You tell Wukong you don’t want friends.
He doesn’t try to change your mind, but he does have something to say about doing everything alone.
I Don’t Want Friends
You find him before he finds you, perched on the edge of a rooftop, staff resting across his shoulders, tail flicking lazily in the warm breeze. Sun Wukong always looks like he’s doing nothing, but you’ve learned better. He notices everything.
Including you.
“You’ve been avoiding everyone again,” he says without turning, voice light but not careless. “Your friends have been asking about you.”
You don’t sit beside him right away. You linger a few steps back, fingers tightening in your sleeves.
“I know.”
He hums, finally glancing over his shoulder. There’s no accusation in his eyes, just quiet curiosity. That almost makes it harder.
You take a breath.
“I… prefer it that way.”
That gets his full attention.
Wukong shifts, turning to face you properly now, one leg dangling off the roof. “Prefer what way?”
You hesitate, but you’ve already come this far.
“Being alone,” you admit. “I… don’t… want friends. Not really.” Your voice doesn’t waver as much as you expected. “It’s easier. Quieter. No expectations, no worrying about messing things up—or losing people. Just, me.”
The words sit in the air between you.
For once, Wukong doesn’t jump in with a joke.
He studies you, expression unreadable at first. Then something softer settles in. Understanding, not pity.
“Huh,” he says quietly.
Not that’s wrong.
Not you shouldn’t feel that way.
Just… acknowledgment.
You finally sit down, leaving a bit of space between you. He doesn’t close it.
“You know,” he says after a while, “people always assume being alone is the worst thing that can happen to someone.”
You glance at him.
“They’re wrong.”
That… isn’t what you expected.
For a moment, neither of you speak.
“You think I don’t get that?” he adds eventually, tilting his head toward you. “Spent a long time on my own, y’know. Way before all this—” he gestures vaguely toward the city, toward Megapolis chaos and found-family nonsense.
You glance at him. “Yeah, but you didn’t stay that way.”
“Didn’t say I wanted to,” he replies with a small shrug. “But wanting people and needing distance? Those aren’t opposites.”
That makes you pause.
He taps the roof lightly with his heel. “You’re not weird for wanting space. Or for finding peace in it. Some people recharge around others. Some don’t.” A brief grin flickers. “Some of us just like not dealing with anyone’s drama.”
You huff a quiet laugh despite yourself.
“But,” he continues, and you knew there’d be a but, “cutting everyone out completely? That’s not the same thing as choosing solitude. That’s more like… building a wall and hoping it never feels lonely on the inside.”
You don’t answer immediately.
Because he’s not entirely wrong.
“I don’t feel lonely,” you say, softer this time.
He nods. “Then I’ll believe you.”
No argument. No pushback.
Just trust.
Wukong leans back on his hands, looking up at the sky. “You don’t have to have a bunch of friends. Or any, if that’s what you really want.” A beat. “Doesn’t change anything between us, though.”
You blink. “You’re… not… bothered?”
“Why would I be?” he says, glancing at you again. “You’re not rejecting me. You’re just telling me how you exist.”
That lands somewhere deep in your chest.
“I like being around you,” he adds casually, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “But I don’t need you to be someone who thrives in a crowd for that to work.”
The space between you doesn’t feel so heavy anymore.
After a moment, you shift just a little closer—not all the way, just enough.
(Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending)
You don’t feel okay.
Wukong notices, and stays.
—
You’ve been stuck in your head all day, listening to sad music and shutting everyone out. Sun Wukong shows up and refuses to leave you alone with it.
You Don’t Have to Be Okay
The music loops again.
It’s the same song now—you’re not even sure how many times it’s played again. The melody has blurred into something constant, like background noise for the heaviness sitting in your chest. You’re not really listening to it anymore… but you don’t turn it off either.
It fits.
The room is dim. Curtains drawn. Air stale. Time doesn’t feel real in here.
You’re staring at your screen, but not seeing it.
That’s when the door opens.
Slow. Careful.
Sun Wukong doesn’t burst in this time.
No dramatic entrance. No jokes right away.
He just stands there for a moment.
Watching.
Taking it all in the music, your posture, the quiet that isn’t really quiet.
“…Hey.”
His voice is softer than usual.
You don’t respond.
He steps inside anyway and shuts the door behind him with a quiet click. For a second, he looks like he might say something snarky, something normal—but it dies before it reaches his mouth.
Instead, he walks over and sits beside you.
Not touching yet. Just… there.
The mattress dips slightly under his weight.
The music keeps playing.
“…You’ve been in here a while,” he says after a moment.
You shrug.
Or at least, you try to. It barely counts.
Wukong exhales slowly through his nose, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. His tail flicks once, restless, before settling.
“Alright,” he mutters. “Cool. Silent mode. I can work with that.”
He leans back on his hands, staring up at the ceiling like he’s giving you space, but he doesn’t move away.
Minutes pass.
Not awkward. Not exactly comfortable either.
Just… quiet.
Then—
“You know what I hate about this kinda thing?” he says suddenly.
You don’t answer, but your eyes shift slightly toward him.
“It’s not loud,” he continues. “Not like a fight, or… you know, something obvious you can punch.” he lets out a small, humourless huff. “It’s sneaky. Gets in your head and just… sits there. Makes everything feel heavier than it actually is.”
Your fingers tighten slightly around the fabric of your sleeve.
“…Yeah,” you whisper.
He glances at you, softer now.
“Yeah.”
Another pause.
Then Wukong shifts closer—just a bit—and nudges your arm lightly with his.
“You wanna tell me what flavour of awful we’re dealing with today?” he asks. “We got ‘everything sucks’? ‘I suck’? ‘nothing matters’? Or the classic combo platter?”
A weak, almost invisible breath leaves you.
“…All of it.”
He winces slightly. Not dramatically—just enough to show he feels that answer.
“Yikes,” he murmurs. “That one’s a heavy hitter.”
You stare down at your hands.
“I don’t know how to stop it,” you admit. “It just keeps going. I try to distract myself and it just… comes back worse.”
Wukong nods slowly, like he expected that.
“Yeah. That’s kinda its whole thing,” he says. “Annoying, persistent, zero respect for personal boundaries…”
He trails off, then glances at you again.
“…Not your fault, though.”
You tense slightly at that.
He notices.
“I mean it,” he adds, more firmly, but still gentle. “Your brain’s being a jerk. That doesn’t mean everything it says is true.”
You don’t argue.
But you don’t agree either.
Wukong sighs quietly and shifts again, this time, close enough that your shoulders are almost touching.
“Hey,” he says. “Look at me for a sec?”
You hesitate.
Then, slowly, you do.
His expression isn’t exaggerated or playful like usual. It’s… steady. Grounded.
“I’m not gonna throw some ‘fix everything’ speech at you,” he says. “Because that’s not how this works. And honestly? If someone tried that on me, I’d launch them into the sun.”
That earns the faintest flicker of something in your expression.
He notices immediately.
“Hey—there it is,” he says quietly. “Tiny reaction. I’ll take it.”
You look away again, but not as far.
Wukong leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
“But I am gonna stay,” he continues. “As long as this takes.”
Your throat tightens a little.
“…Why?” you ask, barely audible.
He blinks, like the question catches him off guard.
“Why?” he repeats. “Seriously?”
You shrug again.
Wukong stares at you for a second—then lets out a soft, incredulous laugh.
“Wow. Okay. Your brain is really out here spreading misinformation today.”
He shifts, turning more toward you.
“Because you’re you,” he says simply. “Because I care about you. Because you don’t deserve to sit in here alone while your thoughts gang up on you.”
He pauses, then adds, quieter—
“And because I know what it’s like.”
That lands.
You glance at him again.
Wukong doesn’t elaborate right away. He just looks back at you, something heavier sitting behind his usual confidence.
“…There were times,” he says slowly, “where I got stuck in my own head too. Couldn’t shut it off. Didn’t want help—even when I needed it.”
He looks away briefly, jaw tightening just a bit.
“Difference is,” he adds, “you’ve got me.”
The room goes quiet again, aside from the music.
Then—
Very gently—like he’s giving you time to pull away—he reaches over and takes your hand.
His grip is warm. Steady.
Not tight. Not loose.
Just… there.
You don’t pull away.
He lets out a quiet breath, almost like relief.
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Step one complete.”
You blink slightly.
“…Step one?”
“Yeah,” he says, glancing at you with a small, softer version of his usual grin. “You didn’t shove me off the bed. That’s huge.”
A tiny huff escapes you.
Not quite a laugh, but closer than before.
“Step two,” he continues, “we make this room slightly less… sad cave.”
He gestures vaguely around.
“No offense.”
You glance at the curtains.
“…I don’t feel like moving.”
“Good news,” Wukong says immediately. “You don’t have to.”
Before you can question it, he stands up and walks over to the window.
“Hey, what are you—”
Too late.
He pulls the curtains open just enough to let a sliver of light spill into the room. Not blinding. Not overwhelming.
Just… a crack.
You squint slightly, but it’s not unbearable.
“See?” he says. “Minimal effort. Maximum dramatic effect.”
He walks back over and sits down again—closer this time, shoulder brushing yours.
“Step three,” he says, quieter now, “we survive the next little bit.”
You frown slightly.
“…That’s it?”
“For now? Yeah.”
He squeezes your hand gently.
“No big life overhaul. No ‘fix everything.’ Just… this moment. Then the next one. Then the next.”
You lean into him a little before you can stop yourself.
He stills for half a second, then relaxes, letting you.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s it.”
The music is still playing—but softer now. Less suffocating.
Wukong shifts slightly, resting his head lightly against yours.
Not heavy. Not trapping you.
Just… there.
“You don’t have to be okay right now,” he says quietly. “You just have to be here.”
Your grip tightens around his hand.
And for the first time in a while—
The weight doesn’t disappear.
But it doesn’t feel quite as crushing either.
Wukong glances down at you, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.
The greed of funnybunny fans repulses me. You are all ROTUND you do not NEED more content. When is it showtime's turn i hope that purple twink kills himself next episode
I DON'T NEED SHOWTIME. I NEED LESS FUNNYBUNNY.
I FEEL STUPID. I FEEL SO STUPID TO THINK THIS SHOW WOULD HOLD ITSELF BACK, THAT IT WOULDN'T HOLD FAVORITES. I WASTED SO MUCH TIME FALLING IN LOVE WITH A PREMISE THAT DIED ON ARRIVAL.
Yeah, the pomni & caine angle was really beat in the pilot/first, and the lack of caine in the “actual” episode chemistry is seriously disappointing as far as showtime. Honestly the show is a lot more jax focused than I thought it would be, but looking back i may just be stupid
I FEEL stupid. I feel so stupid to think that the show that has an amazing female protagonist with a fascinating plot with amazing character-driven characters would focus on all the characters. that it would focus on the lore, the story, that it would focus on the MAIN CHARACTER. Instead, all of a sudden it changes its gears to a character (Jax) that we don't hear from for FIVE episodes out of 9. THIS ISN'T what I came for. And I'm tired.
You would notice that Carnival is centered around Pomni, the main protagonist. and lore, and the psychology of all the characters, Caine and his involvement with CnA, because THAT'S WHAT I WANTED TO SEE. NO. Instea,d we get most intimate screentime with only one of the humans that shouldn't matter more than the others. But he is. He's treated special when he shouldn't be.
Even watching the pilot, I knew there wasn't going to be any kind of interaction between them beyond something like a dog and it's owner.
BUT that has never stopped me from enjoying what I did find. Just because it's never going to be canon doesn't mean it can't happen in your own stories.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go find and/or create some Showtime for my soul.
I would be happy if it was a dog and it's owner. There was NOTHING. I wasn't expecting it to be canon, I never did. I expected a conversation and I got NOTHING.
" YOU just don't like Jax bc of SHOWTIME " Or maybe because Jax is an asshole to everyone around him? Maybe because the asshole character that was specifically designed to be an asshole isn't everyone's cup of tea?
Like yea, for me Jax is an interesting character, but you can't expect everyone to suddenly hop on the Jax train bc were given a reason as to why he's an asshole and distances himself from the others ( the reason came too little too late, and losing your friend doesn't = suddenly super sympathetic, he is STILL an asshole )
Like can yall use your critical thinking skills for more than 5 seconds? Not everyone is gonna love your owo so sad and hurt bunny boy who was lashing out bc of [ Insert Trauma Here ], and that's coming from someone who likes him!
I truly believe yall would defend a real life bully if their background was sad enough.
the fact that yall assume that I don't like Jax because he gets in the way of showtime or whatever is crazyyy I'm allowed to not like the writing decisions with out my personal interests getting in the way. You DO realize that theres more to my enjoyment than Showtime right?
romaincrisis
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