantic fixation consumes you to such a degree, you don’t register the cabin jerking aside. The delay from your reflexes throws your equilibrium off. Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace yourself for an unceremonious rendezvous with the floor. Your right side does come into contact with a hard surface, except it’s sooner than you anticipated. Warmer, too. 

This heat is different from what’s produced inside the Nectary’s gemstones. It’s personal, containing the distinct thrum of life. There’s also an aroma. Slightly floral, mostly spices you don’t recognize. Then there’s this steady sound — consistent enough to put a metronome to shame. A slow thump, thump, thump. 

“How have you survived this long, clumsy as you are?” 

Blade isn’t speaking any louder than he normally would, but you can hear him better. 

“Hey, I’m… not… clumsy…?” 

It’s only when you open your eyes that you’re able to piece together your current predicament. 

Blade’s steadying you by your shoulders and your cheek is pressing against his chest. You always knew he was tall, but having him tower over you this close gives you a new perspective. As does the fact he doesn’t immediately shove you off after breaking your fall. Your body goes stiff enough to rival rigor mortis.

“Accident prone, then.”  

This swipe has you desperate to reaffirm your authority. “You should’ve just… let me fall then! Maybe I wanted to, what do you know!” 

(It sounded better in your head). 

“Are you positive you’re over a century old?” 

An equally snarky rebuttal blooms on your tongue, only to immediately wither, turning to ash that coats the ground. 

There’s the sound of a dying star, a dirge announcing the end. 

What one hears before their name is reduced to an epitaph or an alphabetized list neatly organizing the recently deceased. It’s loud, then it isn’t. Hideous, then hypnotizing. Yellows and oranges and reds swirling in a serpentine motion that mocks you for thinking you ever conquered it. Civilizations can temporarily subdue it, bend it to their will, but it’s not ever truly theirs. The sovereignty of flame is a dynasty everlasting. It may rise, it may fall, but it can’t ever be truly extinguished. 

You’re sent flying back with enough power that the air is forced from your lungs. It’s as if an Aeon’s hand had pushed your body aside, dragging you to the edge of the universe. You’re released from the scorching maw and into an icy nothingness. 

The planet itself is frozen for a time. 

There’s no strength in your body. Your system has been injected with pure, raw adrenaline, causing your limbs to shake and ignore your commands. Your ears are ringing and your eyesight is blurry. Tears cleanse the pollutants from your eyes. A dark swath covers your body, its weight hindering your feeble attempts to move. Determination alone wills you to emerge from this shadowy cocoon. 

The ringing fades and all is quiet, save for the crackling of fire. 

Then the screaming begins. 

You try identifying the source. You think you may have found it, then it starts elsewhere, a different pitch, a different soul lot in lament. Bloodcurdling shrieks rise alongside the thick smoke. You’re being a stretch of buildings that loom imposingly, obsidian spires reaching up to the night sky. The masonry required to maintain their reign basks in the flames. The unusual surplus of light unveils its secrets, from the cracks in the stone to the faded graffiti bored kids left behind. 

The ground is uneven, unlike the glossy pavement found in the entertainment district. This dull, grayish-blue soil with the consistency of fine powder exhibits the true nature of Eris’ untreated exterior. It’s cool to the touch and takes pleasure at the chance to stain your fine clothes. 

Your wandering mind is brought back upon hearing a sputter nearby. You’re not sure where you are, what you’re doing, or why you’re doing it; but you remember you weren’t alone. 

“Blade…” The name comes out as a croak. “Where…?” 

You can’t call out to him, it’s like cotton has been stuffed down your esophagus. 

There’s movement in the corner of your eye. 

You make the mistake of trying to stand. Your arms might’ve begun to heed your commands, but your legs do not. The worst insurrectionists are your ankles. The instant you try putting any weight on them, they collapse as if you were a newborn doe. Recognizing this strategy’s incompetence, you drag yourself over to where you saw movement instead. The coarse ground rubs at and scratches your skin. 

Upon closer inspection, your heart stops. 

The dark swath — that’s Blade. 

He’s in a far worse state than you. His entire backside has been scorched, displaying angry red blisters and split skin just barely hanging on. His right arm is bent in an awkward position, most certainly broken. Then there’s his left arm, or lack of it. Clumps of limp sinew hang where his arm should be joined to his shoulder joint. The force of the impact must’ve blown it off or eviscerated it entirely. 

He’s lying on his side, facing away from you. A pool of blood forms beneath him, mixing with the soil. The coupling results in a sickly mauve that creeps and seeps inch by inch. 

The fire… it’s coming from the guides, you realize. The cabin has been torn to pieces!

This begs the question: how are you alive? 

You should be covered in burns at the very least. Some of your clothes got charred, you think a rib or two might be broken, but you’re living and breathing. There’s a gap in your memory where the previous events should be. You try recalling whatever you can, no matter how seemingly insignificant. You were moved aside as the roaring got louder, and then there was the sound of glass shattering, heat to cold… 

Blade must have intervened. Did he use the few seconds before the fire caught up to break the window and toss you out? That can’t be right; you’d have glass entrenched in your skin and burns on whichever side faced the explosion. Surely, with his inhuman reflexes, he could’ve come out relatively unscathed. 

Unless he chose to shield you. 

You don’t think, you just act. First, by tearing the hem of your long skirt, then second, pressing it against the gaping wound where his shoulder abruptly ends. Gushes of crimson spill through your first makeshift bandage. You throw it aside, rip at your garments again, repeating the process in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. A Stellaron Hunter must have a robust constitution, right? He was able to act faster than you could think. He can survive this — you just need to stop the bleeding until you can get help. Kafka has to have connections with advanced medical factions. 

Tears stream down your face and you sniffle relentlessly. Your hands are caked in soot and blood, the scent of burnt skin and metal clings to your nostrils. Is he going to die? Is he already dead? You can’t bring yourself to check his pulse. How could he be willing to die for you in the short period of time you’ve known one another? He could’ve concocted any excuse for why he failed Kafka’s assignment, you’re certain he’s more indispensable to their cause than you are. 

Blade stirs. 

You think that it’s your imagination playing tricks on you. A cruel joke to remind you that you make your living off shaping reality for others, temporarily giving them what they want at the price of never truly having it. 

Or so is your conviction until he moves again. 

You’ve heard of muscles twitching after death to give the false impression of life. However, you’ve never witnessed the phenomenon yourself. Is this how it works? It isn’t sporadic, his right arm is sweeping over the ground, fingers flexing. Much to your astonishment, he pushes himself up with the arm that was contorted into a horrible shape a minute ago. The pain he’s experiencing must be excruciating and yet he merely grunts as he shifts into a sitting position. 

“Stop moving,” you rasp out. With your most recent bandage in hand, you go to apply pressure to the left arm socket. 

He responds to your fervent desperation in a low, gravelly voice. 

“Don’t bother.” 

Don’t bother? Is he in a coherent state of mind? If you don’t attend to his gushing wound, he’s at risk of bleeding out. You prepare to ignore his utterance when a strange sight freezes you in place. 

A white structure emerges from his raw, mangled arm socket, descending like water pouring from a pitcher. It solidifies and takes the shape of a humerus. Once finished, it goes on to create the radius and ulna. Next are the carpals, metacarpals, then phalanges. Tendons join them together, fibrous muscles envelop the bones. Finally, in the blink of an eye, fresh layers of skin build atop one another in sheets. He clenches and unclenches his newly formed hand. 

If defying death is a sin, he is laden in iniquity.

“What hurts?” Blade asks. 

You’re too aghast to respond. His body just stitched itself back together without any medical treatment or esoteric healing techniques. Is it possible you’re hallucinating? Can a visual hallucination be this vivid? 

He reaches out. Seconds prior to his hand coming into contact with your bare skin, you furiously shake your head, flailing backward and narrowingly avoiding him. His eyes bore down on you like molten magma. He retracts his hand after a drawn-out pause. 

“If you can’t speak, point instead.” 

Dazedly, you follow his instructions, focusing primarily on your ankles. They’ve swollen since you last checked. The flesh is tender and puffy. 

“I’ll carry you,” he says. “Stay still.”

“Wait,” you manage to wheeze out. “This area… residential… have to help…!”

A coughing spell cuts your hoarse plea short. 

“That explosion was meant for you. Whoever set it off will want to ensure their job’s success.”

Blade reaches out for you again. You duck to avoid his grasp, despite the pain throbbing in your chest cavity from the hasty movement. The adrenaline must be fading if your brain is doing inventory on the damage you’ve sustained, rather than focusing on survival. Hot waves test your resolution. You grit your teeth. If you make a show of your pain, he’s not going to change his decision. 

He speaks your name in a low, warning tone. 

Adamant in your refusal, you point to where the cries for help are the loudest. 

“It’s not my priority,” he says. 

He easily grabs you on his third try and you yelp. The sluggishness of his previous attempts must've been out of consideration for you. His right arm interlocks behind your knees while the left supports your back. You thrash to no avail, his grip remains ironclad. Your struggles amount to nothing but perspiration clinging to your skin and more aches. 

The nearest medical unit to this street is at least thirty minutes away, now that the guides are out of order, you think. That isn’t fast enough…! Every second counts!

In your panic, a sacred vow made decades ago is desecrated. 

You cup Blade’s face in your shaky hands and stare him straight in the eye. 

The previously formed shards come into focus.

It’s monumental, this psyche you’ve barged into without permission. A violation of another’s autonomy. You know this, you condemn yourself for it, yet you press on nevertheless. The previously unknowable architecture that hulks over you is of Xianzhou design. It’s pieced together by bricks as infinite as the stars in the universe, though there is no magnificent shine, only matte stonework. 

This structure… is it a garrison? You wonder. Was Blade a member of the… what’s the name of their military again… Cloud Knights? 

You’ve had Cloud Knight clients before. Their psyches take the likeness of their favorite, scenic expanse on the Hexafleet, the area that they cared for enough to risk their life. The skies would be blue, clouds fluffy and prolific. A sense of duty and patriotism felt palpable. Occasionally, you’d be made privy to grief’s scent carried on a breeze, perhaps from a loved one’s passing or comrade’s untimely death in battle. 

This is a riddle you need to solve swiftly. With a little tampering, you can form a link. It’s immoral, a blight to your personal code, but you’ll leverage enough influence for Blade to stay and help any survivors until help arrives. Whatever consequences arise can be dealt with later. 

Even with the heightened mental sensitivity from making direct physical contact, this is proving a challenge. You can see his psyche but you can’t interact with it. It’s like running your hands through vapor. For you to successfully exert enough influence to change a decision he’s dead set on, you’ll need to go deeper. Inside this fortress sits the recesses of his mind, the bottom of an ocean you’re merely skimming the surface of. The intrusion’s necessity twists your gut as if your intenses were being kneaded. 

Your incorporeal form flutters to the gates, standing solitary against a leaden backdrop. 

The closer you get, you become increasingly aware of a malicious entity permeating behind the doors which strain to contain it. This is the same harrowing presence you felt when he protected you from Alister. Now that you’ve spent more time with Blade, you can discern its essence is different from his, although they’re forcibly intertwined like a rope. Blade emanates this unremittingly morose energy. It’s bleak, unconcentrated. 

This substance oozes a need to satiate bottomless bloodlust. It wants to sink its teeth into flesh, lacerate muscles, and slice through bone. Mayhem and viscera are its highest raison d'être. There’s no sensibility, no reasoning with it, it acts in one way then shifts on a whim; chaos inside a splintering bottle. 

How is Blade capable of functioning with this slumbering beast ready to wreak havoc at any second? 

Steeling your resolve, you prepare to enter.

A seal halts your progress. 

Impatience urges you to dispel it. Blade’s psyche is rejecting you, any further delays will give it ample opportunity to flush you out. 

The kaleidoscopic seal thrums and wards off your efforts. 

Someone put this here, you discern. It’s deliberate. 

What perplexes you is that the seal prohibits entry yet does nothing to contain the miasma writhing behind it. Wouldn’t whoever created it intend to keep that salivating beast at bay? It’s well-crafted too, denying your every attempt to eliminate it. Kafka dabbles in mind-altering. Could she have left this here? You know what her aura feels like — calm, confident, cunning — this seal radiates none of her trademarks. 

An invisible force hauls you back. 

You took too long — Blade’s psyche is expelling the foreign invader. 

You blink and you’re back in reality. 

Blade is grimacing, the lines on his face highlighted by flickering flame. There’s a pallor to his complexion brought on by the aggressive expulsion his mind pulled off. An act such as that leeches off of one’s vitality. He takes a moment to recompose himself, as do you. Any subsequent attempts to form a link are going to be wrung from a desiccated source. You don’t know how many attempts you have left in you, 

“A first offense, I could pardon,” Blade pants out, blood-red hues shining, “A recidivist like yourself, though… can’t go undisciplined.” 

Your eyes widen. How did he know your intentions so quickly? You hadn’t so much as moved yet! 

There’s a dull discomfort blooming from your nape. 

Your eyelids feel heavy and your breathing slows. Black spots float around in your vision. They start small, appearing as if they were polka dots, then grow to be the size of black holes. Your muscles won’t move. The unconscious realm beckons. Its gravitational pull is irresistible, a tide you can’t swim against. 

What is this? Your neck… did he strike a nerve…? 

“You’ll be fine,” a distant, sonorous voice promises. “Just sleep.” 

The sentence has been delivered. 

You’re made prisoner to a dreamless slumber. 

[thisgirlisonfayeeer]

BAU!Reader Instagram (Pt. II)

note: aaahh!! thank you for the love for my first post! I'm quite fond of the instagram format posts so here's more 🥹🫶🏼

______________________________________

mrshotch

BAU Jet

Liked by ahotchner, emprentiss and 24 others

mrshotch my team favorites ❤️

bbgirlgarcia I miss my kisses @/derekmorgan! 🥺

derekmorgan @/bbgirlgarcia almost home babygirl 😘

mrshotchner i left my phone for 5 minutes @/derekmorgan!! 😤 you two look cute though won't delete

jjlamontagne @/mrshotch right???

derekmorgan @/mrshotch 😇

emprentiss awww yuck i know for a fact I'm @/mrshotch's favorite

mrshotch @/emprentiss yes you are and I already miss you so much!!

ahotchner @/mrshotch not your husband?

mrshotch @/ahotchner you're also my boss so no 😁

derekmorgan smells like trouble in paradise 🫢

2 days ago

——————————

mrshotch

Banff

Liked by dave.rossi, dralexblake and 124 others

mrshotch 30 degrees out here yet somehow I feel hot 🥵 how did i get so lucky @/ahotchner 😍

dave.rossi good to see you kids enjoying your vacation

derekmorgan damn @/ahotchner 🔥🔥

emprentiss your camera might be broken how did @/ahotchner look this good?

ahotchner @/emprentiss 🙄

bbgirlgarcia 😮 our boss!! used!! an emoji!!

4 weeks ago

——————————

mrshotch

Liked by ahotchner, bbgirlgarcia and 34 others

mrshotch I asked him if he'd still love me if I was a worm, we had a long argument about it, and now we're good ☺️ love you @/ahotchner 💕

ahotchner I still don't know why you'd be a worm, but I'll love you the same sweetheart

bbgirlgarcia GOD I SHIP YOU TWO SO BAD 🥰🥰

doctorreid But that's not even a worm. That's a millipede which are arthropods under class diplopoda. Millipedes have legs which you can see right there. They have an exoskeleton whereas worms don't have them. Fun fact, millipedes are actually some of the oldest creatures to live on land.

emprentiss why did I even read all of this

doctorreid also what worm would you even be @/mrshotch? there are lots of worms which are classified under three main phyla: Platyhelminthes, Nematoda, and Annelida. I think Hotch will love you if you were an earthworm. But if you were a tapeworm or ringworm or any other parasitic worm, I don't think so.

derekmorgan @/doctorreid🤦🏾‍♂️🤦🏾‍♂️

mrshotch @/doctorreid🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️

jjlamontagne @/doctorreid🤦🏼‍♀️🤦🏼‍♀️

5 weeks ago

——————————

mrshotch

Liked by ahotchner, emprentiss and 63 others

mrshotch 3rd valentine's with the boss/husband 💕

mrshotch thank you @/bbgirlcarcia for hooking me up on the cute pen 🤗

bbgirlgarcia @/mrshotch just give us more hotch babies asap!

mrshotch @/bbgirlcarcia on it 😉

emprentiss @/mrshotch ew too much information

derekmorgan @/mrshotch ew too much information

emprentiss @/derekmorgan jinx u owe me a soda

ahotchner I love you, sweetheart

mrshotch @/ahotchner I love you too, bub 😘💕

7 weeks ago

[gallusrostromegalus]

You are the first person I've heard of that has number-taste synesthesia. Are there numbers that taste bad?

7 can be sort of limey which isn't always bad.

68 is muddy, like actual dirt.

44 tastes like chalk or cotton candy depending on context.

124 tastes like bonito flakes but in a good way.

I can't think of any bad numbers though once in a while there will be a 3-or-4 number string in the middle of a large string of numbers, especially phone numbers that will have a jarringly different flavor from the rest of the string.

[nickgoesinsane]

applesauce

the spot/jonathan ohnn x spider-man!reader (ft. your baby & miles morales)

cw: sfw, gn!reader, implied amab!reader, implied transmasc!spot, reader doesn’t actually appear, dimension travel, spot being wifey, miles having a breakdown, your daughter’s obsession with applesauce, etc.

word count: 420

After disappearing for two whole years, Miles finds the Spot in a corner store in Brooklyn with a curly haired toddler strapped to his chest, buying applesauce of all things. Miles awkwardly stands there, confused, until the baby notices him and starts giggling and making grabby hands at him. Spot turns to see what’s caught her attention and jumps, startled, when he sees Miles standing there in shocked silence.

“Oh, hi, Miles.” Spot greets awkwardly, pocketing his wallet into a hole. The cashier’s left already— probably to call someone, because it’s not every day you get a former villain and Spider-Man in your store. 

Miles blinks at the casual use of his name and points at the smiling child, “Whose baby is that?” His voice breaks halfway through, but spare him, this guy was once the biggest threat to the multiverse and now he’s buying applesauce with a baby.

One of Spot’s hands comes up to smooth over her curls, and she tips her head back against his chest to give him a dimpled smile. It’s actually super adorable. The dot on Spot’s face squints in what Miles thinks might be a smile. “This is Zoe. Say hi, honey.” 

Zoe coos at Miles, waving her fists excitedly, “Dada!” 

“No, honey, that’s Miles. Dada’s—”

“You stole a baby?!” Miles’ hands come up to massage his temples to fend off an incoming headache. “You can’t just do that! Is that your thing now, stealing babies? What happened with the Collider? It’s been two years, where have you been—”

Zoe finds his distress funny, apparently, because she squeals and giggles as he tries to keep his shit together. “No, no, no. Zoe’s mine.” Spot cuts in before Miles can have an aneurysm, “I don’t do that stuff anymore. I got married, see?” He shows off the wedding band on his finger, “I’m just here for these.” Spot points at the box of applesauce. “They were out of stock where I live and it’s the only brand Zoe likes, so we hopped over to get some.” 

Miles stares at him, and then he stares some more. “Applesauce.” 

Spot nods, obviously not seeing the issue, “Yeah, applesauce.” 

“Ampleshaush.” Zoe confirms, clapping her hands. “Dada, ampleshaush.” 

“No, pumpkin, Dada’s at work.” Spot repeats, and that’s when Miles sees the shirt that Zoe’s wearing. It’s red and blue, with the iconic Spider-Man pattern and logo. 

Miles’ mouth goes dry, “Who did you say that was, again?” 

“Oh, the Spider-Man from Earth-124.”

This could not get any weirder.

[tanglepelt]

Dc x idea 124

Sam and Danny do a student exchange program. Danny was Volvontold to do it by mr.lancer who got his parents to agree. Sam’s parents were more then happy to force her to do it. The school she was being sent to had a Wayne.

Tucker would be staying back in amity to help Valarie with the ghosts.

The two amity Parker’s quickly caught attention at the transfer school. The two kept to themselves and wanted nothing to do with it. At one point they were caught bad mouthing the justice league. That caught attention especially from Damian Wayne.

Danny: it’s not that we don’t like hero’s

Sam: it’s that they claim to give a shit but don’t! That hotline is bs. Nothing comes from it.

Damian: they deal with world ending crisis not small time crime from a town in Illinois.

Danny: duh. Dude we don’t call when box ghost is stealing all the shoe boxes. Or when spectra did her hospital gig yet again. Then the time lunch lady decided it was mandatory meatloaf Monday and-

Sam: *elbowing Danny* we’ve only called with potential world ending threats. Like when the ghost king yoinked our town into the ghost zone and threatened to destroy earth without the return of his ring. Then the time undergrowth was going to feed our entire town to his plants then move on to the world.

Danny: don’t forget technus. Know how last month how phones, tvs and most electronics only were displaying a green face screaming of taking over the world. It only lasted like what 2 mins for you guys. But man that was a rough week for us.

Sam: Tucker got a hold of someone just for them to laugh In his face despite offering proof and video footage.

Sam/Danny: we’ll keep bad mouthing the justice league. Deal with it.

Sam: besides we have a much better heros then the justice league. Two of them who actually care.

[apollodarling-writes]

Did you know odm is like 124 pounds 😭👌🏼 that shit on HEAVY!!! But then that made me think…… do you understand the thrust strength Levi must have? Let’s be Foreal. This mane can push and pull fr fr

oh, sweet mother of pearl…. what’s happening to me…. 🚶🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️🦮

just imagining how STRONG levi actually is to be lugging that gear around and still have the ability to move nimbly.

mdni !!

cws : top! levi + bottom! reader, no prns used, smut but not fully thought out, rough sex implied, manhandling, chubby! reader mentions at one point but the reader can be any body type and color, i wasn’t sure how to end it so probably an abrupt ending, bruising implications, squirting mentions 😭

like,, if you’re getting down and dirty with levi, you gotta think about how accustomed to carrying that shit and how it’s probably a bit of an effort not to be too rough with you. not to mention the fact that he’s gotta be super strong upper body wise too!! i’m a sucker for chubby bodies myself, but imagine levi manhandling someone soft and plush…….. god, this whole thought is genius.

or imagine how levi would harshly grip your hips or your waist, his thrusts knocking the air out of you. it would be impossible to stay quiet enough for the cadets to not be aware. especially when the headboard is barreling into the wall with the motion of his thrusts.

thinking about how levi would have to make it a conscious effort to not lose himself in the feeling so he doesn’t accidentally hurt you. he’s just strong and while he knows his own strength, he can’t help but want you to feel good too.

thinking about how levi would pull your hips back to meet his thrusts, your legs thrown over his shoulders and his cockhead brushing against the softest parts of you.

thinking about how levi’s fingertips would dig into your skin in an attempt to ground himself, the area feeling exceptionally tender the next day.

thinking about how if you’re a squirter, it would be soooo easy for levi to make a mess of you. his hips and thighs dripping with a mixture of both of your fluids.

[dreamnants-mis]

Something that only came to me while re-reading the manga after the anime came out involves the name of Andy itself and I think it's actually pretty interesting to think about.

Spoilers for the later half of the manga (roughly about up to Chapter 124)! .

.

.

After the mess with the Union goons, Fuuko asks about Andy's name after calling him "Zombie" for most of the chapter. Andy responds that he doesn't remember and says being called "Undead" is good enough. Fuuko doesn't like that and decides to give him the name "Andy" instead. Andy clearly doesn't like the name very much, but considering he knows he'll have to humor Fuuko to find a way for her Unluck to kill him, he just accepts it.

In fact, I've noticed most people at first tend to call him "Undead", a dehumanizing sort of term, such as Void and the Union goons. Which considering Andy's desire to die is rooted from the guilt and loneliness being immortal brings, serves to further create emotional distances from others and perhaps even himself.

And even "Undead" doesn't quite fully fit him either because Andy is an alter ego of the original Undead Victor, so even that name wouldn't be really unique to him specifically since there are technically two different individuals with the ability.

(On a tangential aside, the first person aside from Fuuko that calls him Andy consistently is actually Shen after hearing Fuuko call him that…and he's essentially the closest thing Andy has to a bro. Make that as you will.)

But I think where Andy starts to view the name differently happens starting in the climax of the Spoil arc, with Fuuko telling him they still have so many more things to do together and then literally risking her life trying to bring him back after Victor takes over the body. And Andy knows and Fuuko also knows he is using her for the sake of finding a way to die.

It's also after this event that Andy calls Fuuko by name for the first time after she wakes up in the hospital after having called her "brat" every time up to this point. Of course, this time, he takes it back, but Fuuko notices the significance of it to want him to call her by name again.

Anyway, both of them get sent to the black market auction and Fuuko picks a dress that needs some bust tailoring. It's something I didn't really pay attention to during my initial reading when it came out, but Andy signs his name as "Andy" on the delivery form. While it might have been for practical reasons, the fact he used that name for the signature is actually pretty significant because it implies Andy is slowly beginning to accept the name Andy as his own and not just something Fuuko calls him.

(Andy has really nice penmenship, as an aside.)

But it's only during the Ragnarok arc that the significance of the name Andy really changes.

In Chapter 99, Lucy asks Andy who is he after he saves her from an UMA. Andy initially introduces himself as "Undead", but then immediately nixes it and re-introduces himself as Andy. And this is actually the first time he's introduced himself as Andy because everyone else who calls him Andy usually only does so because Fuuko calls him that (such as the example with Shen). This leads into what happens in Chapter 124, where Andy finally calls himself "Andy the Undead", accepting consciously that his name is Andy, a member of the Union and Fuuko's partner in slaying God.

In other words, Andy fully accepting Andy as his name is a form of humanization, which is something Fuuko helps him to understand is what he truly wants is to feel human.

[angelofthenight]

"Are We About to Kiss?" Pt.2

(Vance Hopper x gn!Reader)

Part 1 Part 3

Summary: After realizing Denver’s infamous delinquent is crushing on you, you just can’t help but tease to see that blush

Warnings: Tsundere!Vance, Swearing, Flustering, Light violence 

Word Count: 3.6k

(ITALICS = FLASHBACK)

(Ask and you shall receive, here's another part! It’s a lot different than the first one tho)

Requested by: @isi1209 @maywv12 @livingdeadgirl7 @imxxhungry @ughhthisbitch @alienthewolf @whiplaaaaaaaaash @top-secret-stuff @makaylaisoncrack @simp-124 @idk-callmewhatever

You entered through the doors of the Grab N Go with a self-confident smile attached to your face. You felt a huge new sense of brave confidence when walking in with your newfound knowledge thanks to Vance’s big mouth last night. You witnessed with your own two eyes how easily you could fluster him, he could barely hand you your drink without his face going close to beet red.

The more you thought about it last night at the sleepover, the more you started to realize how attractive Vance actually was. You spent so long focusing on staying out of his way that you never stopped to notice how much you were genuinely fond of the guy. Well, most of the time…

8th grade, 13 year old, you sat at your two person table in English class. You organized all your supplies on the surface with your desired pen, pencil and eraser to the right side and on the left side was the book you were studying in class. You smiled in accomplishment at your neatness until your gaze moved to the right.

You stared at the small line carving in the middle of the table that Vance had made a couple days ago to make sure you stayed on “your side” of the table. You held in your gasp as you noticed your pencil was crossing the line. You quickly moved it over. Someone, who was not Vance, slumped into the chair beside you and plopped his book onto the table with a tired sigh. 

You nervously glanced at him. What on earth was he thinking? Vance sat in that seat every single day and you knew he would not take kindly to someone sitting in that chair he seems to love so much. You shyly kept your mouth shut since before you could even warn the poor but foolish boy, Vance walked into the classroom, no bookbag as usual.

You swore Vance’s eyes went red the second he looked at his chair being occupied. You missed his glance at you before he gripped his jaw and stomped over to your table. He wasted no time in grabbing a fistfulll of the boy’s sleeve, forcing him to stand up. “The fuck you think you’re doing in my seat, you piece of shit?” Vance growled rabidly at the trembling boy who could only stutter out unclear apologies. Vance shoved the boy harshly away, taking a seat as the boy scrambled to the other side of the room.

You kept your gaze glued to the table, the little hairs on your arms threatening to stand as nervousness grew within you. “Thanks for saving my seat you little bitch.” Vance said sarcastically. “Sorry, you got here before I could say anything.” You felt a sudden rush of courage take the wheel. “You don’t have to sit here, though.” You said while looking over to him with a look of wonder.

Vance glared but he appeared to be nervous about your question. “Sh-shut up. At least I don’t dress like a clown.” He shot back defensively, looking away from you as your jaw dropped from the insult to your clothing.

As your teacher stretched out the difference between a verb and an adverb after half your class messed up on it, you felt eyes burning into the side of your head and in your peripheral vision you saw Vance with his head turned over to you. You hesitantly looked over to him and once your eyes met he blinked in surprise. His eyes darted to multiple places before he looked over to the clock. “I can’t see the clock. Your big ass airhead is in the way.” He said as he used his hand to push your face back to look at the clock.

You hid your annoyance of him manhandling you and you hid your annoyance of knowing there was no possible way you were blocking the clock.

You were never raised to hide your feelings. In your family, honesty was always the best policy, even when people didn't ask for it, nor accept it. And in your most humble opinion, adoration was a beautiful emotion, one that should be expressed freely. It ought to make the receiver feel valuable and appreciated. And by Vance’s reactions to your attention, you expected he didn’t get flirted with often… or at all.

You really did want to go out with the guy to get to know him better, but he had walls of steel with spikes. He was very defensive and protective of himself so you assumed he wouldn’t agree to a date so easily. So you thought that the only way to get through his walls was to make ‘em melt.

So as you smiled over noticing Vance at his pinball machine, you began to waltz your way over there. Vance had a friend beside him, eating a small bag of chips as he watched him play, who looked over to see you walking toward them. He began nudging at Vance’s arm, whispering his name but Vance only angrily shoved him off.

You finally approached Vance from behind, moving to his left side where his friend wasn’t. “You’re about to beat your own score.” You said with a smile as you looked up at the rising numbers on the machine. Vance physically tensed over your voice, thrashing his head to the side to look at you with wide eyes and pink cheeks. He kept glancing from you to the machine before hissing out, “N-No one asked you!”

Your smile grew flirtatious as you stepped teasingly closer to him, watching him nervously glance over to you multiple times as you made your biceps touch. The contact seemed to distract him too much as his fingers missed the button and the tiny metal ball fell to the bottom. His hands flew up in shock and looked over to you, like he was going to muder you where you stood. For some reason, you didn’t feel as scared as you normally would like yesterday. 

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to throw you off.” You said looking up at him with big, doe eyes. He pursed his lips together in frustration and avoided eye contact. You smiled flirtatiously and snaked your arms around his toned one, feeling his muscles freeze in your touch. “How about I buy you a slurpee to make up for it?” You said, batting your eyelashes.

Vance’s friend glanced between the two of you, holding back an amused smile. He always teased Vance about his humongous crush on you and always received Vance’s denying and defensive wrath, so he was quite enjoying how Vance looked almost terrified of how close you were to him. “Then I guess I’ll see you later, Vance.” He said before he turned on his heels as Vance gave him eyes that basically begged him to not leave him alone with you. 

“So,” you snapped Vance’s attention back to you, “how ‘bout that slurpee?” He clenched his fists, cheeks burning red as he kept his head turned away from you, not having the willpower to look you in the eyes. His body temperature was rising so he eventually thrashed his arm from your grip. “I don’t need your charity, you goddamn dick!” He spat and pushed your shoulder away from him. 

You giggled, regaining your footing quickly. “Alright, Mr. Pussycat.” You teased. Vance almost felt like he was going to faint from the name spoken with your foxy tone. He glared at you. “If I’m a cat then you’re a clown fish!” 

Your eyebrows lifted up in surprise. “A clown fish?” You said to yourself, secretly pondering if you actually did resemble one. Like do you actually dress like a clown or was Vance just thinking at the top of his head when he first insulted you with that title? You shook off that thought when Vance stuttered out, “G-go away!” Then he was the one to quickly march out of the Grab N Go to catch up to his friend.

‘He’ll come around.' You told yourself with a confident smile, wiggling with excitement as more ideas sprouted in your head of how to fluster him even more.

~

You sat on the stool at the high table as you slurped on your after school slurpee. Your eyes were fixated on the wall menu as you sucked on your straw, seeing what other items they had you could try another day. As you absentmindedly read, the stool next to yours became occupied. You could see the head of blonde curls from your peripheral vision and a small smile instantly hopped onto your face.

You turned your head to see Vance tightly crossing his arms, looking like he was waiting for something. He felt your stare so he shifted to a glare towards you, “Are you gonna buy me that slurpee you promised or not?” He snapped like you could read his mind. You flinched and hurriedly called the cashier over. The cashier ran over, quickly over noticing the infamous Pinball Vance. She looked between the two of you and looked at Vance telling him to order as you got out your wallet. “Cherry.” He grudgingly said, as if he was embarrassed over his order or something.

You paid the cashier and she was on her way to bring the slurpee. You left your hand where you left it on the counter from placing the money and Vance eyed it as you took another sip of your slurpee. He eyed it down as his pupils kept darting from it to your face. Your hand looked so soft, and delicate. He wondered what it would feel like in his own.

He subconsciously inched his hand closer to yours until his fingers crept over yours. The contact surprised you as you looked down to see Vance touching your hand. ‘Is he trying to… hold my hand?’ You thought with pleasant surprise before looking up and over at him with your lips lifting in a small smile. 

It was as if Vance had slammed that open door right in your face as he instantly snapped out of it from your smoldering eye contact and defensively put his guard back up. The color of his cheeks exploded into red hues. “Don’t look at me like that, you clown cunt!” He yelled, embarrassed, before he shoved you causing you and your stool to fall to the ground.

~

You and two of your friends were taking a walk around the park as you talked about how you finally got the chance to see the movie ‘Dog Day Afternoon’. Your friend was explaining to the two of you how the real Sonny and Sal watched ‘The Godfather’ before they robbed the bank until you caught sight of Vance sitting at a picnic table with some of his friends. You interrupted your friend telling them you’d be right back as you quietly ran over to the table where Vance’s back was facing you.

You crept up from behind Vance, his friends noticing and giving you eyes that told you to not sneak up on- You covered Vance’s eyes from behind. “Guess who-” Vance’s elbow flew out to roughly jab you right in the stomach. It was his reflex from being startled. 

Your hands flew to wrap around your stomach as the wind was knocked out of you. “Cr-AP!” You wheezed out as Vance turned over his shoulder to look at you with pleasant surprise before putting his guard back up once more. “Oh great, it’s my idiot of a stalker.” He grumbled as he pressed his lips against his knuckles.

One of Vance’s friends raised a confused brow, you never approached Vance on your own. “Wait, are you guys dating now?” He asked, motioning between the two of you. You brightly smiled, ignoring all the pain in your stomach, and rested your elbow on Vance’s shoulder. “'Course we are! Right, Vance?” It was all in jest, as he had never agreed to be romantically involved with you, but you couldn't help but enjoy his flustered reactions, especially since you were the only one who could cause them. 

“Fuck off, you twat!” Vance exclaimed, roughly shrugging your elbow off while his ears burned. “Aw, Vance, are you blushing~?” One of Vance’s friends teased with a back snicker, resting his chin on his fist. “No I'm fucking not!” Vance yelled, slamming his fists on the table like a temperamental child. “It’s just hot out here!”

“Don’t be embarrassed.” You said as you wrapped your arms around his neck from behind, peeking over his shoulder. “It’s cute when you blush.” You complimented honestly as his face grew redder yet his expression softened up. You smiled and leaned closer to his cheek with puckered lips.

Vance saw this and went into instant fight or flight as he let out a sound similar to a stunned yelp. Rather than enduring a tiny bit of PDA he would secretly die for, he shoved your face away roughly with his cheeks as red as tomatoes. “Quit breathing down my neck you dumb whore!” He nearly screamed.

“But I like the smell of your hair.” You said with a soft smile, slightly regretting your words in worries of them being too weird. However, the compliment still successfully flustered Vance as he shakingly looked away, face burning hot, before growling to moving up to his feet. He roughly turned you by your shoulders to kick you away with a kick to the butt. “Get lost, clown cunt!!” He barked as you held in your amused laughter.

~

You were utterly addicted to Vance’s sweet blushes. And Vance could not get used to your unexpected compliments, no matter how often you fired them. It was just so amusing and cute to see how red the blush on his face got from the sudden abruptness of your adoration and how his body would physically cower away from your touch. He was like a hermit crab. But then he’d turn into a snapping turtle that would try to bite you for getting too close. 

His go-to for getting flustered from your flirty advances was always anger, which was kind of cute half the time since he was like an angry kitten with those blushy cheeks and stuttering voice. Simply just saying “hi’ flusters him enough to try to punch you in the face. And one time while you watched him play pinball, you jokingly made a comment about you two getting married. He angrily chased you around town all afternoon.

It was entertaining though because as soon as you would stop giving him attention, he kind of started to act really soft and nervous to talk with you but as soon as he got that attention again, he’d go right back to being harsh. But now, Vance knew he had to let his pride down for a little bit as his eyes kept glancing out the Grab n Go window to where you stood while he played his pinball.

He had previously stomped on your foot and called you “a fucking trainwreck of a person” after you said that you really liked his clothing style. But that was all after you caught his smile when he did a cool trick with the pinball that he finally succeeded in doing. You stared at his unaware grin before you told him he had a very nice smile. The poor boy got so embarrassed that he purposely dropped his smile and moodily jerked his head so that his big hair would shield his mouth from you. He belligerently told you to hit the road but you told him you’d just wait for him outside in a slightly disappointed tone.

And that’s exactly what you did as you sat at the bench outside the Grab n Go, lost in your thoughts. After two and a half months, you were getting nowhere with him and receiving nothing but closed doors. Although your back and forth of teasing and defense was still amusing and entertaining, you wished the two of you would get along quicker. You hoped he would finally let his guard down and just let his blush sink after accepting your affectionate praises and flirty phrases. You wondered if this would all be worth it in the end or if you were just wasting your time.

Vance couldn’t stop nervously glancing at you through the window. Why hadn’t you stood your ground like you usually did? Why didn’t you stay to continue teasing him? Did he go too far this time? Had you finally taken enough of his defensive insults? Did you just give up on him?

He became so stressed that he had messed up on his coordination and lost his game. He annoyedly groaned and pounded an aggravated hand on the machine. Why was he so bothered with you halting your flirty budges? He had constantly pushed you away and shut down any reference you gave for engaging in a romantic relationship with each other.

But you just flustered him so much, you made him feel weak; so weak, too weak. You always have, ever since his crush on you first blossomed in middle school. But he was always so defensive with himself anytime you’d try to friendlily interact with him. He just hated how you made his insides feel like mush and all warm. He could barely form coherent sentences with you! He really couldn’t handle you.

As much as he pushed you away in fear of growing weaker, he always came back to you like he couldn’t get enough. Because behind all of his spiked walls he used as defense, he still craved and fantasized of that relationship with you. 

But now you sounded so disheartened when you left his side. Was he losing your interest? Was he losing his chance with you? The chance he always dreamed of you as he stared at your hypnotic features in class. The chance he attempted when he bought you the drink you tried to buy before dropping it? 

He knew he was losing that chance. And he was not going to waste it. So he let his pride down and left the Grab n Go to meet you where you sat. You looked up at him with curious eyes that were much too intense for him to keep eye contact with as his pupils looked to the side. He shoved his growing sweaty hands in his back pockets as he leaned on one hip. “Hey… um… I was-um-fuck..” His tongue felt fat as warmth began to sting the skin on his cheeks once again.

“Yeah?” You coaxed with a patient look. He bit the inside of his cheek. “Are you… doing anything later today?” He asked while his stare was still hooked to the ground. A smile birthed from the unexpected question on your face, your teeth showing. “Why do you want to know?” He grudgingly shrugged like a child. You exhaled a lighthearted laugh. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

Vance’s eyes flung wide open as he whipped his head to finally glare at you, angrily offended by how you asked him the exact thing he was referring to. “Fucking clown cunt! I do not like you like that!” You completely ignored his embarrassed tantrum, too focused on how he finally softened up enough to make a move back. “Well, what do you want to do?” You asked.

“Why the hell would I know?! This is all your fantasy you're forcing on me!” He growled, making you slightly tilt your head that he was trying to twist the situation around to make it sound like you were asking him out. ‘You asked me, though?’ “We could go mini golfing?” You suggested only for him to roll his eyes as he crossed his arms. “That’s fucking stupid.”

“We could go to the park?”

“Too damn boring, that means I have to listen to you run that loud mouth of yours for way too long.”

“We could go to the arcade?”

“And do what? Prove how bad you suck at every game you play?”

“We could go to the roller rink?”

“And have you embarrass me by falling on your clown face?”

“We can just get dinner?”

“Yeah right, you wouldn’t even know how much money to bring.”

You sighed in annoyance at how picky he was. “Then what about the movies?” His eyes lit up in a way that directly told you he liked the idea but returned to his streak of shut downs. “So you can get popcorn crumbs all over me? Literal hell.” You stood up and got in his flushed face. “Oh my god, let’s just do the movies! I know you’ve been wanting to see Mad Max.”

The fact that you knew his interest in the new film nearly rendered him unglued. But he kept his grumpy composure. “Ugh, fine, you cunt! If you’re gonna hump my leg about it! But just so you know I am not going to enjoy this!”

You smiled as he finally gave in. You stared at his face as he looked to the side once again, his cheek looking very inviting. You took a quick step closer and leaned up to plant a sweet peck on his cheek that momentarily warmed your lips up. 

His features flinched and he looked down at you with a forced glare. But Vance secretly was exploding inside from happiness that he finally acted on the chance you gave him and that letting his pride down was so fucking worth it.

[journeytothewestresearch]

WIP: Sun Wukong's Powers and Skills

I'm currently working on a comprehensive list of Sun Wukong's magic powers. Here is just a taste from chapters two to four.

Bold black = magic power Bold red = acquired non-magic skill Bold green = claimed magic power that is never actually demonstrated Bold orange = inborn talent?

Ch. 2

Early education #1: human skills - “[H]e began to learn from his [senior immortal] schoolmates the arts of language and etiquette” (與眾師兄學言語禮貌) (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 116). - Note: We all know that Monkey failed his etiquette classes.

Early education #2: religious skills - “He discussed with them the scriptures and the doctrines; he practiced calligraphy and burned incense” (講經論道、習字焚香; i.e. ritual procedure) (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 116).

Wukong’s knowledge of scripture and philosophy pops up a few times in the novel. For example, he subsequently becomes enraptured by Subodhi's lecture on the Dao and Chan (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 116).

Early education #3: gardening skills - “In more leisurely moments he would be … hoeing the garden, planting flowers or pruning trees” (閑時即...鋤園、養花修樹) (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 116).

Immorality (1st category) [1] - This is achieved via oral formulas (口訣) and breathing exercises (自己調息) at prescribed times (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, pp. 120-121). - The stipulated Chinese hours are before zi (12:00-14:00) and after wu (12:00-02:00) (i.e. noon to midnight) (子前午後). However, historical real world practice is reversed: after zi and before wu (i.e. midnight to noon).

Adeptness (i.e. quick learning) - “But this Monkey King was someone who, knowing one thing, could understand a hundred!” (這猴王也是他一竅通時百竅通) (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 122).

First learns the “Multitude of Terrestrial Killers” (地煞數; a.k.a. “72 changes,” 七十二般變化) - This requires oral formulas (口訣, a.k.a. “oral spells,” 咒語) (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 122). - This sometimes requires a magic hand sign and a shake of the body (see below).

First attempt at “Cloud-Soaring” (騰雲) - Subodhi mockingly calls this “Cloud-Climbing” (爬雲) (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 122).

First learns the “cloud somersault” (觔斗雲) - This requires a magic sign, an oral spell, a fist clinch, and a body shake (捻著訣，念動真言，攢緊了拳，將身一抖). It takes him 108,000 li (里) in a single leap (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 123). - 108,000 li = 33,554 mi or 54,000 km [2]

Multitude of Terrestrial Killers (i.e. 72 changes) - This requires a magic sign (捻著訣) and an oral spell (咒語). He transforms into a pine tree (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 124).

Cloud somersault - He flies from the Western Continent to Flower-Fruit Mountain (i.e. from one side of the world to the other) “in less than an hour” (消一個時辰) (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 125).

First use of the “body beyond body” (身外身法; a.k.a. “magic of body division,” 分身法) (i.e. hair clones) - This requires chewing and a “change!” (變) command. Small clone monkeys are used to overwhelm and beat up a monster who is three zhang (三丈) (31.29 ft / 9.53 m) tall (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 128). [3] A passage explains: - “For you see, when someone acquires the body of an immortal, he can project his spirit, change his form, and perform all kinds of wonders [出神變化無方]. Since the Monkey King had become accomplished in the Way, every one of the eighty-four thousand hairs on his body could change into whatever shape or substance he desired” (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 128). - 原來人得仙體，出神變化無方。不知這猴王自從了道之後，身上有八萬四千毛羽，根根能變，應物隨心。

Cloud somersault - He flies 30 or 50 monkeys and property (pots, bowls, utensils, etc.) home from captivity to Flower-Fruit Mountain (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 129).

Ch. 3

Martial arts (武藝) - He “teach[es his monkeys] how to sharpen bamboos for making spears, file wood for making swords, arrange flags and banners, go on patrol, advance or retreat, and pitch camp” (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, pp. 131-132). - 教小猴砍竹為標，削木為刀，治旗幡，打哨子，一進一退，安營下寨  …

Cloud Somersault - He flies east from Flower-Fruit Mountain over “200 li of water in no time” (霎時間過了二百里水面) to the Eastern Continent (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 131).

Blows a mighty wind (陣風) - This requires a magic sign (捻起訣來), an oral spell (咒語), and taking a deep breath (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, pp. 131-132). A poem states that it puts the world into chaos: - Thick clouds in vast formation moved o'er the world; Black fog and dusky vapor darkened the Earth; Waves churned in seas and rivers, afrighting fishes and crabs; Boughs broke in mountain forests, wolves and tigers taking flight. Traders and merchants were gone from stores and shops. No single man was seen at sundry marts and malls. The king retreated to his chamber from the royal court. Officials, martial and civil, returned to their homes. This wind toppled Buddha's throne of a thousand years And shook to its foundations the Five-Phoenix Tower (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 132). - 炮雲起處蕩乾坤，黑霧陰霾大地昏。 江海波翻魚蟹怕，山林樹折虎狼奔。 諸般買賣無商旅，各樣生涯不見人。 殿上君王歸內院，階前文武轉衙門。 千秋寶座都吹倒，五鳳高樓幌動根。

Body beyond body (i.e. hair clones) - This requires chewing and a “change!” (變) command. The small clone monkeys carry an armory’s worth of weapons (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 132).

Magic of displacement (攝法) - This is a spell that carries the weapon-laden monkeys on wind (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 132).

Monkey claims to have a number of supernatural powers: - “I have the ability of seventy-two transformations. The cloud somersault has unlimited power. I am familiar with the magic of body concealment (身遯身, a.k.a. 隱身法) and the magic of displacement. I can find my way to Heaven or I can enter the Earth. I can walk past the sun and the moon without casting a shadow, and I can penetrate stone and metal without hindrance. Water cannot drown me, nor fire burn me” (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 133). - 我自聞道之後，有七十二般地煞變化之功，觔斗雲有莫大的神通；善能隱身遯身，起法攝法。上天有路，入地有門；步日月無影，入金石無礙；水不能溺，火不能焚。

Magic of water restriction (閉水法) - He travels to the Dragon Kingdom (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 133).

Super strength - He effortlessly toys with a 3,600 catty (斤) (4,682.61 lbs / 2,124 kg) battle fork and a 7,200 catty (9,365.23 lbs / 4,248 kg) halberd (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 134). [4] 

Super strength - He lifts the 13,500 catty (斤) (17,559.81 lbs / 7,965 kg) iron pillar in the dragon treasury (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 135).

Opens a waterway (開水道) - He uses the magic of water restriction to return to Flower-Fruit Mountain (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 137).

First use of the “Magic Method of Modeling Heaven on Earth” (法天像地的神通), a 10,000 zhang (萬丈) (104,300 ft / 31,800 m) tall giant form - This requires bending over and screaming “grow!” [長!]. This form has: - “[A] head like the Tai Mountain and a chest like a rugged peak, eyes like lightning and a mouth like a blood bowl, and teeth like swords and halberds” (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 138).  - 頭如泰山，腰如峻嶺，眼如閃電，口似血盆，牙如劍戟

Immorality (2nd category) - This is achieved by inking out his name from the ledgers of hell [生死簿子] (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 141).

Ch. 4

Cloud somersault - It is much faster than those of ordinary immortals (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 145).

Travel to heaven - Refer back to ch. 3-#6A (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 145).

First use of “three-headed and six-armed” (三頭六臂) war form - This requires a “change!” (變) command (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 155).

Staff multiplication - This is done millions of times over (以一化千千化萬) to face Nezha’s own countless weapons (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 156). - The multitude of armaments are said to “clash like horned-dragons flying in the air” (cf. Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 156).

Body beyond body (i.e. hair clones) - This requires a “change!” (變) command. Monkey creates an autonomous decoy to distract Nezha while he slips behind him to land a staff blow (Wu & Yu, 2012, vol. 1, p. 156).

Immortality (3rd category) - This is achieved via heavenly imperial wine (御酒, a.k.a. “Immortal wine,” 仙酒 and “juices of jade,” 玉液瓊漿) (Wu & Yu, vol. 1, p. 159, 165, and 167). 

I'm currently on chapter 16, so it will take me a while to finish, especially since I'm simultaneously gathering info for several other articles, including mirrored essays for Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing.

Once I've gone through all 100 chapters, I will put each instance of a particular power into its own category (transformation, super strength, hair clones/tools, etc.) and then analyze everything as a whole. The Google Doc containing the list of powers will be attached to the analysis.

This project was partly inspired by a previous effort made by @the-monkey-ruler.

I'm open to feedback.

Notes:

1)  In place of using “layer” or “level,” I’m choosing to designate his various immortalities as “categories.” This is because a new layer of divine longevity or durability would surely be added for each immortal peach, elixir pill, or cup/jug of heavenly wine consumed. Hence, eating multiple peaches would be one category, eating multiple elixir pills would be one category, and so on and so forth.

2) It’s important to note that 108,000 li is a metaphor for instant enlightenment (see section III here). Therefore, power-scalers should not use any instance of this as a feat. 

3) One zhang (丈) comprises ten chi (尺, a.k.a. "Chinese feet"), and during the Ming Dynasty, one chi was roughly 12.3 in or 31.8 cm. This makes one zhang 10.43 ft or 3.18 m (Jiang, 2005, p. xxxi).  

4) During the Ming, one catty (jin, 斤) was 590 grams (Elvin, 2004, p. 491 n. 133).

Source:

Elvin, M. (2004). The Retreat of the Elephants: An Environmental History of China. New Haven (Conn.): Yale University Press.

Wu, C., & Yu, A. C. (2012). The Journey to the West (Vols. 1-4) (Rev. ed.). Chicago, Illinois: University of Chicago Press.

[thoughtspresso]

Kana’s strong ability to read people comes from her emotional honesty.

And this ability is related to her specific acting style.

In the infamous Ch. 124, Kana keenly points out that Ruby has a co-dependent relationship with Aqua. This is amazing because she points out something that she wasn’t even really aware of--that Sarina is projecting her co-dependent relationship with Gorou-sensei.

She’s the only one who keeps pointing out and admitting that it’s really weird and out of character for them otherwise to be that close.

I don’t think a lot of people recognize how accurately Kana points things out about people that we keep passing off as jokes. It seems most people poise Akane and Aqua as being the superior judges of character in the series. But there’s something about Kana’s readings of people that set her apart, and interestingly, it affects her acting.

First our main man Aqua is portrayed as this guy who reads others really well at the beginning of the show, manipulating others into doing what he needs them to do.

According to Kana, his acting style is mainly focused on copying. And it’s true!  He thinks of a character that is needed in the situation or by what the director needs, and based on that, he acts it out.

He even copied his mother’s killer on Sweet Today:

To the point when, in Tokyo Blade, he had to act out Touki being relieved that Saya is alive, he originally acted it out exactly how the manga portrayed it:

Then we have Akane, who can surmise the unspoken details of a person, and extrapolate information about them and make guesses about the decisions they will make.

Her acting style is almost like Method acting, where she enters the person’s mind and lives in it for a bit to gain information about them.

Her method is about intellectualizing the experiences of that person, rather than understanding herself. While this makes her a phenomenal detective with unmatched deduction skills, when there’s not enough information or the setting doesn’t suit her interpretation of the character, she could get stuck from time-to-time.

These two acting styles are largely about trying to make informed guesses and judgement about people and copying those decisions.

Kana’s acting style is Adaptive. It goes farther than simply matching the energy of other people on the scene with her. It also means she reads herself in relation to others and adapts herself to the situation.

In other words, Kana’s acting style is centered on a strong sense of empathy, and an honest understanding of her inner self and how she relates to others.

Her acting is about how she would feel from situation to situation. If she already knows in herself that situation A would yield feeling Y, then she knows the opposite situation B would yield feeling Z. And so on.

Because of how well she’s come to understand herself, she easily understands parts of others that they wouldn’t even admit to themselves.

i.e. Aqua’s actually pretty delusional and thinks himself to be more important than he is, and he has chuunibyou/eigth-grader syndrome:

It’s a trope about teenagers escaping from their trauma by pretending they have some superior ability. And while Aqua isn’t pretending he’s secretly a ninja as in the classic sense of this trope, he does tend to think and act like he’s in a much bigger plot. In a way, Aqua does have the ability to remember facts from his past life, making him a middle-aged obstetrician in the body of a teenage actor, kind of like a vampire on his second life if you think about it--but apart from that, his ideas of being some Light Yagami-esque character who “uses” other people or has some superior detective skills has been kind of a failure. He didn’t crack his mom’s passcode by figuring it out, as much as he just bruteforce attempted every single one, and he didn’t even figure out his father’s identity after all that DNA testing he spent on. Akane had to do it for him. And he didn’t lead Akane to find Amamiya Gorou’s corpse--The Crow did that for Ruby.

She uses her own personal experiences to understand how deeply someone else would also feel in that situation, even if they try to hide their emotions.

All this is simply to say that, there have been a lot of personality observations that Kana has spoken that has been passed off as a joke, when in fact she’s been accurately describing the reality of the situation out loud.

I think apart from the plot, the emotional beats of the story would likely involve Kana pointing it out (whether to the character or to the reader) that they have a problem they need to resolve--whether it’s Ruby’s co-dependence on Aqua, or Aqua’s inability to express real emotions as he suppresses his trauma, that will lead to them fulfilling the character development necessary to fully resolve their story arc.

I also think that it’s Kana’s emotional integrity and honesty--her ability to understand her true self and have the courage to vulnerably lay that out completely on-screen--that will set her acting apart from her contemporaries and will make her shine like none other.

I have no catchy ending line for you like my previous theories/analyses, except for this:

Arima Kana best girl.

[nightfurylover31]

Maybe it’s an odd time to bring it up, but it is Valentine’s Day. Sonamy and Sonally have been one of the biggest ship wars in the franchise. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be as much of a thing as it used to be, but there is still occasional bashing or something. After some deep thought, I think I came up with an answer to make both sides happy.

It has nothing to do with Amy or Sally. It depends on the VERSION of Sonic.

When you think about it, Archie/SatAM Sonic and Mainline Sonic are actually pretty different. With SatAM and Archie, Sonic was born in a monarchy and had a steady home, even when fighting in a war. He’s used to being in one place. He also fought Robonik/Eggman because he had to, freeing the planet and restoring the kingdom. As for the games and IDW, Sonic travels the world and fights Eggman because he wants to, not because he has to. It may not seem like much, but they are key factors. These different lifestyles show more of who would be a better partner for him. Sally has responsibilities as a princess and leader. Even if Eggman is defeated for good, she will still be bound to these duties. Amy, on the other hand, is more adventurous and loves trying new things. She may settle down at times, but she still loves to travel. Both girls are compassionate and ready to help others and can even take the lead when they have to, but go about it in different ways. Sonally is a case of opposites attract and Sonamy is more kindred spirits.

While Sonic and Sally clash at times over how to plan, they work together to pull them off. They are more at ease when they don’t have to be on missions, and more overt about dating. They are also childhood friends in these continuities, knowing each other longer than their other friends. This led to their feelings becoming stronger over time. Sally has grown more into being on the battlefield, but usually works more behind the scenes or deals with the more technical or planning while Sonic takes most of the action.

Sonic and Amy both love adventure and sometimes act before they think. They also go out of their way to help others without a second thought. Amy may be a big romantic, but her relationship with Sonic nowadays is more on the subtle side and no less important and sweet. She used to chase after Sonic, but wasn’t so blinded to put her own desires ahead of others. Amy is also one of the first people Sonic met in his fights against Eggman. Amy also trained herself to be stronger to stand by Sonic’s side so she could protect him like how he protects her.

I do want to talk about the X Years Later/Light Mobius arcs in Archie. In that timeline, Sonic and Sally are married and rule as king and queen. While at times he’s not always happy with being king, he loves Sally enough to accept it. He was even willing to be her royal consort until they could be wed in Archie issue #124 (which is probably the most out of character moment compared to his game counterpart ever). And while we never see Amy in those arcs, Ian Flynn has said a few times on the Bumblekast he thinks Amy would be traveling around with the Time Stones. I thought that was a cool idea, and that feels more like the kind of life the mainline Sonic would want to have.

I kind of feel obliged to bring up Elise. Most people may not like it, and I prefer them as friends, but she was also written as a love interest. Anyway, in one scene Elise asks Sonic if he’ll leave after Dr. Eggman and his plans for Soleanna are stopped, which the hedgehog confirms. Despite what feelings he may have for Elise, he’s not going to give up his lifestyle just to be with her. And I do not mean to make it sound mean, it’s just who he is. A free spirit, free as the wind. And in Sonic and the Black Knight, he is revealed to be the true King Arthur, but he doesn’t accept it. He’s uncomfortable with how the other knights bow to him. I find it hard to believe this Sonic would want that kind of life for anyone, even if Sally was part of the main continuity. She wouldn't give up her duties for him either. A steady relationship or royal lifestyle just isn’t for Sonic’s game counterpart. In issue #2 of IDW, Amy knows Sonic can't be held down and respects his decisions. She loves Sonic for who he is and doesn’t want to change him. Instead, she’s fine with just going on adventures with him. Living in the moment. It’s not the life she initially wanted with him, but it’s enough for now. It does feel like they have become closer after Forces. The game was far from the best, but the premise of spending six month apart is a good way to build something up for them.

The reboot in Archie kind of proves this point about the relationships as well, albeit unintentionally. While the main reason is the new mandates were that game characters could not date, Sonic and Amy felt a lot closer than before. Sonic and Sally were also confirmed to only have a platonic relationship in the new timeline. This is due to Sonic’s past now being closer to his game counterpart rather than SatAM. He’s still part of the Freedom Fighters, but still has his world traveling roots. For example, he came to Mobotropolis after Eggman took over instead of living in the city at the time.

Sonamy and Sonally are both valid ships and deserve support. But don’t hate on the other when it’s the version of Sonic that truly matters for deciding who is the better match for him.