I don't ship them or anything but Sagisawa and Takayama's dynamic would be exactly like Furuya Rei and Akai Shuichi's where Sagisawa is SEETHING at Takayama but Takayama feels emotionally neutral towards him and just doesn't understand why he's constantly getting caught in these emotional fistfights on top of ferris wheels etc. and to top it all off he's parrying every single blow flawlessly because there's nothing Sagisawa could actually say that would actually, you know, hurt Takayama, so it all bounces right off of him which only serves to make Sagisawa more angry

Entropy Balance (1)

"All right, I'm gonna have to ask you to stop doing that." Maxwell blinked, suddenly yanked out of his reverie. Wilson was side-eyeing him with that inane hostility that was usually spurred by Maxwell doing something he didn't trust. Except, this time Maxwell was sure he was doing absolutely nothing other than lying on his straw roll and waiting for sleep to catch up with him. He spread his arms in dismay. "What?" "Staring at me. It's annoying." Wilson turned away and resumed drying his hair, vigorously rubbing a rough cloth on his head. "As if there weren't already enough eyes in the darkness always watching." "I-" Maxwell stopped. He hadn't- he'd been staring, hadn't he? He bit back a string of imaginative curses, but the silence got Wilson's attention anyway. He peeked at Maxwell again, squinting to an almost comical degree. "You're still doing it."

"I'm looking at the fire!" He huffed, gesturing wildly. "The only thing worth looking at, since it's the only source of light. You're standing right beside the fire, I can't not see you. Do you think your feeble sanity can withstand such an atrocious ordeal or do I have to gouge my eyes out for you to feel more comfortable?" "You aren't looking at the fire, you're looking at me. What is it, the scars?" Wilson turned and spread his arms, fully showing his torso. "Fascinating, aren't they? I wonder whose fault it is that I have so many. Look, if you connect these five you get the Libra-" "Oh knock it off, for heaven's sake." Maxwell turned over with a grunt, granting Wilson his precious privacy and forcibly removing the distracting sight from his field of view. "You know, I would love to think you were contemplating and maybe regretting the lasting consequences of your trickery on my health and life, but I fear it would be optimistic to the point of idiocy." Maxwell gritted his teeth, glaring at the complete darkness and shutting his eyes forcefully, as if to scrape the very memory of the image from his retinae. "Goodnight, Higgsbury."

It was a sad truth of life, that no man was ever aware of how valuable a thing was until it was lost. It took Maxwell mere days of his newly-found freedom to remember exactly how overrated and taxing complete humanity was, with all its annoying mental and physical needs. The King of the Constant didn't need to eat or sleep, being sustained and maintained purely by dark forces flowing in the throne. It came at the hefty price of self-determination, freedom of movement, loss of a wide spectrum of emotions and unending, excruciating boredom, but it did have its perks compared to the vexing condition of the average survivor. Rediscovering hunger pains had been a mostly unpleasant experience, although life in the camp was organized enough to never let them get too hindering. Pain, in general, was something Maxwell tried to avoid like the plague, including the annoying soreness of tired muscles that came after a long day of gathering and scavenging. Luckily enough, Wilson and his own puppets were often more than capable of dealing with those tasks themselves, while Maxwell pretended to keep himself busy with lighter work around the base. One issue he truly wasn't expecting, however, was how deeply distracting close-quarter coexistence with Wilson could turn out to be, especially when it came to mundane chores like bathing and grooming. It was nothing new, in truth. Maxwell had spent months observing Wilson's antics from the throne, delighted and thoroughly entertained by his struggles and misadventures. He had seen him countless times in different states of undressing, and his mind hadn't dwelled on the fact even for a second. The King's thoughts and actions, after all, were nothing but an extension of the Shadows' will, whose interests reigned supreme and discreetly steered the hands and eyes of Their most valuable puppet in the desired direction. They harbored no interest for beauty or harmony, it would be against Their very nature. But Maxwell... well, he fancied himself a man of taste. Where elegance could be found, in all its possible manifestations, whether in the smart cut of a tailored suit, or in the cunning strategy of a game of chess, or in the red bloom adorning a lady's hair, or in the solid outline of a determined jaw, he would always take a moment to savour it. Wilson P. Higgsbury had no such qualities. The perpetual state of disarray of his hair and clothing was a testament to his lack of style, his self-proclaimed and questionable "science" was more of a pig-headed trial-and-error approach to any given problem rather than a rigorous method, his inexplicable naivety would net him a row of losses in both chess and poker. It wasn't by accident that Maxwell had observed him more carefully than any other survivor, oh no. It was just too amusing to see in how many different ways this ridiculous little man could fail. And yet, ultimately, this ridiculous little man did not fail. He died, oh he did, over and over again. Starved, frozen to death, mauled by the beasts, stomped by tree guardians, driven insane by his own nightmares, swallowed by the darkness, deadly injured by traps. Yet, he always came back, with a touch stone found by sheer luck, or a meticulously crafted amulet, or a creepy statue of flesh. No matter what Maxwell threw at him, this ridiculous little man kept moving forward, through sheer, blundering, inelegant stubborness, until he was facing his very captor in the throne room. And even after that, even after being seized by the dark powers as their new King, it had taken no more than a month for him to regain his freedom to do what he knew best: stumbling forward, with no clear plan or reason. It boggled the mind, and having been bested by such an individual did hurt the former King's pride to some extent, there was no point in denying that. But Maxwell wasn't so petty as to dismiss as completely insignificant what had proved to be a decisive trait of Wilson's character, a trait that had left its marks on his body as well. And once Maxwell's mind had been freed from the numbing grasp of the Shadows, he had found that his eyes naturally tended to...linger. Wilson wasn't an imposing man by any means, almost as thin as Maxwell and much shorter too. But months of hardships had shaped him into a curious specimen of a man, with its own rough but undeniable elegance. He was still very slim, his diet too austere to allow for any real muscle growth, but he was a far cry from the scrawny recluse Maxwell had dragged through the portal. The outline of his muscles under his skin was perfectly visible with each and every movement, every time he bent this or that way or lifted unsuspected weights with little effort. The very shape of his shoulders, the faint furrow along his spine, the small dip of his lower back could drive lesser men to tears, and Maxwell was sure that despite the many small nicks and scars, his skin would feel almost perfectly smooth to the- "What on earth is your problem?" Maxwell winced. Damn it, damn Wilson and himself and the damned Shadows that put them together. "If my presence bothers you so much, why don't you bathe in the eastern pond during the day instead of here at night?" "Because I'd rather not being attacked by frogs, eels, tentacles and whatever horrors you placed in this God-forsaken land, for example. A stupid white carrot followed and screamed at me for an hour while I went there to fill the buckets this afternoon." "How unfortunate. A screaming white carrot, you said?" "Yes, what the hell was it? I've never seen anything like that before. I had to shove it back into the ground to make it stop." "And where, exactly?" "Near the second... you're trying to distract me." Wilson glared at Maxwell, slapping the piece of cloth in the bucket with a small splash. "Look, I'm not an idiot-" "Debatable, but go on." "Maxwell." Wilson turned to face him fully, his expression suddenly very serious and his tone lower. "Do you really think I haven't noticed?" Ah, he had finally mustered the gall for a direct approach. This could likely take a very bad turn, but the temptation to meet Wilson's challenge head-on was too strong, consequences be damned. Maxwell closed the Codex, which he had been reading- been trying to read since the scientist had started his usual ablutions. He stood up and went to sit near the fire, on the same log as Wilson, so close that their arms almost touched. He took a long, slow drag on his cigar, savouring it, letting the smoky shadow permeate his lungs, and he looked, blatantly and leisurely. He looked at the untamable tangle of hair crowning Wilson's head, sticking every which way in a half-dried mess. He considered the sharp angle of his jaw, adorned with that rough stubble just at the right length to suit Maxwell's taste, seeing as he looked like a ridiculous prepubescent altar boy when clean-shaven, and like a veritable caveman when the beard grew bushier. He observed his chest, pleasantly proportionate and without an ounce of fat, peppered with roughly-healed scars that interrupted the even distribution of hair, just as abundant as on his face. His gaze dropped languidly lower, following its soft, dark trail until it disappeared under the hem of Wilson's trousers. Then he finally looked up, straight in the scientist's disconcerted eyes, and exhaled fully, lazily, coils of shadows lapping at Wilson's face. "Noticed what, if I may ask?" Wilson's reaction was priceless. He jumped on his feet as if he had been bitten by a snake, eyes fixed on Maxwell as his hand fumbled around blindly for his shirt. He hastily put it on, his face red and scrunched in upset. "Is there a single shred of morality in you that isn't irredeemably twisted?" "I'm afraid not." Old habits died hard, and poking at Wilson's flimsy mental balance was just as entertaining as ever, no matter the circumstances. Maxwell smiled amicably, supporting his chin on his fist. "I take that the notion distresses you." "You- you...!" Wilson's fists were clenched against his sides, his face a mask of sheer rage. He was a temperamental man, after all. As soon as he had learnt of Maxwell's betrayal, he had immediately flung himself at his shadow projection, uselessly trying tackle him to the ground. He had tried to attack him in the throne room, too, nearly getting himself incinerated along with his weapon by the protective spells. There had been nothing to protect Maxwell from his next outburst, when they had casually met in the Constant later on, and he could still remember the remarkable bruise Wilson's knuckles had left on his cheekbone for the following days. He wasn't looking forward to another scuffle, but he'd be damned before he let himself get intimidated by Wilson. "Cat got your tongue?" He kept smiling, unperturbed. "I hadn't figured you for such a prude, you know." "You- It's not- This is enough!" Wilson burst out, abruptly pacing in front of the fire, arms flailing about like a lunatic. "This is enough! There is only so much I can tolerate, and I'm already well past my limit." He fetched his backpack, emptied it, and started shoving random materials in it. Flint, logs, stones, a handful of carrots, some charcoal. He then threw it at Maxwell, who barely dodged the sharp stick that flew toward his forehead afterwards. "Here are some supplies and a torch. Take them and get out of my sight. You aren't welcome in this camp anymore." Maxwell blinked, then looked at the backpack. He blinked again, then looked again at Wilson. He seemed positively murderous, his words were as stern as they could be, and this was a very tense and delicate moment, but Maxwell just couldn't do it. He tried to remain serious and answer with equal poignancy, maybe even putting up some pretense of rightful disdain, but he just couldn't. He snorted and covered his face, but he couldn't hold back the roaring laughter that erupted from his belly and shook his whole body. "Really, pal? You're willing to cooperate and gloss over the fact that I trapped you here, unleashed hellish horrors upon you countless times, and ultimately confined you to the clutches of the throne in exchange for my own freedom, but this is the dealbreaker? The worst and most unforgivable sin, peeping at a man having a bath one foot away from me?" He snorted again and wiped a small tear from his eye, genuinely out of breath from the laughter. "How very anticlimactic." "It's not about this, trust me. This is just the last straw in the largest hay pile of history!" Wilson went on, glaring daggers at him. "You have no notion of decency or respect! I welcome you in my camp, I share my supplies, I deal with the heaviest tasks, I bear with your complete lack of remorse and your unsufferable jabs, and you don't even care! You keep acting as if you're doing me a favor by staying here! I genuinely can't tell if you actually think you'd have no trouble surviving on your own, or if you just enjoy torturing me in any conceivable way. Well, I am done with this. I am done with you. If you can't even bother to respect my privacy and insist on treating me like a- a plaything to satisfy your every sick whim, then I can't be bothered to care about your wellbeing. Grab your things and leave, Maxwell." That was genuinely impressive, he had to admit it. It wasn't like Maxwell had expected their shaky, reluctant alliance to last more than few months in the first place, but he hadn't foreseen such a peculiar conclusion. "I've gotta hand it to you, pal, you really-" "Shut up." Wilson cut him off abruptly. His eyes had grown tired, but steely. "I said enough. Get lost and don't show your face around here again." "...Very well." Apparently playtime was over. Maxwell dispelled the shadow cigar, stood up, shook off some dust from his suit and grabbed Wilson's generous handout. He graced his former partner with a single glance, waiving mockingly at him. "So long, Higgsbury." He lit his torch and ventured into the darkness.

Maxwell woke at dawn, having unfortunately fallen asleep facing exactly the direction of the rising sun. He wondered for a moment about the empty view of the wilderness, with the noticeable absence of the chests, assorted structures, organized bushes and scattered tools that adorned the camp, before remembering he did not have a camp anymore. He groaned, annoyed at the perspective of the whole lot of work his new situation would involve, and turned on his side to catch a few more minutes of sleep. He found himself looking at Wilson, idly sitting near the embers of his dying fire. They blinked at each other for a moment. "Say pal, I think you may have gotten lost. Your camp is further up north." Wilson sighed. He looked like he hadn't slept much, if at all. He tiredly rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a small envelope, putting it down near Maxwell's head. "I brought some breakfast." Maxwell sat up, but he didn't take the envelope. It wasn't very surprising that Wilson had found him, seeing as Maxwell hadn't felt like covering much ground in the darkness and he had set a small campfire relatively close to Wilson's base, but his presence was puzzling in itself. He eyed the other man quizzically. "The decision I made last night was... a bit rushed. I shouldn't have kicked you out like that, out of the blue. In the middle of the night, of all times. Especially since we haven't secured any touchstones or amulets since-" "I can't believe it. You actually came here to apologize." Maxwell groaned in dismay, covering his face with his hands. "And here I thought you had finally grown a pair." "Would you mind not being an absolute tool for one minute and letting me talk?" "Yes, I would. This is pitiful. You're pitiful. Can't you even hold a grudge for a whole night before giving in to whatever misguided sense of guilt led you here to bribe me back to the camp? With..." He picked up the envelope and peered into it. "Honey nuggets, apparently. How charming." "Shut up. I'm not here to apologize. I've had every reason to want to get rid of you since we met, and I still do." Wilson glared at him, wringing his hands in irritation. "But not like that. In my defense, I can say that I've been a bit stressed lately, and... maybe I wasn't exactly in my right mind yesterday." "Are you ever?" "Maxwell, shut up." Maxwell condescendingly bit a nugget. "It's- it's just that... ugh!" Wilson suddenly threw his hands to the sky and ruffled his own hair in frustration. "It makes literally no sense for us to even discuss this! Surviving together is the best option, it's undeniable! As a pair, we consume less resources, we forage more efficiently, we can defend ourselves better against any attacks, we rest more and more safely. Parting ways would give us no advantage whatsoever. Yet, somehow you make it seem like the most preferable option." He stopped, waiting for Maxwell's reply, but he kept casually nibbling at his meal. After a moment, Wilson continued. "So. Since it is clearly the most rational choice, I'm here to tell you to come back to the camp. Does this qualify as apologizing? No, because as far as I'm concerned, you'd deserve to be slain by your own hounds a hundred times over for everything you've put me through since you first spoke to me. Does that mean you can waltz back in your tent and keep treating me like a doormat all day? Also no, because I'm tired of you pretending that my help is irrelevant. You can't possibly be that stupid, and you have no regard for other people's life. If you were convinced you could easily survive on your own, you'd have left a long time ago. Probably after killing me and stealing my stuff." "My, someone's cranky today." Maxwell had finished his breakfast and had summoned his usual shadow cigar. Wilson eyed it with mild disgust, probably remembering the previous night, and Maxwell at least had the decency to blow the smoke well away from his face. He scratched his chin and considered Wilson's word for a minute. "...You do have a point about the benefits of working together. I guess I may have not been on my best behavior lately, but that can be easily remedied. Any more ground rules I should be aware of, sir?" "Yes. No more..." Wilson gestured awkwardly between them, pointing at his eyes, then at Maxwell's, then at his own again. It took Maxwell some considerable guesswork to understand that he was referring to the 'inappropriate' glances. "...That. No more of that. How could you even- do you have no shame at all?" "Oh, please. I still find ridiculous that this is what got you so worked up, on top of everything." "Really? I find ridiculous that you could be so casual about it. I'm sure most people would have had a much less diplomatic reaction than mine to such an appalling behavior."

"Yes, yes, the civilized world is fairly opinionated about such trivial matters, is it not? Good thing we're farther than humanly conceivable from civilization." Maxwell flashed a grin to the other man, who only hunched his back a little more and looked at the charred cinders even more dejectedly. Maxwell couldn't help but grow a bit more somber too. "...Does it really bother you that much?" "I- It's not..." Wilson shook his head. "Not really. Not as a matter of principle, at least. It's not really any of my business. It does bother me, however, if it means I'm constantly scrutinized like some- some tasty morsel, for heaven's sake!" It took all the restraint Maxwell could muster not to make a joke about that vivid choice of words. Meanwhile, Wilson's arms were again flailing about madly, as it was his habit when he grew invested in an argument. "Which I'm actually used to! Every single creature in this hellish place is always looking at me like it wants to devour me! Or slaughter me for fun. Except Chester. So I could deal with that, but no! Turns out you're even more depraved than the worst nightmarish-" "All right, all right, I get it, no more peeping!" Maxwell stopped Wilson's rant when he nearly got poked in the eye by a flying finger. He took one last drag from the cigar before letting it vanish in the faint breeze. "This wretched world offers so few pleasures and respites from the grating task of existence that I didn't even think it would be a problem if I let myself enjoy such a trifling one. But if this offends your pristine sense of decorum so deeply, I'll pass on it. Are you satisfied?" Wilson looked at Maxwell at length, apparently considering his words very seriously. Then he spoke slowly, as if unravelling a fundamental truth born from the deepest reaches of his mind. "You have the uncanny ability to sound always, unrepentantly offensive, no matter what you are actually saying." "I try my best." "Is that why your nose looks like it's been smashed a dozen times?" "Really? You are insulting my features now?" Maxwell scoffed, genuinely disappointed. "Are you willing to stoop that low?" "You said it. There are only so many ways one can entertain himself here." The sunrays had grown fierce, and it seemed it was going to be another torrid summer day. Wilson stood up and stretched with a pained groan. Maxwell wondered how long he'd been sitting at his campfire before he woke up. "Let's go. There's a lot of work to do."

Despite Wilson's poor expectations, there was a noticeable change in Maxwell's behavior. It was less of an actual improvement and more of an ongoing state of haughty sulking, but the complete disappearance of his usual jabs and unhelpful sarcasm on just about anything was honestly a breath of fresh air. Even though they often spent most of their days separately, with Wilson foraging and exploring and Maxwell crafting and cooking in the base, his malicious comments at the end of a hard day's work were more grating than Wilson cared to admit. Since their argument, however, communication between them had turned into a mere exchange of only the strictly necessary information applying the minimum amount of words possible, and Wilson didn't have a single problem with that. A true loner at heart, he'd much rather bask in a quiet atmosphere of mild hostility than constantly having to deflect open and pointless mockery. Maxwell had been surprisingly compliant about Wilson's request for privacy too. He had taken to retire in his tent as soon as Wilson fetched the buckets, or he busied himself with some other activity behind a conveniently placed chest or machine that hid them from each other's view. A small part of Wilson's mind kept reminding him that not seeing Maxwell didn't necessarily imply not being seen by Maxwell, but he'd just have to live with that. In truth, the most shocking aspect of the recent revelation about Maxwell's inclinations had been the man's sheer nerve. Wilson may not harbor any particular disgust or bias towards the likes of Maxwell, but the memory of his obscene display of interest and his blatant disregard of basic social decency still sparked a burning rage in his gut. There was only so much that decades of isolation could excuse, and Wilson was fairly sure that this wasn't part of it. Still, Maxwell's behavior had remained irreproachable since then, if noticeably distant. Since Wilson had been freed from the throne, the Constant had been remarkably peaceful as well. He had met Maxwell in a world of perennial summer with few hostile creatures and relatively rich lands, an unexpected and welcome change from the horrifying regions he had had to cross to reach the King. Days passed with uncharacteristic ease and an almost reassuring sense of routine, allowing them to gather their energies and resources as they looked for the next portal. Then, one day, the hounds reappeared. Wilson's pickaxe froze in midair as he was about to strike a promising gold vein, and the familiar weight of dread sank in his chest. He had hoped. Foolish as it may be, he had genuinely hoped the peace would last. The mysterious woman who had freed him from the throne was... well, she had seemed at least conflicted about her actions. She had seemed friendly, even cheerful at first... until she had electrocuted him for literally no reason, and that was definitely not reassuring, but Wilson had hoped it was just some blind (and probably deserved) vengeance towards whoever sat on the throne. He had truly hoped she could turn out a more merciful ruler than Maxwell, but a new hound incursion wasn't exactly a benevolent sign. The growls of the foul beasts echoed all around, still distant but unmistakable. He quickly gathered the scattered materials and hurried back towards the base, heart pounding with the increasing volume of the howls. By the time he got to the camp, Maxwell had already donned his armor and sword, and he was placing a bunch of tooth traps outside the wooden fence, flanked by two shadow duelists. He pointed a safe path to Wilson when he saw him. "Go that way. There's new armor and weapons in the bigger chest." Wilson nodded and run past him. In a couple of minutes they were both ready, fully armed, standing in the middle of the camp near the lit firepit. Wilson hated fighting in the base, as usually most of their equipment was damaged by the scuffle, but the sky was already red, and night would likely fall before they managed to defeat the pack. The wait was tense, as always. The guttural roars grew and grew, surrounding them from every direction, causing Wilson to turn over and over again, always expecting the first hound to appear right behind his back. Trenches and palisades were of little use; the beasts always seemed to spawn from darkness itself, regardless of terrain or physical barriers. He almost jumped when a hand grabbed his shoulder, in a way that felt all but reassuring. "Steady, Higgsbury. You've survived them plenty of times before." "Yes, when you were the one sending them after-" "Save that for later." The first trap snapped loudly, followed by a pained howl. Then the horde came. In few seconds the camp was a flurry of movement and noise, where black, fanged creatures rushed in one after another. Wilson fought almost without thinking, striking and dodging with learnt timing and experience, luring two or three hounds in a favorable spot before attacking them one by one. He caught a glimpse of the duelists holding their ground with equal skill, while Maxwell remained at the edge of the camp, somehow managing not to engage in direct fight, but readily finishing the wounded hounds that were trying to escape. It was a strange, long attack, Wilson noticed. The corpses of the hounds kept piling up on the ground, and Wilson couldn't help but think that if they had all attacked together in a single swarm, they could have easily overpowered both Maxwell and him. Instead, the beasts kept trickling in the camp slowly, as if someone was releasing them gradually. It was completely dark by the time the last wounded beast tried to run from Wilson's lance. He didn't even need to chase it as it limped slowly towards the darkness, until it fell heavily on the ground just at the edge of the circle of light granted by the firepit, wheezing loudly and pitifully. Maxwell approached it too, and they both stood before the agonizing beast for a moment. Under the dim light and the two men's wavering shadows, it almost looked like a normal boar, one of the many Wilson had seen his father hunt in his youth. He had never been quite fond of the sport. Maxwell knelt down, his free hand reaching out towards the animal. As soon as he did, the hound reared its ugly head with a roar and snapped at him, still trying to bite and shred and maul and kill even as it was bleeding to death. "How quickly they forget..." Maxwell sounded almost wistful, a somewhat unfitting note in his voice. It made some sort of perverted sense that the one thing capable of inspiring sympathy in him would be a creature just as ferocious and devious as its creator. "Do you think they could be domesticated?" "No." He stood up as one of the duelists moved forward. Its blade rose in the air and swiftly fell down with a sharp hiss. The whimpering immediately stopped. "I made sure of that." Wilson thought of himself as of a merciful man, but he did not feel pity for the creature's destiny. The hounds were no normal animals, they had no sense of self-preservation whatsoever. They either died or kept attacking, over and over again, retreating into the shadows only to reappear from a different spot few seconds later, ready to strike anew. They were self-destructing weapons through and through, and he had had to learn to treat them as such. "I think we can wait until tomorrow to collect their meat. We're going to be up all night if we start now." "Indeed. The camp also needs to be-" Maxwell stopped and looked around. "What is that?" A faint melody echoed in the air, seemingly from all directions. It was a simple, sweet tune, produced by pins or bells tingling in harmony. It reminded Wilson of a small music box he once gifted to one of his nieces. "The fire!" Maxwell suddenly shouted, pointing at the camp. Clearly visible despite the distance, a slithering claw of shadows was snaking towards the pit, black as ink and disturbingly real. They sprang towards it, but it was too late. Its fingers wrapped around the embers and squashed them in a puff of smoke, the whole area sinking in complete darkness. Almost immediately, Wilson tripped on something invisible, falling sideways and knocking down Maxwell in the process. "Goddammit! Do you have a torch?" "Yes, give me a-" A far too familiar sound rumbled around them. The Grue attacked even more quickly than usual, and Wilson could hear the telltale swoosh of Maxwell's puppets vanishing into nothingness. He cursed, rummaging desperately under his armor. He got the torch, but he couldn't find the flint to ignite it. He sensed Maxwell raising to his feet beside him. "Where are you going?" He hissed. "The torch! Hurry!" It was the only reply he got. Wilson's hand finally stumbled into a piece of flint, but he couldn't do much with just one. He kept searching as his heart drummed frantically in his chest, counting the seconds before the next attack, the one that would likely cost them their lives. "Cheap trick!" He heard Maxwell declare, for no discernible reason at all. If trying to communicate with the Grue was foolish, provoking it was positively suicidal. "Way beneath you, if I may speak freely." The darkness hummed and whispered threateningly as Wilson found the second flint. He muttered to himself feverishly as he stroke them together, blindly trying to direct the sparks to the tip of the torch. "Charlie...?" He almost didn't hear it. Maxwell's voice was completely different, his challenging bravado vanished in less than a second and replaced by some sort of stunned awe. Right then, the torch finally lit. Wilson had never seen the Grue. On multiple occasions, he had managed to light torches or firepits in the very nick on time, when he was almost sure the creature was literally within arm's reach and ready to strike. Yet, no matter how close he perceived it, when light appeared, it was gone without a trace. He had never caught even a glimpse of a limb, or the trace of a swift movement in the corner of his eye. It seemed to instantly stop existing as soon as it could be seen. This time, Wilson saw something. For a split second, the light revealed a thin, tall, dark silhouette, all sharp angles and pointy appendages. It had no features, no details, no depth. It looked like the drawing of a child on a piece of paper, some sort of bidimensional, disturbing scarecrow made entirely of black ink. In his enormous claw, it held Maxwell's chin, a look of sheer bewilderment etched on the man's features. Then Wilson blinked, and it was gone. He heard a sharp slash, and Maxwell let out a short scream, bringing a hand to his face. "Maxwell!" Wilson scrambled to his feet and approached him. There was blood trickling down his face, tainting the collar of his immaculate shirt with red stains. "Are you all right?" "Yes." Maxwell glanced around nervously. WIlson tried to get a good look at the wound, but Maxwell waved him away, still keeping his hand pressed against it. He seemed more preoccupied with staring at random points in the darkness, looking more disturbed than Wilson had ever seen him. "Did it attack you after I got the light out? Can it do that?" "Oh, that wasn't an attack." Maxwell finally removed his hand, and Wilson could see three long gashes, unnaturaly vertical and parallel, running straight from his temple to his jaw. His eye was undamaged, fortunately. Maxwell stared thoughtfully at his own hand, shrouded by shadows and turned into a claw that was not too dissimilar from the Grue's. The blood glinted eerily on the blackened palm. "She was just saying hello." It took Wilson a moment to process that. "...She?" Maxwell surveyed the area one last time. All was still and silent. "We should sleep. There won't be any more surprises for tonight." Wilson couldn't get another word out of him.

"I shouldn't be doing this." Maxwell muttered, dragging his feet behind Wilson and glaring at each and every surrounding tree as if it had personally offended him. "I'm wounded." "Don't be dramatic. You barely needed any stitches." "Which, by the way, were the most painful experience I've had since I got here. I thought you were supposed to be a doctor." "I am, but I stopped practicing pretty soon after I finished my studies. I was more interested in pursuing my own research." Wilson spotted a group of tall, sturdy-looking pines that would likely yield perfect boards. He walked up to them, gesturing to Maxwell to follow him. "Although I've had plenty of experience with self-medication in the last two years. Did you choose to kidnap me because you knew I had the necessary skills to survive?" "Don't flatter yourself too much. I chose you because you were gullible enough to believe me. End of the story." "Of course you did." Wilson examined the trees carefully, checking the bark for holes, fungi or insects. Several chests and machines had been damaged during the hound incursion of the previous night, and Wilson wasn't going to sleep soundly until all of his equipment was back in top shape. "I think five or six of these should give us enough materials for the repairs. Three trees each, all right?" "You're going to finish much earlier than me. In fact, you probably don't need me at all here." "I helped you clean and store the meat-"

"Which I didn't ask-"

"-because it was already half spoilt and you would have taken too long on your own, so it's only fair that you help me with the wood. And you said you weren't going to summon any puppets today, so..." "I'm running short on fuel and I'd rather save it for emergencies until I can find some more." "Really? And here I thought that your sense of humor was the only inexhaustible source of nightmare fuel in the whole Constant." "Speaking of which, please leave the scathing jabs to me. That was appalling." They started hacking away. Despite Wilson's initial despondency towards the ungodly amount of manual labor required to survive in the Constant, he had slowly grown to like the calm and repetitiveness of most manual tasks. When he wasn't too hard-pressed by severe lack of food or basic resources, he had found that foraging from an ordered field of berry bushes, turning a twisted, dying tree into a neat pile of perfectly serviceable logs, or sewing together a simple but efficient trap could often soothe his nerves better than a few roasted mushroom. It certainly beated ripping legs off spiders or fending off herds of horny beefalos. On the other hand, Maxwell seemed to nurture a strong distaste for any activity that required him to leave the camp. Wilson couldn't really blame him for that: it was obvious that his age and his relatively frail constitution didn't play to his advantage, even though Maxwell wasn't likely to ever admit it. In truth, Wilson didn't mind their current division of labor: Maxwell had proved to be a surprisingly apt artisan, especially in regards to small objects like traps or compasses. Wilson had found himself staring at the other man crafting this or that piece equipment more than once, admiring how nimble and precise his fingers were, very suited to precision work. He was a better cook than Wilson too, although that wasn't saying much: the scientist approached most of his culinary endeavors like his science, via methodic trials and errors spurred mostly by pure curiosity that often resulted in barely palatable wet goops. It turned out it took Maxwell exactly twice as much time as Wilson to fell a tree, his first victim hitting the ground just as Wilson started peeling the branches from his second. He could tell by the exaggerated movements Maxwell was making to swing the axe that he was going to get a mean backache by the end of the task. He innerly debated on whether he should offer his advice on the matter. The debate ended fairly quickly and unanimously. "I was wondering." Wilson addressed Maxwell casually as he was binding some sticks together in a fagot. "What happened exactly with the Grue last night?" Maxwell stopped, glaring at the scientist and resting his weight on the axe for a moment as he caught his breath. Wilson pressed on. "It didn't attack you, even though it took me a while to get the torch. Had I been alone, I'd have been slaughtered in all that time. Not to mention that you addressed it as a 'she' and-" "Oh excuse me, if I had known we got here to picnic and chat, I'd have brought a few sandwiches. Who knows what gave me the idea that we had work to do." Wilson groaned. "Come on, Maxwell. There's no need for you to hide anything, we're on the same boat. If anything, I should be the one worrying about whether or not I can trust you. And you aren't exactly making me less paranoid by skirting around the subject." "I don't see how that's my problem." Maxwell straightened up and lifted his axe again. "Do you want to get this wood before dusk or what?" Wilson sighed and decided to abandon the subject for the time being. They raised their axes and hit a new tree at the same time, the sharp snaps of metal on wood echoing around with perfect synchrony. Then they froze, as a thunderous roar resounded far too close for comfort. Horrified, they both looked towards the source of the noise. Above the greenery, they could spot one specific treetop wobbling slightly, while slow, rhythmic thumps made the ground shake beneath their feet. "...Oh no." Wilson looked at Maxwell, who was standing stock still and slack-jawed with his axe still raised. "Are you kidding me?" He burst out, gesticulating towards the humongous creature, the very personification of affronted bewilderment. "I leave the camp for one day and this happens? What in the everloving hell is this wrong with this goddamn-" "Do you have any pinecones?" Wilson stopped listening after the third swear, deeming Maxwell's questions mostly rhetorical. He frantically surveyed the area trying to spot the precious items, but he couldn't see any. "No! I've barely done anything-" Another bellow boomed in the air, slightly louder than the previous one. The treetop was getting dangerously close, so they did the only sensible thing they could do: they started running. They got outside the forest fairly quickly. From the clearing between the woods and the camp, they could see the Treeguard slowly making its way among the foliage, somehow leaving no damaged plants in its wake. "Thank God they're so slow." "You're welcome. You know, I think it's angry with you, specifically." Maxwell declared, suddenly calmer. "You can't possibly know that." "I certainly can, I made them." They exchanged a glance, and bolted in opposite directions. Once they had put some distance between them, they stopped and checked on their sluggish foe. After a moment, the guardian veered clearly towards Wilson's position. "Oh, come on!" Wilson's disappointed exclamation was met by a triumphant "Ha!" coming from the opposite side of the clearing. He glared at Maxwell, who immediately dashed towards the base. Unhelpful bastard. Wilson did the same, but Maxwell yelled at him. "Wait! Don't lead it here, you idiot! It'll destroy everything!" "I have no pinecones! I need the ones in the chest!" "I'll have a puppet bring them to you. I don't want to be anywhere near that thing." "What do I do in the meantime?" "I don't know! Outrun it! It isn't exactly fast." Wilson almost slapped his own face out of sheer frustration. Great, just great. Just the kind of afternoon he needed to recover from the stress of the attack, one spent shouting like an idiot to another idiot from the opposite side of a field and playing tag with a huge, angry, screaming tree. He spent the following five minutes jogging around like a complete fool without letting the Treeguard get too close, until finally Maxwell's puppet arrived, delivering a grand total of three pinecones and a shovel. "That's it? Is that all we've got?" He asked in dismay. The puppet shrugged, then pointed to the forest and made a wide gesture that Wilson interpreted as an explosion. Aaah, right, the forest. The latest heatwave had caused a fire, and they had had to regrow the whole forest from scratch. They had kept only three pinecones in case of emergency, which Wilson supposed was exactly the present case. The puppet gave him a thumbs up and scampered away. It was always surprising how much more sociable and cooperative Maxwell's shadows were compared to the original, especially considering their limited expressivity. Wilson actually missed their company when they didn't help with the foraging. All right, three attempts then. And within a reasonably short time, given that the sun was already descending below the horizon. Of course these things had to happen always at dusk. He quickly dug a tiny hole and got ready to place the pinecone in it as soon as he was within the monster's sight. The first attempt was a failure. Of course the first attempt had to be a failure, God forbid luck might favor him in time of need, for once. He resolved to let the Treeguard approach him a bit more before trying again. The second attempt was another miss. Of course the second attempt couldn't just work that easily, that would deny him the thrill of the last chance, the primal dread of being this close to impending, unavoidable doom, something that the forces inhabiting the Constant seemed keen on providing over and over again. Remaining cool and collected despite the tension and the frustration was absolutely imperative in such circumstances. "Come on, you short-sighted stump!" Wilson raged, stomping his foot and waving around the last remaining pinecone. "Do I have to sow a whole forest to make you happy?" The Treeguard didn't react in any noticeable way, other than continuing the slowest pursuit in the hystory of vaguely threatening strolls. Wilson scratched his head and cursed. It was almost dark, and he only had one pinecone. He really didn't feel like running around the whole night like a headless chicken hoping to accidentally trip on another pinecone, so he'd have to make the last one count. That meant getting very close, literally in the creature's piney face, and hope for the best. While the Treeguard approached him, he dug several holes to his left and right, ready to welcome the precious cluster of seeds, then he waited. He waited as the huge pine got close, very close, unadvisably close, definitely way too close. He stood in place when the horrendous creature bellowed from above and swung a giant branch at him. He sprang to the side and dodged it, barely. It crashed to the ground with an unimaginable rumble, but Wilson paid it no mind. The tree roared again, Maxwell was shouting too from somewhere not too far, but Wilson's attention was fully focussed on the closest hole. He crawled to it as the Treeguard slowly lifted his arm, he dropped the pinecone on the ground and swiftly covered it with a small mound of soil. "See? Done! I've-" He barely had time to raise his head, and all he could see was a huge flurry of greenery filling his entire field of view. The tremendous impact knocked him out instantly.

Red Velvet Reel 2: Pancake(s)

                                         [Fic Directory]

Pairing: [Married] Spicyhoney (Underfell Papyrus x Underswap Papyrus)

Summary: Stretch tries to get ahead of this Papa shtick by making pancakes (Papa-ncakes!!!) and in the process, comes up with the perfect nickname for the baby! Now, the hard and daunting part is deciding how to tell everybody...

Contains: Mpreg/Skelepreg! Domestic Fluff! Pancake(s)! Brief mention of violence! Suggestive Implication (maybe? its very small lol)! Brief mention of Underswap Asgore and Toriel, Undertale Alphys and Undyne, Underfell Sans (Red) & Underswap Sans (Blue) & Swapfell Papyrus (Slim/Puppy) & Swapfell Sans (Black)!

Rating: Teen and up! (I guess? I don’t know ;;;;)

Note: Hgggghhhh now its messed up on mobile! OTL Stand by, troubleshooting!

“Remind what this is, again?”

“Practice!” Stretch flipped the pat of butter starting to sizzle in the pan with obvious gusto, “It’s what they always do in the movies- the little kid sits on the counter, making a mess while trying to stir the pancake batter, while the Dad cooks! And they talk about all sorts of things, mostly the kid asks all sorts of complicated questions the Dad struggles to answer simply. It’s good ol’ wholesome breakfast existentialism!”

Edge continued half-heartedly stirring the batter, “I see.” He paused, looking around the kitchen as though taking inventory, “I suggest you very, very carefully consider how much of a mess you make in my kitchen in the future. I won’t be lenient simply because one of you is a child and the other has the brain of one.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stretch took the batter out of Edge’s hands, pouring some of it into the pan with a sharp sizzle, “You are seriously cramping my method acting here. You refuse to sit on the counter, you made the batter too smooth so I don’t need to help you smoosh the large uneven chunks-“ Stretch sputtered indignantly when Edge took the bowl back, wiping the side with a rag before it could drip onto the counter.

“Babe!”

Edge hid a smile behind his hand, looking away as Stretch channeled his outrage at the pancake by poking it with the spatula. Just as quickly, his shoulders drooped and he flipped the pancake, dejectedly, “Actually, you’re right. This is stupid, isn’t it? Babies can’t even eat pancakes, so it’s not like it even matters. Not for a few years anyway. Why am I-“

“Why- uh, chickens... don’t have... teeth?”

Stretch looked up, “Huh?”

Edge cleared his throat, feeling silly, “Why don’t chickens have teeth?”

“That’s what keeps you up at night?” Despite the teasing, Stretch seemed to have brightened considerably, turning away from the stove with a sparkle in his eye, “It’s super weird, right? They have to swallow rocks to mush up the food inside, so wouldn’t it be easier to just chew it up first? Or smash it up into smaller pieces before they eat it?”

Stretch looked at him expectantly. “...yes?” Edge didn’t know anything about chickens, he had no idea what to say, “So... why... don’t they?”

“Well, they don’t have opposable thumbs.”

Edge wasn’t sure what expression he was making, but Stretch collapsed on himself with how hard he was laughing. He pushed his (stupid) husband away from the stove before he could fall into the frying pan, plating the half-burned pancake. Stretch fell to his knees, shaking and laughing hysterically as he started to curl up on himself.

“Hilarious,” Edge muttered, pouring some more batter into the frying pan and picking up the spatula again, “I hope they don’t inherit your sense of humor.”

He didn’t look down when he felt a faint tug on his leg, poking the pancake’s edges loose in preparation to flip it. “I love you-“ Stretch called from the floor, but was ignored. “That really tickles my funny bone, hehe. Anyway, it probably has to do with weight. Teeth are heavy- stomach rocks are not. Chickens with teeth would also look really weird.”

Edge did NOT think about how a chicken would look with teeth, flipping the pancake with more finesse. Stretch finally sat up, leaning against a cabinet as he watched Edge start on another. “I bet Pancake loved it.”

“The pancake is not sentient and has no sense of humor. If it ever had one, it was all burnt away by your neglect. It’s more charcoal than cake at this point.”

“Ouch, what a burn-” Stretch said in that infuriating joke intonation, ignoring the irritated sigh he got in return, “But I was talking about our baby, Pancake. Although I bet my burnt pancake liked it too-“

He froze when Edge leveled him with a piercing glare, awed and a little afraid at how he was able to finish and start on another pancake without looking at what he was doing. “We are not naming our firstborn Pancake.“

Edge turned away with dismissive click of his tongue, repeating it under his breath like it was a curse, “Pancake! Ridiculous!”

Stretch filed the firstborn comment away for later contemplation and analysis, pulling himself to his feet and taking Edge’s old spot by the counter. He eyed the growing stacks of pancakes, crossing his arms self-consciously, “I didn’t say we should name the baby Pancake. I meant Pancake should be the baby’s nickname before they’re born.”

Edge frowned as he added a third pancake, giving him a perplexed look. “...Why? And do you want a fourth pancake?”

“Nah, maybe later,” Stretch carried both plates to the table as Edge turned off the stove, moving the frying pan to the adjacent burner. Stopping by the counter where he had previously assembled all the necessary toppings, Stretch managed to balance the jam, honey, and syrup in one hand and the large tub of sprinkles in the other. Edge obviously disapproved, quickly putting down the butter to take the precariously balanced bottle of honey and place it on the table.

“Cute baby nicknames are like a rite of passage at this point- everybody does it! Of course just ‘baby’ is fine too, but…”

Stretch pointedly ignored the disgusted face Edge made as he doused his stack of pancakes with honey, shaking out a mountain of sprinkles on top.

“It’s like a cool codeword! It’s not like it’s weird. Comic and Classic’s Alphdyne called theirs ‘tadpoles’, and I think Asgoriel called the royal prince... uh, ‘prince.’”

“Who?” Edge put down his fork, looking pensive, “It’s such an undignified nickname, though...”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Stretch gave a sarcastic bow, sweeping his hand out with great flourish, “Young Master Caviar? Their lordship White Truffle? Little… uh, other expensive food name? Eh… fancy nutellla?”

Edge kicked him under the table, hard enough Stretch jolted in surprise and banged his knees against the wood. He put his head down, trying to rub some feeling back into them, “C’mon, Pancake is really cute. It’s the most natural compliment to our Red Velvet.”

“Red Velvet?” The more Stretch spoke, the more confused Edge felt. Stretch did have a tendency to ramble when he was hyper. He knew sprinkles and honey were a dangerous combination... Edge reached over to grab the jar, bringing it next to his plate with a firm shake of his head. “You made this batter. If you wanted a different flavor, that’s entirely your fault.”

“My pancake batter is amazing, thank you-“ Stretch took a huge bite to prove his point, holding his hands up in a T as he chewed as quickly as he could. Swallowing loudly in a way that had Edge twitch in revulsion, he continued, “And not only is that the best cake ever, but it’s also our ship name. Retconned SpicyHoney on account that food combination is not as great as it sounds. Sad to say.”

“Stretch,” Edge’s voice had that deceptive calm that meant he was starting to get angry, “If I found out you made another novelty purchase for some inane reason, you had better pray the angel has mercy on your soul. Because I will not.”

Self-preservation won out the urge to make a joke, shaking his hands emphatically, “Ship, as in short for relationship, not an actual boat. I wouldn’t pull that ship with you.” Damn, so close. Curse his hilarious, ill-timed sense of humor. Edge gave him that look, but he did seem to relax somewhat. Phew.

“So, Alphys and Undyne call themselves Alphdyne, and our- sorry, my monarchs are Asgoriel for Asgore and Toriel. But no combination of Stretch and Edge sounds right. Stredge sounds like something you clean out of your coffee filter. Edtch just sounds gross.”

Edge didn’t say anything, continuing to eat in silence and a blank expression. Why was Edge so reluctant and out of touch with current trends? Sometimes it felt he was married to a crusty old grandpa.

“Red Velvet?” Edge prompted after Stretch went quiet.

“That’s us!” He shook his mind clear of the mental image of Edge knitting in a rocking chair, “You’re Red cause that’s the color of your magic and you’re really...uh, intense.”

Edge hummed quizzically, “I thought that was my brother...?”

“I’m the Velvet cause I am the approachable, soft one. And together we make a great dessert. The best dessert, even.”

“I see,” Edge said in that tone of voice he always used when he was humoring Stretch. “Why Pancake? There’s also cupcakes, cookies, the actual cake-“

“Cause none of those things move. If you’re the father, I’d be willing to bet a whole bottle of honey they’re gonna be an absolute menace when they start being able to kick and move around.”

“Oh? Not that much faith in your soul signature?” Edge rested his cheek in his hand, eyeing Stretch in a predatory way that made him feel very vulnerable, “I’d take that bet, but I don’t care much for honey.”

“What would you rather have?” Stretch regretted those words immediately when Edge smirked, tapping his chin as though thinking deeply.

“How about you come with me to the youth club sometime? The children would very much benefit from your softer... touch.” Edge emphasized the last word by laying his hand over Stretch’s and intertwining their fingers.

Stretch swallowed audibly, looking away from Edge’s piercing gaze and tugging on the collar of his hoodie uncomfortably, “Uh, I dunno, Babe. Those kids are really intense... and I don’t think they like me very much.”

“Nonsense! They’re just a little wary around you because they don’t know you well. They try to intimidate you before you can intimidate them. They’re still learning.” Stretch made a distressed noise, and Edge stroked the back of his hand with his thumb, “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. I won’t let any of them bully you too badly.”

“Aw, shucks,” Stretch was trying very hard to avoid giving in. He knew Edge loved those kids in his own gruff way, and they weren’t bad kids. A lot of them had rough pasts they were trying to distance themselves from, and they were getting help to manage their tempers… but angry, scared human children were the stuff of nightmares. Even with some other monster volunteers there, there was no way-

“You can make them pancakes, and get some real hands on experience,” Edge whispered directly to the side of his skull, running a hand down Stretch’s spine. “I would certainly be very appreciative,” He squeaked with that unexpected squeeze to his lower back, staring as Edge leaned back and folded his arms innocently, “But that’s only if you lose. And you are welcome to pitch a counter offer.”

“Well, when you put it like that, how can I say no?” Stretch rubbed at his neck, relishing the twinkle in Edge’s eye and the kiss he got on the cheek. “And I’ll do it even without this bet. Next week?”

“Promise?”

Stretch let out a breath, “Yeah.”

“Excellent! Then as a counteroffer, if little Pancake takes after your lazy nature instead,” Stretch scoffed as Edge was still focused on that silly bet. He should know by now that Edge and Red took wagers incredibly seriously, and yet he was still surprised, “You need to take Puppy and Red out for some event. Your choice of activities, even mini golf, and the ability to freely veto their ideas. I would advise against bar hopping.”

“...You mean Slim?” Stretch was still confused over that latest development. Red and Edge regarded Slim and Black with suspicion and distrust, mutually held, for almost their entire courtship period. Then somewhere between getting engaged and moving into the ‘Swap’ universe permanently, Edge had somehow become absolute besties with Slim. Suddenly, he was ‘Puppy,’ and they would... sit and drink together at get-togethers without talking or really acknowledging each other. They were... getting along?

“Yeah, ok. I’ll babysit ‘Puppy’ and Red for a night,” Stretch didn’t have much to lose, and maybe he could gain some insight into this new friendship of theirs. Both of the Fell brothers had been their typical tight lipped selves about it, and Slim barely spoke to... well, anyone. “What do I get if Pancake’s not a flop, eh?”

Edge rolled his eyes, unimpressed, “You don’t want a bottle of honey?”

“Tempting,” He nodded sagely, “But if I’m gonna play nice with your friends and family, you’re gonna play nice with mine! Let Blue throw you a baby shower.”

At Edge’s dubious expression, he held up a hand, “It’s a human thing, but it’s pretty nice. It’s a little party celebrating the baby, and a chance for the parents-to-be to receive presents and advice from friends and family, play games, stuff like that.”

“Like a pre-birthday party?” Edge looked contemplative, before holding his pinky out, “Deal.”

Stretch extended his own pinky, and they shook on it. Stretch’s pancakes had long gone lukewarm, so he picked at them, debating heating them up again. Would the sprinkles melt? That’d probably still taste ok.

“So is that how you seal deals where you’re from originally?” He asked conversationally, watching Edge get up and start putting the various ingredients away. Stretch swiped the sprinkles while his back was turned, adding another heap to his plate. “Pinky promises?”

“No. That’s… Red taught me that when we were children, and it seemed appropriate. Deals are typically ratified through a Dust Oath. Both monsters slice their palm deeply enough to knock off a hit point, causing the area around the wound to dust. They clutch wounded palms together to intermingle dust, with one witness each.”

“Gotta hand it to you guys, that’s really intense,” Stretch flexed his fingers in sympathetic pain,  “I’m guessing you don’t do that everyday, huh?”

“No,” there was a wistful note in Edge’s voice as he reached up on his tiptoes, putting the flour back in the top shelf, “If you break a dust oath, the penalty is death- and it is always enforced. So it was typically only used to seal very important pledges.”

Stretch frowned at Edge’s back, standing up to put his plate in the microwave. He wondered if he should leave this thread or conversation alone, but he was very curious. Edge never did like talking about his home universe, despite an obvious fondness and longing.

“Speaking of promises, when do we tell our brothers?” Stretch asked instead. He didn’t miss the way Edge’s shoulders and posture became tense. He retrieved his pancakes and sat back down, waiting for his husband to stop scrubbing the frying pan with more force than necessary.

“‘Cause you said you wouldn’t go see the doctor about Pancake until after you told your brother first. And it has been like, two weeks. You’re kinda due for a checkup-“

“Yes, I know,” Edge’s voice had an (heh) edge to it as he turned the water on, rinsing the pan and placing it back on the stove to dry. Stretch finished the rest of his pancakes in silence, stepping around Edge to put his plate in the sink. He was stopped by a hand reaching out, grabbing his forearm tightly.

“I’m not... sure... how... ”

Edge’s voice was uncharacteristically quiet, so Stretch pulled him into a backwards hug, resting his chin on the top of his husband’s head. Edge’s penchant for high heels and his own poor posture always made him forget about their height difference, but moments like these left Edge looking so small. Stretch didn’t like it at all.

“I figured you wanted to do something dramatic, like have them work for it by completing a puzzle or a scavenger hunt or something. There’s a lip reading game that’s been popular lately- seeing as none of us have lips, that has great potential for laughs.” Edge didn’t say anything, but Stretch felt him shift, “But if you’re feeling something more lowkey...”

Stretch looked around the kitchen for a burst of inspiration, but nothing seemed to stand out. Except the dirty plate in the sink.

“We could invite our brothers over for breakfast or something, and give them a stack of red velvet pancakes. And then flat out tell them. Give em coffee in #1 Uncle mugs. What do you think? Simple but not exactly boring either.”

Edge leaned back, hugging his arms with a dejected sigh. Stretch wasn’t even sure what the problem was, why Edge had been so reluctant to share the news even though he was very clearly excited. He refused to tell anyone before he told Red... and then refused to tell Red. Did they have a fight? Was it some Fell thing? Was it because he insisted they tell Blue at the same time? What-?

Before he could say anything, Edge let go and stepped out of his embrace. He picked the plate up, starting to scrub at honey again.

“I think I’m going to be very tired of pancakes very, very soon. When do you want them over?”

Avengers: Infinity War Review

Avengers: Infinity War is the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s latest venture, directed by Anthony and Joe Russo. It takes place 2 years after the events of Avengers Civil War and follows Thanos on his quest to gather all the infinity stones and destroy half of the universe.

As this is a film that has been 10 years in the making, with elements and threads from nearly every MCU film, there is a lot to talk about and most of it consist some kind of spoiler. I will go over general impressions in the first half and get into most substantial, plot related spoilers in the latter, but if you don’t want to know anything about this movie before seeing it, I suggest you come back to this article after you’ve already done so. 

This is a difficult movie to talk about; it will definitely draw out a reaction but how positive or negative will hinge on how much you love event comics and Thanos as a character. I can’t say I liked it, but there wasn’t much that I thought was objectively wrong with it, in the way of say the Last Jedi. So let’s start first with the things I liked. 

Nearly every character that’s in this movie gets a moment to shine, be it an action beat, a scene, or just a good one liner. At no point in the film did it feel like a character was underutilized or unnecessary and the Russos do a great job at juggling all the different personalities and plot-lines. Despite the sheer amount of people the action is clear, the film rarely feels like it drags and more or less uses all its players to their fullest potential, with several having a lot more room to breathe and play.

The plot as I said is pretty pedestrian; it’s just “Thanos wants the stones so he can destroy the world and the heroes want to stop him” which works for this type of story. It’s nothing to write home about and the twists come from the individual character plot-lines and while I didn’t love it, it was pretty unobtrusive and allowed for more character interaction which is always a positive in my opinion.

The action is also for the most part excellent, with the Russos making sure everyone gets at least one scene where the kick ass, including the villains. They also get pretty creative with the different powers in the film, especially the infinity stones. There are several downright amazing scenes that showcase the time, reality and soul gems, and the two characters who get to show off the most in terms of power are definitely Thor and Strange.

Speaking of, another thing I liked was that the characters that carried the plot and got the most screen time weren’t the ones I expected would. Tony is the only one who I knew would get a lot of screen time and does, but I actually really liked his story-line; it was probably one of the best the MCU has done so far. The Russos really like and understand Tony’s character, and his emotional conflict having to do with the fear of losing Earth and all his friends, his guilt over the Avengers dissolving, him returning back to paranoia after the dissolution and creating the nano-tech suit were all excellent. The ending was also incredibly powerful for Tony specifically and there is one scene that was so emotionally visceral, it actually unsettled me.

Thor was another character that got a lot of screen time and I’m still somewhat conflicted over his character. I loved Ragnarok and I think Waititi’s Thor was the best and most accurate one we’ve gotten so far. So I was really worried when I read an interview with Hemsworth which talked about how he at first didn’t like the direction his character was going in.

And at first I agreed with him; the beginning of the film especially felt like Marvel just hates Thor and all of his supporting characters and in a way completely negates the ending and the message of Ragnarok, because it makes everything that happens in that movie irrelevant so we could get this one. What I did like was that at least (unlike Taika) the Russos gave Thor a moment to grieve and come to terms with the all the horror that happened to him in these two films and and just be human. There is a pretty touching scene between him and Rocket which I really appreciated and their pairing was very entertaining.

Strange was another character that got to shine and I liked his dynamic with Tony, especially Strange giving up the stone to save Tony’s life (even if he had ulterior motives), after plainly saying he would save the stone over everyone.

And now for some stuff I didn’t like. I’ll start with the more minor things and build up to the two major problems that I had with this movie. ACTUAL SPOILERS FROM HERE ON OUT FOLKS.

Firstly, this is an event comic in movie form with all the good and bad that comes with it. It’s all action and spectacle and contains surprisingly little humanity, other than in the form of jokey jokes and one liners. The tone is grim and though the film doesn’t take itself too seriously it still pauses for grandiose speeches which absolutely kill the momentum dead. Combined with the amount of characters this means that every character that isn’t plot relevant would get one line, or one scene or mostly one joke and then they are out of the movie.

People like Nat and Cap, who have been veterans of the MCU get completely lost in the shuffle. Sure they get fight scenes, but they don’t get any kind of emotional backstory. Bucky, Sam and Rhodey might as well not be here for all they do, even if they do get some funny lines here and there. Bruce fares a bit better, at least being present in most of the film, the entirety of the Black Panther cast gets like, a scene and a half and let’s not even get into people like Pepper, Loki and Wong who literally get ejected out of the film after one scene.

Gamora, Thor and Tony, are the only characters who get any emotional substance to them; the rest aren’t even deigned a subplot beyond the minimum necessary requirement to tie them into the main plot. An especially egregious example of this are both Wanda and Vision and Peter and Gamora’s romances.

Both of these romances were set up in previous films, but while they had time to slowly develop, here they need to be at Earth-shattering, I-need-you-to-kill-me-or-the-world-ends levels. This is less bad with Peter and Gamora because we’ve had more time with both characters and two whole movies to develop them, but Vision and Wanda only started really interacting in Civil War, and now they are at the stage where they are promised to each other? I also didn’t like that both romances had the same resolution; in case things go wrong Gamora and Vision ask to be killed, the only person who can do it is Peter or Wanda and we get a dramatic scene where exactly that happens only for Thanos to swoop in with one of the stones and change the outcome. Diminishing returns, is all I’m saying.

Wanda’s character had nothing to it beyond being worried and in love with Vision, but Peter… oh poor Peter.

First he gets into a stupid pissing contest with Thor about who is manlier which was just the most inane, stupid thing, then he does the exact same with Tony, and then (because the film needs him too) completely loses his mind about Gamora, and attacks Thanos, allowing him to steal the time gem and escape. Look, Peter was never the smartest person, and he does have an insecure, competitive, peacocking streak, but he was never an idiot like this film makes him out to be! Honestly all the Guardians are shafted; Mantis and Drax are barely in the film, Groot gets a single scene of cool, Rocket, while funny is relegated to being Thor’s sidekick/psychiatrist and Peter is turned into an idiot!

And now we get to Gamora. Poor Gamora, this movie did her dirty. Just a reminder, Gamora is one of the most skilled and bad-ass assassins in the galaxy, she is notorious and infamous in the Guardians films. Her entire plot in vol 2 was coming to terms not just with the abuse that Thanos inflicted on her as a child, but also the abuse she was complicit in with the other children, specifically Nebula who she was actually close to. The film ends with them starting to come to terms with this, and forgiving each other, but not Thanos who doesn’t deserve their forgiveness.

But then in this movie, she gets fooled into thinking she killed Thanos, gets kidnapped by Thanos, leads him to the soul stone and gets unceremoniously killed as Thanos’ sacrifice to get the stone. And all the time, she gets emotionally blackmailed and gas-lit by Thanos who keeps calling her his daughter, saying he wants to see her on Titan’s throne, how he sacrificed his crazy ass mission to save her once on her home-planet and choses her as the one thing in the universe he loves but has to trade to get the soul gem. WHAT?

Are we supposed to feel bad about Thanos? Thanos, the sociopathic, sadistic, torturous, unambiguous villain, who by that point in the film has killed the entirety of Asgard, including Loki and Heimdal, and the Grandmaster and the entirety of Knowhere? I absolutely hated the implication that I should feel sad because Gamora was wrong and he did love her. Not only does it badly undercut the message of vol 2 which is abuse is real and has lasting effects, but the movie wants us to on some level side with Thanos and think that Gamora really was ungrateful, since he obviously loved her and she betrayed him. They even give her this stupid speech about how the universe is punishing him by demanding he sacrificed something he loved since he doesn’t love anything, which was so over the top and drawn out and made Gamora sound like an idiot! It made me want to throw things at the screen.

I don’t need or want complexity and sympathetic traits given to a villain that has been nothing but a sheer force of evil and destruction thus far. It would have been so much better to just go the Galactus route with Thanos and make him just an unstoppable chaotic neutral force, rather than some deluded mad genius. I’m sorry, but am I supposed to sympathize with a villain literary referred to as the Mad Titan, whose grand master plan hinges on him believing the overpopulation and over-consumption myth so hard that he wants to destroy half the universe to remedy it? This is the better story than him trying to impress Death that Marvel came up with?

Even if overpopulation wasn’t a myth (which it is) what happens when living beings once again reach the status that they have now? He would have to snap his fingers every 10 000 years or so just to keep the status quo. It’s ridiculously stupid and infuriating and the film treats his plan like it actually has some merit and he’s somehow a mad genius who just goes about it the wrong way. I really didn’t need a 10 min scene of him mourning how he had to kill Gamora to get the stone that lets him DESTROY HALF THE UNIVERSE, complete with sad music and a flashback to baby Gamora asking him what kind of price he paid for his own insane plans. We could have spent that time giving Cap something to do, like maybe acknowledging that Tony, his best friend is lost in space and the world is ending.

The Russos love Thanos, he’s clearly their baby but I hated him. He took time away from the heroes that I wanted to watch and didn’t bring anything to the table but melodrama that was completely unfounded. It was also additionally frustrating because he a) is so much more powerful than any of the heroes combined and b) we know he gets all the infinity stones by the end of the film. So the question isn’t how the heroes will win, but how long will they last against him. The ending also undercuts itself, because the heroes don’t win; the glove self-destructs after Thanos uses it, meaning it would have done that regardless of if Thanos met any resistance while acquiring the stones, meaning this whole 2 and a half hour film was pointless!

The other part of the ending was shocking, but it’s not meaningful, because we know all those characters aren’t dead. We know we will get a Dr Strange 2, Black Panther 2 and Guardians 3, and we know Avengers Infinity part 2 comes out next summer so we know they are still somehow alive. My guess is they are all trapped inside the soul stone, since only the glove got destroyed at the end. Sidenote, aren’t Tony and Nebula still on Titan? So can’t they just like… sneak behind Thanos and stab him now that he’s wounded and can’t use the stones anymore?

This was a frustrating movie to watch and even more frustrating to talk about. There were things I liked, like some of the characters and humor, but for the most part I thought it was overblown, melodramatic and focused too much on the one character I cared least about. I am curious about part 2, but honestly? I feel the same about this movie as I do about event comics; who TF is Thanos and can he get out of my Guardians ongoing so I can return to reading about the characters I actually like and care about.

Essential Avengers: Avengers #161: Beware the Ant-Man!

July, 1977

There’s just so much here.

I almost don’t want to talk about it. It glistens like a soap bubble and I’m afraid it will pop if I try to grasp it.

What I will say is this: the title and the poses of angry agony (angrony?) remind me very much of those Man’s Life magazine covers. The ones where shirtless men have knife fights with nature?

Also, I don’t know what Scarlet Witch is up to. It almost seems like she’s trying to pose sensuously but also is being bitten by countless ants. But is trying to make it work.

Anyway, take a moment to enjoy or be baffled by this cover while I get things started over here.

We start bewaring the Ant-Man with a nice splash panel seen from inside a panel as Ant-Man peeps in on some weirdos intruding in Tony Stark’s mansion.

Wait. I recognize these weirdos. I’d recognize Wanda’s inexplicable hair and Iron Tony’s incredible bossy way of pointing anywhere.

But they are weirdos.

For example, they’re all standing around admiring Wonder Man’s latest travesty of fashion. He had to get new threads after his jerkass brother shredded his old costume.

The Beast designed it for him.

And its easy to mock. I do it twice a week. But keep in mind that Beast only wears shorts. And before that I think Professor X dressed him. So. Yeah. He’s. Not great at designing new costumes.

And Wonder Man has been dead and dressed like an idiot for years so we can forgive him for not knowing any better.

But I’m very slightly surprised at you, Wanda. Don’t enable this.

Wonder Man’s turn on the figurative catwalk is cut short as a tiny voice demands Iron Man’s attention. If he really is Iron Man.

Of course its Ant-Man and he’s here for the first official meeting of the Avengers (haha whaaaaat?) but he doesn’t recognize all these strangers. Except Captain America but everybody knows Captain America is dead. And also, where are Hulk and Thor? And whats the deal with changing out of your golden armor?

So either this is a bad imposter or Hank Pym was rebooted all the way back to the time of Avengers #1. And I can’t go back to that overly controlling Hank, I just can’t.

When the ‘strangers’ don’t immediately fall over themselves to explain everything to him, Ant-Man immediately leaps to attack with the greatest power of all: a ludicrous number of ants.

So he has a swarm fly right into Iron Man’s mask through the eye slits and god that is just a nightmare. Biting his eyes and whatnot.

And then he launches himself right at Cap’s chin to play him some chin music. By punching him. That’s what you get for identity theft, friend!

Wanda is distracted by oh god ants ants everywhere crawling all over ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh so she can’t bring her vague powers to bear. And there’s so many tiny things flying around that Wonder Man can’t keep track of Ant-Man. At least he, Wonder Man, is personally safe from any and all things that Ant-Man could do.

Womp womp.

Meanwhile, in the records room, Beast was brushing up on all Avengers history. Because you gotta do your homework. Especially if it prevents him from being uninformed when some asshole from the Avengers’ past like Grim Reaper pops up again.

But Black Panther hears something so he and Beast go to investigate.

And immediately get KO’d by Ant-Man doing a growing double shoryuken.

Because apparently growth physics works thusly: you can add your momentum from a grow or shrink to add oomph to an attack. I think its sometimes called Shrink Fu.

I know people mock shrinking heroes and in-universe Hank Pym has a lot of insecurity about his role on the Avengers (Wasp never seems to have problems. She just loves Wasping, all the Wasp time).

And Ant-Man, Yellowjacket, Wasp, whathaveyou are often played up as ineffectual.

But looking here at this fight, its clear that ants is a great power and that shrinking can be used effectively.

By writer fiat. But usually its not, also by writer fiat. 

The writers go through all these permutations and changes for Hank Pym to try to make him interesting when they could just write him better.

And for that matter, Wasp. There’s no reason she shouldn’t be able to pull off just this kind of effectiveness but with also bio-electricity blasts and flying.

Just write your damn characters better, Avengers writers. If you put a person on the team, let them be effective.

Anyway.

Vision is a little better off. He went partially intangible so he can’t be hurt and the ants that intersect his body get shocked. So he’s untouchable but he can’t help anyone. Because he’s untouchable.

He especially can’t help Wanda who is experiencing the agony of the ant pile. There’s just so many ants. Just so, so many.

Why don’t the Avengers have a chemical safety shower or anything? Why aren’t they trying to do anything??

But suddenly Wasp flies in to save the day. As Ant-Man Hank has no counter to her Wasp’s sting, like Yellowjacket’s disruptor gun. So she just blats him off Anthony.

Ant-Hank plummets toward the ground but thankfully, Wonder Man catches him.

Which. I mean. At such a tiny mass, the fall should have been nothing. But if it was something, then hitting Wonder Man’s supertough skin slightly higher than the floor is hardly better.

But the comic treats it as saving him from a potentially dangerous fall so lets just roll with it.

Tiny Wasp activates some gas canisters to grow Hank back to full size because I guess in addition to a pill and serum, Pym particles also come in aerosol sprays.

And with Hank full sized unconscious in Wonder Man’s arms, Wasp unshrinks and-

Oh god.

Is that her new costume? That is terrible.

I know Wanda calls Jan the Avengers’ fashion expert but she has a lot more misses than hits. And also more outfits than possibly any other superhero? Or near the top of the list at least.

I guess today is just a day for bad new outfits.

So Wasp unshrinks and commands Ant-Man’s ant swarms to leave the mansion. She didn’t do it earlier because her ant control collar isn’t as strong as Ant-Man’s helmet. It is bigger. And shinier.

And now its time for Wasp to Explain It All.

So here’s a bit of old news: Hank Pym is not the most emotionally stable individual out there.

And his constant parade of identities maybe was a warning sign?

And at home, more and more of his projects were ending in failure, causing Hank to lash out in rage and frustration and smash his shit. Maybe this is also somewhat of a red flag.

And Hank is the type that feels emasculated that he’s living off his wife’s inheritance. And would be salty as hell if Jan offered to pay for him to see a psychiatrist.

So she just went to go see a psychiatrist on his behalf without telling him.

I’m not sure the kind of helpfulness you can expect from second-hand psychiatry advice but telling her to reinforce his positive behavior and convince him to rejoin the Avengers seemed to work.

He was acting like the Hank she remember, especially at home. Wink.

... She politely implies their healthy sex life right at the Avengers.

Anyway, when Hank and Jan flew off to improve his their powers at the beginning of last issue, something strange happened.

Hank just clammed up and flew away from her.

Figuring that he had moodily relapsed, Jan went home and designed a new outfit to ‘keep his interest’ and-

Oh god that’s not a superhero outfit, that’s a bedroom activity outfit!

I’m not.... entirely sure why a sexy outfit needs an ant-controlling collar but I already know far more about Wasp and Hank’s sex life than I want to.

I guess it says something that lingerie and a superhero outfit could be easily confused for each other but its not anything that hasn’t been said before.

So.

Moving on.

When Jan went to go get Hank, she found his lab destroyed and him missing. Because Hank Pym.

It was finally too much to face alone so she flew to get help and just so happened to help them instead.

And Jan wonders whether its too late to help Hank.

NONSENSE, expresses the Avengers.

Iron Man decides what they need to do is strap him into the pain-o-tron, er, I mean the subliminal recall-inducer. Y’know, that device that makes people recall things by hurting them a lot?

They’ll restore Hank’s memories that way, since he seems to have blanked everything since the very first day of the Avengers, for some reason.

Meanwhile, Beast will drive Wasp home to pick up some things to help jog Hank’s memory.

Beast, the Other Hank, agrees in his usual flippant clownery way, but Cap and Iron Man both yell at him for his inane antics at a time like this.

He sheepishly apologizes to Jan. Later, as Beast drives Jan to her house, she tries to say that his joking around didn’t matter. But Beast interrupts her.

Beast: “Mrs. Pym, it’s... hard to be a Beast... sometimes.”

An admission that a lot of Beast’s foolery is sad clowning. Goofing to hide and distract from his own insecurities and troubles.

Maybe Cap and Iron Man should be more understanding, really. Anyway, Beast is now in a mood.

He stays in the car when Jan goes inside because he doesn’t want to “upset” the neighbors with his appearance. And he thinks to himself how lucky Other Other Hank (Pym) is that he has a wife like Jan, “a lot luckier than a Beast could ever be!”

Meanwhile, Jan is thinking some sad thoughts herself.

Apparently Hank called the new house Jan’s “palace” because Hank Pym. But Jan wanted it to be their palace. And she resolves that if she gets her Hank back, she’ll never let something as stupid as money get between them again.

I’m not sure how she’ll manage that. Is she going to stop paying for the house and all his lab equipment and basically completely financing him?

Oh. And then Jan sees someone off-panel and yells “No! Not... you!”

Is it more ants? Don’t touch that nonexistent dial!

Back at the mansion, they’ve turned the pain-o-tron up to intolerable levels to no effect.

I guess subjecting a man to an alarming amount of pain just won’t cure amnesia.

...

HAS THE SUBLIMINAL RECALL-INDUCER EVER WORKED?!

Did... did Tony just build a torture chair and then play it off as something else when Cap asked him what it was?

Anyway, since pain didn’t work, the Avengers decide maybe surrounding Hank Pym with his oldest and closest friends will.

WHY DIDN’T THEY TRY THAT FIRST??

What kind of perspective does someone bring into a situation where unbearable levels of pain is the first resort to help a friend?

Alas, however, Thor is out of reach. Quicksilver is dealing with his own shit what with Attilan having blown up. And Hawkeye?

We get a full page detailing what he’s up to, for some reason.

He and Two-Gun Kid are working at the Cheery-O’s Dude Ranch. Hawkeye is helping Two-Gun deal with culture clash through a shared interest in flirting with cowgirls.

I don’t know why this.

I just know that Hawkeye is real proud of himself, thinking “boy if the Avengers could only see us now!” because yeah, they’d be sooo impressed, Hawkeye.

So the Avengers stand around a dazed and confused Hank Pym waiting for any callbacks when suddenly Beast limps into the room muttering:

Beast: “guys... he got... Jan! he’s coming... oh-h-h!”

And then the ceiling explodes.

BECAUSE ULTRON.

He never uses the front door.

And he mocks the Avengers for being startled that he’s not dead. After all, haven’t Captain America, Wonder Man, and Vision come back from seeming death?

But he also explains how he’s back. Because I guess he wants the Avengers to applaud his forethought.

See, Ultron had Charm’d Person several pawns to recreate him on the off chance that he was destroyed by an actual toddler.

That’s just the kind of guy Ultron is. Always planning those contingencies.

Vision charges forward to stop him again and again and keep stopping him until stopping him stops failing.

But Ultron prepared a series of win buttons before launching his attack.

For example: he knows every detail of Vision’s construction so he created a weapon in his silly head antenna just for Vision.

And although Vision tries to diamond hard tank it, it is for naught. And he collapses.

And then Iron Man, Black Panther, and a hesitant Wonder Man charge forward on Cap’s AVENGERS -- ATTACK! command.

So Ultron uses EXPLODE and its super effective.

Iron Man is the first to recover his feet, protected by his armor. And he charges Ultron to... try to strangle him? I’m not really sure what Tony was planning here.

And it was dumb. Because Ultron built power siphons into his suit to drain Iron Man’s armor. And the powerless armored Avenger collapses into a heap at Ultron’s feet.

Oh and then he headshots Beast and Wonder Man with the encephalo-ray, knocking them out.

Ultron marvels that it took almost two entire seconds for Wonder Man to fall before the win button encephalo-ray. Truly unfortunate that the Grim Reaper failed to keep up his bargain because Ultron would so have loved an interesting study subject such as Wonder Man.

Okay but while Ultron was talking to himself, Scarlet Witch has been aligning her chakras or waving her fingers or whatever it is that she has to do to psyche herself up. Shaking off the oh god so many ant bites maybe.

And not without cause, she declares herself the most dangerous threat Ultron will ever face.

Red witch versuuuus robot. RED WITCH HATE TECHNOLOGY ROBOT HATE THE RED WITCH THEY WILL FIGHT ETERNALLY

Also, magic is super effective against Ultron.

And sure, Wanda’s powers have been vague lately. Her power up from training with Agatha Harkness seems mostly forgotten and she’s back to probability alteration. But she makes it work here.

Because that pink wavely energy just made all of Ultron’s circuits short out at the same time. What are the odds??

And then a wall falls on him.

And then the ceiling falls on him.

Ultron deduces that Scarlet Witch’s powers affect probabilities to create random, unnatural occurrences but its very nature as a random factor means that Ultron cannot anticipate or cope with it.

Eventually, Wanda’s power will destroy Ultron.

And then Cap ruins everything.

He prematurely decides Ultron is defeated and gets between Scarlet Witch and Ultron. Bam. The encephalo-ray strikes down Cap. And then Ultron uses Cap’s body as a shield. Bam. Scarlet Wanda is encephalo’d.

Dammit, Cap.

Now the Avengers are all down.

ktang.

Except the Ant-Man. He doesn’t know who this robot is but he feels just so compelled to fight him. Like... he’s got a real punchable face or something.

And as he bounces all around tiny size throwing tiny rocks at Ultron, Ultron uses his vacuum finger to suck him up.

Because of course Ultron has a vacuum finger. Imagine thinking that Ultron didn’t have a vacuum finger.

And... apparently Hank Pym is what Ultron was here for.

Very conscientious of saving the planet but more a dramatic little shit, Ultron turns the lights off as he leaves, also metaphorically symbolizing that darkness has fallen on the era of the Avengers.

And then he smashes a NEW hole through the ceiling and flies off into the night.

Later...

Jarvis comes back with groceries to find the lab is a mess, there’s holes in the floor and ceiling and dead Avengers everywhere. He’s a butler for godsake, not a maid.

Okay but seriously, he’s horrified.

But facetiously, this is like the fourth supervillain home invasion in a week. He has to be a little bit jaded to it by this point.

Anyway, next time: Bride of Ultron BECAUSE WHY NOT??

My real question is when do we get Son of the Return of Ultron’s Revenge?