#chainsaw man you continue to move me

[thehayakawas]

“I’ll find family again somewhere!” is so earnestly hopeful it’s genuinely creating cracks in my heart

[sukunasweetheart]

kimi ni todoke inspired, but with a twist?? except sukuna is suuuuper into your whole scary/creepy vibes (strange fetish) this is more just rambling, not a proper fic sorry, its a little smutty, scratching and knifeplay involved (he's quite submissive), sukuna's a whole FRREAK

sukuna in college au, where he has a strange infatuation with the horror genre-- has a deep appreciation for scary films, and is a huge nerd in this area, and many of his favourite celebrities are actors and actresses that starred in one of his favourite films. his brother yuuji is also a huge cinema nerd but he's not as obsessed with horror as sukuna is. and frankly, yuuji thinks he's a slight weirdo for being able to analyse them in a very detailed manner, whether it's the jumpscares or how realistic a gore scene looks.

and now this horror nerd discovers someone very noteworthy in his area. there's this semi-famous haunted house that operates year-round nearby his university, which he decides to visit alone, out of boredom.

...the atmosphere is alright. the decoration could use some work. the bloody sheets don't look convincing enough. it's too pink and tacky. the "ghosts" give an effort to try and scare him, but he gives them a deadpan look.

"can you try any harder?" sukuna keeps walking.

next, a man dressed like a typical serial killer walks in holding a real chainsaw. oh, boy. the "killer" walks up real close to him, to his annoyance. he takes the chance to inspect the mask on his face. he flicks it lightly with a finger.

"shit's made out of plastic. do better."

the man revs up his chainsaw.

"ha - that's the spirit." he continues walking.

there's suddenly eerie silence, now that he's almost at the exit of the haunted house. what, did they run out of ideas?

he thinks he catches a glimpse of someone in the corner of his eye. sukuna stops and turns back, but there's no one in sight. that gets the hairs on the back of his neck rising, ever so slightly. he likes that.

he feigns ignorance and keeps heading to the exit, wanting something to jump out at him. he hears little footsteps behind him, this time. he whips around again, but there's nobody.

"you're edging me, are you?" he says sarcastically with a chuckle.

you're hiding in a little pocket area out of view, when you hear the man mention something about edging. great. another fucking weirdo. sometimes, you feel like you should just get a new job.

the third time, you actually reveal yourself and stand still in view when he turns around. the weirdo just stands there and grins at you. the fuck??

oh, sukuna loves this one. you look terrifying. like you came directly from a horror film set. you give him the creeps.

"look at you... a diamond in the rough."

the fuck is this man talking about? you want to tell him to just leave already. but he just continues observing you silently, like someone analysing an artifact. you move stiffly towards him, even while knowing that it probably wouldn't be enough to scare him off.

"your makeup looks too real... do you do that yourself?"

you glare at him. it's part of the script anyway. sukuna chuckles, because something tells him that the disdain in your eyes are real.

"i know, i know. i'll get going. any chance i could get your number before i go?" he asks boldly, hands in his pockets. it's a half-hearted attempt, but he felt the need to really try at least once.

he must be joking. what kind of perverted man sees a woman looking like this and asks for her number? well, he probably isn't being serious anyway. silence permeates the area as you backtrack away from him, deciding you've done enough for your pay's worth.

"running away? a shame..."

you feel odd. many men have seen you and ended up running out screaming. none has ever tried flirting with you while you were in this getup. what a weirdo.

sukuna walks out feeling better than expected. that last section really saved it. not a totally worthless experience. maybe he'll swing by again, just to see you.

except, he doesn't really need to. because the next day you bump into him at uni - and he recognises you instantly, like the freak he is. you try to brush him off casually, but he can't be shaken off so easily. and then sukuna pestering you wherever you hid around on campus became part of your schedule.

"what's your deal? why do you keep following me around?" you eye him suspiciously, when he sits down next to you on the bench, unprompted.

"well, i'm interested in you, for one," he says casually, shrugging.

"listen... if this is because you have some weird horror fetish, then i'm not interested..." you tell him truthfully, shuffling yourself away.

sukuna laughs out loudly in response, which makes you jump.

"i won't deny having unusual tastes, but my interest isn't that shallow. if it were the case, i could probably seduce any other girl and dress her up instead of chasing after you."

well, you guess he's correct about that. you've received a couple of stink eyes from a number of girls after being seen with sukuna so often.

he's an annoying guy - when you ask other peers about him, they tell you he's stoic, mean, and rude as fuck. well, you understand the last two a little bit, but stoic? every time he sees you, he seems like the opposite. he's rather loud and overbearing.

"i'm telling you - you have a talent. why not make use of it?"

he's referring to your future acting career, apparently.

"and i'm telling you - stop with the nonsense! i can't be fooling around with a silly idea like becoming an actor. seriously."

you only started working at the haunted house for some cash. you're not even that into the genre itself. what's with this guy?

"why would it be fooling around? at least give it a try before dismissing it."

this back and forth continues, for quite a while. he even forces you to watch his favourite horror films, "for future reference".

and then he proposes a deal to you. that you try and audition for a small role as a ghost in a film. he guarantees you'll get picked, even though you doubt it. and if you don't he promises he'll never bring the idea up to you again. you decide to go with it, just to shut him up.

but guess what? you're selected for the role.

sukuna shrugs at you with a smug smile on his face.

"see? i'm always right."

he pisses you off.

and he somehow pushes his way into becoming your personal "trainer". sukuna revises your script with you, and gives you feedback on your acting. he sits you down and watches classic horror flicks with you, analysing every scene down to every frame. many things happen the more you spend time with him..... you find yourself getting more and more attracted to this weirdo. this horror nerd.

"are you paying attention? this part is important."

the film gets paused, and you very swiftly, dart your eyes away from admiring his jawline.

"i'm trying... i just can't concentrate. i'm hungry," you lie fervently.

"hungry for what? me?" sukuna grabs your face and makes you turn your head towards him.

"...no? whatever gave you that idea?" you ask, heart hammering in your chest.

"how is it that an aspiring actor can't even lie properly? maybe we need to go back and revise some of your acting lessons."

you know that he's studying to become a film director, and honestly you feel sorry for the future actors that'll be working with him.

"whatever. let go of my face, you ass." you swat his hand away.

sukuna chuckles deeply at you, eyes softening.

"you're lucky that you're cute. how about i give you a kiss? will you concentrate better then?"

"yeah... wait, what-?"

too late though, he's already on your lips. and damn, he's a good kisser. anyways, that embarks the start of your relationship with him. shortly after, the filming process for the short film begins, and it becomes a decent success. you're a little ecstatic. maybe more than a little. you get the feeling that a whole new life is awaiting you.

and your boyfriend is so endlessly cocky about it. "all thanks to me," he says, which is technically correct, but you don't want to openly admit it in front of him sometimes.

and...

occasionally...you do dress up scarily before sex as well. at first, you were quite reluctant and awkward with roleplaying in bed, but after you got used to it, you found that it's hot as hell to see sukuna beneath you, squirming as you press a knife close to his throat, grinding your clothed cunt against his boner, dressed as a terrifying ghoul.

a safe word was established beforehand, of course, just in case either of you suddenly feel like backing out.

you want to keep yourself immersed into the role as much as possible, but it's difficult when sukuna's cock is so big, hitting all the right spots. this time, you're choking him with one hand as you ride him like he's a toy.

sukuna's hands are guiding your hips, fingertips digging into your flesh, his dick aching from the soft pressure you apply to his throat. you look so utterly scary, it turns him on. he'd let you kill him, if you wanted. he fucks into your cervix, looking up into your eyes with a blush on his face, groaning openly at the insane look in your eyes.

choke me harder. scratch me. bite me. he provokes you through his gaze.

you do grip his throat harder. and then you dig your fingernails into his chest, and scrape them down slowly, leaving a trail of red marks down him. sukuna shudders under you and curses under his breath.

"just like that... fuck, baby," he moans, cock throbbing inside of you. your walls squeeze him so good.

he cums the hardest he's ever cum in his life that night - thighs trembling and sweat rolling down his temples, and it doesn't help that you lean down to sink your teeth into the side of his neck while he orgasms.

aftercare consists of him cleaning you up and helping you de-costume. when he's wiping all that dark makeup off your face, he tells you that you're pretty with his soft voice, flustering you.

and of course, vanilla sex also occurs regularly, to get away from that freaky stuff sometimes, with the gentle kisses and tender hand holding, in a missionary position, exchanging sweet, sweet gazes with each other. giving you the princess treatment you deserve for being so good to him.

in the future, you run around and play bigger roles until one of your films become a huge hit, and sukuna finishes his degree to become a famous film director... no surprises there! the best horror actress + the best horror film director goes hard... the two of you are already married at this point.

when the both of you finally get together to make the ultimate film, the internet explodes... sukuna is surprisingly bad at being professional. he's seen often taking care of you rather affectionately around the filming area, personally making sure your makeup is done perfectly, and bringing you food and water as if he's bragging to everyone else about his marriage. and it shows in the way he sugar coats his critique for you, when he has never done that for any other actor/actress he's worked with previously.

if there are some snooty coworkers that try to speak with him about the gap in treatment, he would simply scoff at them and say 'and? she's my damn wife.'

when he's working with you, it's all like:

"cut! honey, that was great, but i think this part can be done a bit better."

but when it comes to other actors:

"cut! what the fuck was that? sounded like you were reading off the damn script. get your shit together."

he's notorious for being relentless, but nobody has anything to say because all of his films climbed to the top of the industry. everyone is dying to score a line or two in his films.

and i'd like to think that sukuna himself dabbles into acting a little as well. there's probably one film where he stars as the killer, and it becomes a classic :) but the one featuring you and him probably becomes both of your biggest hits ✨

oh, and on days where you two finish filming together, he takes you home with his own car, but before that, some freaky car sex probably occurs around some corner with his windows tinted... (he's been hot and bothered the whole time filming, watching you act)

the end <3

Masterlist

[sugar-grigri]

CSM 172 : Do you hear Chainsaw Man? Because I do !

The more 'silent' a chapter is in terms of dialogue, the more it speaks to you. Especially when the chapter itself talks about sound. And that's the first thing Pochita will tell you: "pay more attention to the noise I make than to my words". Don't worry, everything will become crystal clear, but you have to take it one step at a time. The theme of this chapter is repeated three times. And this theme is not about the ears themselves. It's louder, it's more important, and it's about the power of CSM itself. To understand it, you take it one step at a time, savour every page and look at the beginning of this chapter.

Only the possessed woman with half a canine head manages to avoid Chainsaw Man's attack (OK, she ends up decapitated, but she managed to avoid it). It's not at all insignificant that it's a canine that manages to avoid Chainsaw Man. Knowing how to avoid when the rest of the elite don't even bat an eyelid when CSM comes at them shows you more than you think.

For a start, the animal aspect is reminiscent of several senses: smell, obviously, and the sixth sense, and these two senses should be placed on the same level of importance. The sixth sense is brought to mind by the number 6, which is present several times, just as the sense of smell is used to point out the demons who don't recognise faces but only smells: the knights of the apocalypse.

But let's not go too far, if we want to remain general, what this first part of the chapter evokes are the senses. If we try to divide the chapter into three parts, we end up with a dog that manages to avoid ; the explosion and disappearance of the ears.

Which gives us :

First part = senses

Second part = conflict

Third part = disappearance.

These different elements obviously need to be interpreted. We did it for the first part, let's do it for the other 2.

2. I mentioned smell, Fujimoto represents a spiral, and Yoru appears at the end ready to fight. So we need to associate the notion of conflict with the Knights of the Apocalypse who fought against CSM.

3. Disappearance, the ears disappear. Why do they disappear? Obviously because of Chainsaw Man's power.

So we end up with these three intrinsically linked sub-themes:

Senses

Knights of the apocalypse

Power of Chainsaw Man.

So we continue to unravel the threads. If the number 6 is mentioned, it's to encourage you to reread two chapters, chapter 6 and chapter 84, in which Makima talks about the sixth sense.

What do these two chapters have in common? They both deal with Chainsaw Man's power, one talking about the system of fears and the names of demons, the other about Chainsaw Man's power, what disappears and the conflict with the Knights of the Apocalypse.

All our themes are there. But I explained to you that it was recalled three times. It's mentioned a second time in the title (BZZZZ = sound of chainsaws, therefore evokes CSM, Boom evokes conflict, Chomp, something cut off). But that doesn't mean that the title simply recalls the themes, it does so through noise. Logically, we're talking about hearing in this chapter! But then again, it's also fundamental, we'll move on.

The three themes are recalled a third time in this page: the ears recall the senses, the cross with the arms of CSM the disappearance, the supression or its power and the spiral, the knights of the apocalypse. If all this is recalled in a single page, it's inevitably to link them.

So what is Pochita saying?

🌀❌👂

The knights of the apocalypse don't hear me.

Now that sounds obscure. But CSM is rich enough to help you understand the implications of such a statement. So why don't we reopen our tomes and look for chapter 53.

Angel explains that all the demons heard the sound of a chainsaw at the moment of their death in the underworld. As the life cycle of demons is infinite, this implies that they hear this sound at the moment of their death in the underworld as well as their rebirth on earth.

Keep this in mind. To give you a better understanding, I'm going to go back to chapter 104. In this chapter, Yoru explains that despite all the times she killed CSM, he came back. Haven't you ever wondered how Pochita could get up so many times and still be so powerful?

What's the secret behind his power, one of the conditions of which is that he is the most feared? How did he achieve this power?

You've heard this secret from the start:

"VRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR"

I think some of you will have rediscovered some of the links, while others may have lost their way. But let's imagine you're dying (poor soul) and I say to you as you take your last breath: AHAH WELL DONE!

And imagine that you are reborn. You're going to want to take revenge for what you've heard, aren't you?

Hell is by definition, not heaven............ It's not necessarily a place where people live together in peace............ So imagine a demon killed by another demon, but the devil who died hears chainsaws. They won't necessarily remember who killed them, but at least they'll remember the last noise he heard. Why? Because hearing is the last sense to diminish when you die.

So Pochita's secret is to make his chainsaws roar to regain his power. Because when a half-dead demon hears it, it frightens him. Logically associating it with death.

So what is the secret of the Knights of the Apocalypse? To rely on their sense of smell. Or to be more precise, to concentrate on another sense other than hearing. Just as the dog was able to do, since he neither looks at CSM nor hears him because he has no ears either. It's the key !

The Knights of the Apocalypse were able to fight CSM because they weren't afraid of him, concentrating not on the noise but on what was disappearing.

The more you concentrate on Chainsaw Man, the more you forget. So the clearer Makima saw her confrontation with Pochita, the more concepts escaped her.

So neither Makima nor Yoru, who focus a little too much on CSM, are the ones who remember the most. The one who remembers the most forgotten concepts but the least about her confrontation with CSM and the one who doesn't give a damn about anything.

At the same time as this chapter reveals a secret about Chainsaw Man's power, it also highlights a weakness: the devil eaten is not immediately forgotten, there is a time lag between the demon's disappearance and the forgetting of the name it represents. Once again, Yoru's reflex is to focus on what is disappearing, rather than, like Katana, on the lure of the chainsaws. How long does this time last? Once again, it's explained in this chapter.

I don't think the chainsaws were given much prominence in this chapter...? I mean, yes, they're there, but the way Pochita goes about it is more like using the eviscerated guts of his enemies. The intestines.

So digestion.

The disappearance of a concept is not instantaneous, it lasts as long as the concept is digested. So if Pochita spits it out..... or vomit.... before digesting…. the concept exists again!!!!!

Of course he's going to spit out the ears, I just pray that katana doesn't stay like that until the end…

But then if hearing is the sense that allows Pochita to be reborn very powerful. It doesn't do him any good to suppress that sense.

Precisely. If CSM dies, he won't be able to regain that power.

To remove his sense of hearing is to ensure that his power dies with him. And no one else benefits.

Above all, it's a sign to his opponents.

Last round.

[ttttobistuff]

What a good boy you are…

(Thomas Hewitt x M! Reader)

Warnings: smut, insults

DISCLAIMER: This scene is from Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2, but Bubba Sawyer is replaced by Thomas Hewitt in this story.

It was a quiet night in K-OKLA’s office. Dark alleys were covered by the light of an almost full moon. No noises disturbed the silence. Regardless of this, you could not help but be worried. Half an hour ago, you had played the recording of a supposed murder by a killer who disappeared 14 years ago.

Your heart raced when a strange silhouette roamed around the lower room of the office. Cracking the door open, you were met by an eerie looking man. He begged for an autograph, a tour, songs, and hundreds of other things your mind wasn’t able to catch. Trying your best to push him away, his feet moved him closer.

Finally, you were both standing in front of a small closet. Inside, there were nothing more than countless vinyl records. Or, at least, that’s what you thought.

Seconds after he referred to them, a horrifying motor-like sound skyrocketed your fear. Almost losing your life to a chainsaw, you ran with every ounce of strength left in you after a tiring day. The adrenaline dragged your body to safety, immediately blocking the way with a resistant metal wall.

“Get that motherfucker, Leatherface!” The strange man from before yelled.

Metal against metal, a cacophony stirred between that irritating crash and your screams. Your throat felt as if it was burning away, with each screech full of fright.

Suddenly, the silence made its way back to you. Not for long, though. The wall on your left was brought down, and you recognized the sound of the chainsaw.

Taking a closer look to the man who held it, his long hair danced at every movement. His rough grip made you wonder how his fingertips would feel against your skin. His staggering height was highly intimidating. Yet, as soon as your eyes were set on his body, your terror began twisting into something else.

Something gut wrenching—you were bewitched by his size.

“Please…” you began speaking with no hesitation, “show me how good you can be”.

His chainsaw, which was now steady, began lowering. His eyes studied your body, seemingly curious. A barely audible huff left his lips.

“How good can you be? Huh?” You began teasing him.

A part of you wished to survive, but another part wished to see how far you could take this wicked arousement of yours. Thankfully, he began playing along.

You spread open your legs, and your hands travelled up your thighs. He followed closely with his gaze. At this point, every action of yours was careless. You allowed your lust to take control.

After staring for long enough, Leatherface took the blade of his chainsaw closer. Tracing the way from your ankle to your inner thigh, he stopped himself on top of your crotch. Putting pressure on it, your hips began rocking forward softly.

“Oh—you’re very good” you moaned under your breath to not alert the killer next door. Leatherface, visibly flustered, moved one of his hands away from the chainsaw handle. It was laid on top of his pants, which made you notice his growth.

Before he continued, he backed away. The man went into a spontaneous rampage, destroying the studio until nothing was left. You abstained from screaming.

He looked back at you for a second, and you caught a glimpse of his hunger. He then walked to his companion, and both crossed the exit. You could’ve sworn it was the end, and you were left with a problem to take care of, but he came right back.

He clumsily walked inside, and while leaning on a door frame, he grunted in discomfort. A cocky smile was shown from your side. You opened your legs once more, but this time he threw his weapon out of the way.

“What a good boy you are…come on”

He approached you in a rather awkward manner—a shy killer, who would’ve guessed?

You were desperate for his touch, and decided to walk over to him. You pushed him down onto a chair, and stood between his open legs. With a knee on his erection, you kissed him. Waiting for his permission to slide your tongue inside his mouth, your hands caressed him.

Every time you tried taking a slight peek at his face, he would either turn his head around or shove your face back in place.

His hands wrapped around your hips, pulling down on your knee.

“Should I call you Leatherface?” You said, between warm kisses. “Or, will you give me a proper name to moan?”

He grunted, and his grip became weaker. “Thomas…” he rushed out of his mouth. You went on to kiss his neck, also guiding his hand towards your little problem down there. The temperature rose between you two.

It was mostly you who initiated anything. Even opening his pants, or taking any clothing off of yourself.

“Can I see what’s under that mask of yours, big boy?” You were straightforward, yet you felt anxious to ask such a thing. He stiffened up a bit. Your hand held his cheek with delicacy, and his muscles once more eased.

Moments after, he allowed you to take a look at his face. His eyes ran away from yours, ashamed to confront your reaction. But, to his liking, your body only craved him more. As your knees touched the floor, you prepared your tongue for him.

“You’re still precious to me, Thomas.” His expression showed surprise, embarrassment too. “You…are so beautiful”.

Your mouth wrapped around him, fitting perfectly. Both craved the touch of another being, the love of another heart. He had sparked interest within your chest.

“I won’t be letting you go soon,” you said, cutting off his moans. You knew it wouldn’t be the last time you explored his body.

[anomaly-hivemind]

Wanna Play Doctor || No. 12 Medical play, Somnophilia, and Costumes w/ Law x GN!Reader

Tags: Dubcon, somnophilia, medical play, handjobs

Kinktober Masterlist, One Piece Masterlist

Word count: 632

You were getting your ass handed to you in an online match of ‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre’ when Law peeked into the room from the bathroom. He had a few droplets falling down his chest, a towel wrapped around his shoulder. Law runs his hand through his simi-wet hair

As walks over to the bed. He leans back on the bed and looks up at you with a smile. You decide to start a new game, you were losing anyway and switch to Twitch. Picking a streamer you knew played long hours and set the volume to low. No one would be really watching it really anyway.

“How was work?” You placed the controller on the bedside counter, then turned to face him again.

“Tiring but when is it not?” he massaged his shoulder and sighed.

“Yeah, being a doctor is bound to be stressful,” Law grabbed your hand and yawned at your statement. You rub his shoulders slowly and firmly and he closes his eyes for a moment.

“Something like that.” Law was already dozing off at the minute's pace. He looked so sexy, naked with messy hair, and his chest tattoos look so kissable. You caress his hair , petting his hair until he's basically on the edge of being asleep. You carefully get up and head to the closet and steal a pair of scrubs, you'll wash them later.

The pants didn’t fit your ass so you opted to just wear the shirt and sit back on the bed. You went back to rubbing Law’s shoulder and even his pecks. He let out faint sighs as you felt him up slowly. You move slightly, your thighs around his head as you take your hands down further down his naked body.

Law stirs slightly from his sleep, you can’t help yourself. Running your hands up and down his abs like clockwork until your eyes catch something. Pitching a tent with a towel was sleepy Law’s dick. A smirk forms on your lips as the slight of his happy trail leads down to his peaking prize.

You shuffle to get closer to his waist so you can feel up your sleeping angel in more important places. You don't move the towel, simply giving an experimental poke to his tip. You look at him, he didn’t move so you do it again and this time the towel falls off a bit. You lick your lips, you love how sexy your boyfriend is, in all matters of fact.

“Baby.” a faint mumble escapes his lips but his eyes are still closed.

“Yes mister doctor,” you whispered in response to his half-continuous mumble. Your hand ran along his hard dick with a smirk.

“What are you doing” he said in a sleeping voice.

“”I thought I would take care of the doctor for a change. Think of me as your personal nurse.” you take a firmer grip on his manhood and he let out a husky groan.

You press a kiss his tip and he moans, man did you think he sounded sexy you started to jack him off less lacklusterly. His eyelids fluttered but didn't open and he bucked his his slightly, his mouth a bit gapped.

You teasingly run your tongue against his length, lapping up his precum with a moan of your own. You wrap your lips around him and you bob your head up and down his cock making your insides tingle. You feel him twitch in your mouth and you look up at him and see his eyes flutter again. His balls twitch and before you know it he comes down your mouth with the stutter of his hips.

[aszles]

since my first pinned post had a tierlist of csm characters, i decided to redo it as a tierlist of Fujimoto works instead! (i had only read csm when i made this sideblog) it's a lot less ever-changing so i feel a bit safer keeping something like this at the top of my blog lol...

within the tiers there is no specific order, they're just the things i happened to put in first. if you wanna make one here's the template! (made by yours truly)

because i'm a nerd you can read my opinions about each work below the cut~

S TIER

Chainsaw Man - i mean, csm is just awesome. in all honesty, this manga has changed my life. i KNOW that sounds silly and corny but it's genuinely true. i have been able to get past a lot of my struggles and develop so much as a person since starting this manga. as a fun bonus i feel like i've finally started improving my art again (or at least changing it enough to feel fresh) after like 3 years. i can't really describe how much csm has done for me, but if i had told myself from 2021 that this would happen i would never believe it (especially because i had written off this series for some personal reasons...lol) but yeah. i think i'll forever be grateful for what Chainsaw Man has done for me.

Look Back - i think Look Back is seriously the best piece of media i have ever experienced. i don't think i have ever seen a story so beautifully crafted as this manga, it made me sob when i read it. i remember having to move the manga away from myself so i wouldn't get tears on it. at the time of writing this i am SO SO excited to watch the movie, whenever that will be. i will cry and throw up watching that thing LOL.

Nayuta of the Prophecy - ok maybe i don't TECHNICALLY believe this is an S tier work, but Nayuta is just such a lovable character that i can't possibly rank her any lower. Fujimoto was right to adapt her into csm because she deserves it!! however despite that, this oneshot is the only one that i genuinely wish he would make a sequel to. i think oneshot Nayuta and csm Nayuta are pretty different, so they still don't feel like the same character - i would love to see oneshot Nayuta's personality and relationship with her brother continue to develop!

A TIER

Sisters - one of the few other works i had heard anything about before i started exploring Fujimoto's other stuff, and i definitely felt apprehensive about it. but wow, the fact that Fujimoto is able to take the concept of "girl non-consensually paints her sister naked and it gets displayed on the school wall for everyone to see" and NOT make it weird is crazy! a sweet oneshot that i enjoyed, and love the nuance that was able to be created in such a short amount of time.

Woke-Up-as-a-Girl Syndrome - a really cute take on a silly trope that can often be handled... oddly. i love how much the characters in this really feel like teenagers, doing stupid things but being completely earnest all the while. (Spoilers) i really like how it ends with Toshihide being adamant that he is still male, and also Rie still loving him as he is. very sweet!

Love is Blind - it's no wonder Fujimoto won an honourable mention for this, it's such an adorable and funny oneshot. i was giggling the whole time reading it! i don't really have much to say about it, but i definitely enjoyed it.

Fire Punch - i don't really know where to start with Fire Punch, but wow. it is seriously so impressive to me how good Fujimoto is at tackling such sensitive topics, not shying away from them while also clearly not glorifying them. i also think a big place where Fire Punch shines is character relationships, especially Agni and Togata. they fucked me UPPPPP. it goes off the rails a bit near the end, but i also never got the feeling that it WASN'T what Fujimoto intended with this series. i may not quite get the ending, but it didn't ruin anything for me and i think the rest of Fire Punch is really good at what it does. plus the art is AWESOME ?????

B TIER

Goodbye, Eri - ohhh people might not like me for this one... i'm sorry guys, i just honestly didn't get this manga. i'll definitely reread in the future (me and my sister still haven't finished our sticky notes to read it blurry/clear) but for now i can't rank it any higher. i didn't feel much reading it, and the ending definitely confused me a lot lol. love the art though!

Shikaku - this one's interesting! i thought the story was quite cute, and Shikaku herself is completely adorable. though Yugeru is ummm... not my type let's say. i also do wonder if Makima took any inspiration from Shikaku - she looks similar to her, which to be fair for Fujimoto works probably doesn't mean much (as a lot of his character's look similar to each other /pos), but a clearer comparison is both characters presenting eyeballs they stole from people. (also... if Makima is inspired by Shikaku, is Barem then inspired by Yugeru? yuck) anyways just my speculation, back to the point. the reason this doesn't make its way into A tier is because to me it doesn't really feel like a Fujimoto work? i'm not sure why, but yeah.

C TIER

Mermaid Rhapsody - this one's definitely cute, but as a result of Fujimoto trying to create a "normal story" it unfortunately loses all of the charm of Fujimoto works!! i want it to be weird and fucked up damnit!!!!! though he did succeed in his goal of creating a normal story, so i can't complain too much lol.

Sasaki Stopped a Bullet - i don't have anything against this oneshot, but i think it just doesn't particularly appeal to me. unfortunately nothing in this story grabbed me

D TIER

A Couple Clucking Chickens Were Still Kickin' in the Schoolyard - it's no real surprise this is here, considering it's Fujimoto's first work. overall it was pretty cute, but i'm not all that into aliens..? not much to say lol

if you read all this then thank you >_o

[metallicaislife]

Unwell

A/N: A self indulgent blurb bc I don't feel good and wish this was a reality hahah 😭💕

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 805

Warnings: Swearing

“I have a cough, are you sure you still want me to come over?” I asked Saul over the phone as I sat on my couch. 

“It’s probably just your smokers' hack.” He replied. 

“Tell her if she doesn’t get here soon we’re gonna start the movie without her!” I heard Duff yell in the background. 

“You heard the man.” Saul said. 

“Fine.” I grumbled, “I’ll be there soon.” 

“See ya fucker.” Saul hung up. 

I rolled my eyes and got up putting a jacket on. I drove to Saul’s and entered without knocking. 

“Look who finally decided to show up.” Duff said as I entered the living room. 

“Shut up McKagan.” I said plopping down on the couch. 

“You know what I love best about you? Your cheery disposition.” Duff grinned. 

“Haha.” I said dryly and flipped him off. “What are we watching?” I asked, turning my attention to Saul who walked in with some popcorn. 

“I rented Labyrinth.” He smiled. I grinned back at him as he sat next to me. I’ve known Saul for a couple years, we used to be neighbors in an apartment building, and kept in contact after he moved. I have the biggest crush on him, but I’m content just being his friend.

The movie started and I wanted to melt into his side like normal but my throat kept tickling and I had to cough every few minutes. 

“Jesus.” Duff huffed. 

“I warned Saul.” I said. 

Duff and I were best frenemies. He’s the sweetest guy but we love to push each other's buttons. 

About half way through the movie I got up to use the restroom. 

“Want me to pause it?” Saul asked. 

“Nah, I've already seen it a bunch of times.” I replied. 

When I came out of the bathroom the movie was paused.

“Fuck me gently with a chainsaw.” I grumbled.

Duff threw his head back with a laugh. 

“What’s wrong?” Saul asked.

“I just started my period, I’m pretty sure I have a cold, and look at the dark bags under my eyes, I’m pretty sure they have their own goddamn zip code.” I said pointing to my eyes. 

“You do look like you got dragged to hell by a semi-truck.” Duff said laughing. I flipped him off and he raised his hands, “sorry. I’ll leave you be.” He continued laughing as he left. 

“Go lay in my bed and I’ll bring you some soup.” Saul said. 

“No it’s okay, I should probably go home.” I said, grabbing my jacket. Saul caught my elbow. 

“I wasn’t asking. Go lay down.” He said again. My heart melted a little, as did my resolve to leave. 

“Thank you.” I said and made my way to his room. I found some of his clothes changing into them then cocooned myself in his blankets. 

Saul came in a short while later with a bowl. I sat up and he handed it to me. 

“Thank you.” I smiled softly. He sat next to me as I sipped on the soup. He reached out, putting his hand on my forehead. 

“You feel warm. When you finish the soup you should sleep.” He stated. 

“Are you sure I can stay here? I don't mind driving home.” I said. 

“If you go home, who is going to take care of you?” He asked. 

“Me.” I replied. He shook his head.

“That won’t do.” He said. 

“But what if you get sick?” I asked him softly.

“Then you can take care of me.” He smiled. 

“You’d love it if I played nurse, huh?” I teased with a small laugh that triggered a cough. He took the soup from my hands so I didn’t spill. When I regained my breath he brought the spoon to my mouth. 

“You’re right, I would love it if you were my nurse.” He grinned and continued feeding me the soup. My cheeks were heated and it wasn’t the fever. When I finished the soup Saul left to take the bowl to the kitchen. 

I laid back down feeling more tired than I had realized. 

Saul came back to his room and I heard him shuffling about until the bed dipped and I felt him get under the covers. He scooted over until he was right behind me. He wrapped a strong arm around me pulling me into him. We cuddled on a couch during movies. This is new though. 

“Are you comfortable?” He asked. 

“Yeah.” I replied softly. 

“Good. Now get some sleep, okay?” He said and nuzzled his head on top of mine. 

I thought my heart would have been trying to beat out of my chest but all I felt was peace and safety. My last thought before drifting off was that I don’t think Saul and I will be just friends for much longer. 

Thank you for reading! Feel free to request or chat :)

-Isa

[bipanicoverthegravessiblings]

Not sure if you've seen it but could you please do a Graves siblings x Denji from Chainsaw Man style reader?

I’ve never seen Chainsaw Man, not an anime guy- but reading up the Wiki gave me some idea

Andrew and Ashley Graves x Denji Style!Reader

It’s been said many times your impulsivity and general unawareness would be your downfall

Mostly by old farts who think of you as nothing but street trash

It’s not your fault you never finished high school. Not your fault you never socialized properly as a child.

They can fuck off for all you care

But in this moment…you hated how right they were

Your breathing was staggered, air becoming a commodity as you felt blood fill your lungs. Your body curled up into itself, clutching your stomach. Everything hurt. It hurt to move, it hurt to breathe, it hurt to be alive.

Footsteps became distant, leaving you in this cold- trash ridden alley, the pricks taking your wallet- and dignity- with them. Not like they’d find much, you had about 20 bucks to your name. They’ll be back for more eventually.

Most kids got their father’s eyes, some their noses- not you. No. Your father oh so graciously left you with his debt to the fucking mob! Asshole thought putting a new hole in his head would get him out of it, and it did- but all that fell on to you. You swore that as your swollen ear was pressed to the concrete, you could hear the prick laughing from hell.

You were gonna die here. You knew that. At least then the debt will finally be gone, you don’t have a kid to pass it along to and you’re an only child. Maybe they’ll track down your mother?….

You groan in pain, though it’s a pitiful attempt to call for help. No one will come find you. They’ll probably think you’re just some homeless person wallowing in their misery.

You tried to open your eyes, but unfortunately they were both too swollen to accomplish that. Tears pricked the corners and fell down your cheeks- causing you to hiss in pain. It hurt too much to cry, but you couldn’t help but sob as breathing became harder and harder. Your throat swelled in pain, you couldn’t swallow down the blood filling it.

Air slowly left your body as you drifted into unconsciousness….the last thing you remember feeling was a hand on your arm.

By all accounts, you should be dead

You wish you were dead

But god is a sick fuck who kicks around their most pathetic toys for entertainment

And you’re one of his pathetic toys

You slowly came too, the feeling of trash bags no longer cushioning you- but rather an actual cushion.

It smelled of cigarettes, but it was honestly preferred over wet garbage

Your body felt sore, but significantly less bloody

In fact….you were patched up

Poorly, some bandages were loose and some were way too tight- but it was better than exposed wounds that could get infected

You attempted to lift yourself to a sitting position, but the pain was unbearable. Along with that, any motions you continued to make were interrupted by two voices,

“Oh hey- woulda look at that. A zombie.”

“Oh my god!”

You couldn’t even register what was happening before you felt someone at your side. Helping you up was a guy, around your age you estimated, with messy black hair and striking green eyes. He struggled to hold you up and grab a pillow, so he narrowed his eyes over the back of the couch.

“Give me a hand would ya!” It wasn’t so much of a question as a demand.

“God! Alright alright, hang on.”

Shuffling noises became closer, but it was all behind you and it hurt to try and turn to inspect. From what you could hear though, the voice sounded more feminine and significantly more chill about this situation than the guy.

Speaking of which, the guy carefully lowered you on to some pillows, a couple throw ones from the dingy couch and one more fit for a bed. You got a better look at the owner of the feminine voice.

She was shorter than the guy, same messy black hair- only this time tied back into a ponytail. Her eyes were a soft shade of pink. She stared at you unamused while the guy hovered over you worriedly. It made you anxious. What sucked even more was you didn’t know who these people were, and why you were here! Last you remembered you were dying in an alley! The fuck?!

“Oh shit- uhm-“ the guy bit down on his finger to think, “Fuck what do we do?”

“Beats me,” the woman shrugged, “It was your idea to bring them here.”

“THE FUCK IT WAS”

You flinched at the sudden change of tone.

He pointed a finger at the woman, who stood unphased still, “You are not putting this on me- not again! You had the bright idea of using them for—“ he paused, suddenly remembering your presence. If you weren’t so out of it you would’ve said something, but instead he grabbed the woman by her wrist and led her into the bathroom with her protesting the entire way.

Finally, with your changed seating position and privacy, you could examine where the hell you were. Taking a look around at the peeling wallpaper, stained carpet, and two dingy beds (one surprisingly made despite there being two occupants)- you deduced it was a motel. A motel with very thin walls that allowed you to vaguely pick up on the two’s hushed conversation….

“….lets just ditch them.”

“No! We can’t do that…..might go to the police.”

“Maybe not….they looked like a bum.”

“Ashley!”

“Well? Am I wrong?”

The rest was a back and forth of deciding your fate while you sat by, twiddling your thumbs….or you would if you could move your arms. At least you learned the name of one of your saviors….or captors in this case.

Moments later, the guy and Ashley exited the bathroom- standing before you, one significantly more tense than the other.

“Uhm- sooooo, hi.” The guy started.

“Hey…” your voice was still strained from pain, “Look I heard you two in the bathroom….I won’t tell the cops anything.”

“Yeah, cause you’re not leaving.”

Crickets. You couldn’t believe your ears.

“I….” You blinked, “I’m what?”

“See- here’s the thing,” Ashley strode forward, ignoring the guy’s protest, “You’ve seen our faces, and thanks to these thin ass walls you know my name at least. His is Andrew by the way—“

“Ashley!”

“What? I’m not going down alone!” She retorted before turning to you again, “So, you can’t leave.” She sounded a little disappointed.

You blinked, still processing all of this. Did you just get kidnapped?? You took in the figured of your captors, their body languages vastly different. But…in some sick way….this benefited you.

The mob thinks you’re dead. You can’t just walk free now, not in case one of their members finds you alive and reports it back to their boss. And these guys are already on the run from what it seems…

You can work with this.

Andrew Graves

The more comfortable you became to this situation- the more it was apparent you and Ashley were tiring Andrew out

He had grown used to his sister’s impulsivity, but your own was new territory to him

Also a new source of gray hairs…

Honestly, you assumed he hated you

But….despite what he says- you believed Ashley when she told you that bringing you along was his idea

Things still felt tense, just the two of you

And you’re still not entirely convinced he enjoys having you around

But that just made the moments where your brazen antics made him laugh all the more enjoyable

To an extent, Andrew was patient with you

He took care of a lot of the social and book smarts stuff, areas you lacked in

It felt nice having someone take care of it, instead of chastising you to do better

Andrew stared at you in quiet disgust, his elbow rested on the diner’s table. In your run, the three of you decided to stop at this diner to eat. The place was littered with 50’s memorabilia- neon signs, a jukebox, obnoxiously plush booths to sit in. Great if you ignore literally everything about the 50’s!

You had settled next to Andrew, sitting closest to the wall while he took then end. Ashley had seated across from you two, but she had since gone to the bathroom, leaving just you two.

Seated on the table in front of you was an array of sauces, each opened for you to dip your fries into. The concoction of sauces were a mess on your shirt, face, and hands- something Andrew visibly recoiled at.

Andrew scoffed, “Y/N-“ you looked up, “C’mere.”

Reaching over you, Andrew grabbed a napkin and dabbed at the sauce on your face- to which you squirmed at irritably. Andrew narrowed his eyes.

“Hold still!” He became a little more aggressive with his cleaning, “God- has anyone ever taught you how to clean yourself!”

You decided to fight back in the only way you could think of, and that was by throwing a sauce covered fry at Andrew. You both paused as the projectile stuck to his sweater before it pathetically peeled on and on to the floor below you two. You blinked. Andrew blinked, then grabbed a fry, and threw it back at your face.

What followed was an in booth fight of several things being thrown: sauces, food, punches- ending with Andrew getting you in a headlock.

“Say it!”

“Never!”

“Fucking say it!” Andrew tightened the headlock as you flailed about.

You wheezed, “Ah! Asshole I can’t breathe!” You tried to pry his arm away, “Fine! Uncle! Uncle!”

With that, he released you- leaving you wheezing as you scooted away. He had that smug grin on his face though, a grin of victory. You flipped him off.

“Dick.” You muttered.

Andrew grabbed a napkin and began cleaning himself off, “You started it friend, I finished it.” He turned to you, pushing his basket of untouched fries to you, “Here. Most of yours are on the floor.”

You looked at him, tentatively reaching your hand for the basket before quickly pulling it to your side- feasting on them like a rabid raccoon. Andrew no longer watched in disgust, but a strange fondness in his eyes.

Ashley Graves

Maybe part of the reason Ashley kept you around was because you went along with her ideas

They were about the same thought process you had, so why not

You two always beat Andrew in votes for how to navigate a problem

And somehow always ended up pushing through it

Maybe she just liked how obedient you were with her

She’s easy on the eyes, and who are you to argue with a pretty woman

She never chastised you for your antics or behavior, but rather rewarded it

“So good Y/N!”, ruffling your hair, squishing your face while cooing all this praise

It felt….nice

So it made you feel terrible whenever it got taken away

Ashley was easy to upset, you learned that

You’d precariously tiptoe the line, and eagerly await the affection when she recovered and liked you again

You wished you never made her upset…

The air felt thick with tension, Ashley’s back turned to you as she looked out the window. It was just the two of you in the backseat of the hitman’s van, Andrew having stopped on the side of the road for a bathroom break. You didn’t know what you did wrong- but it must’ve been something to make her upset with you.

You tentatively reached out a hand, debating whether or not to grab hers. Before you could make the decision, she pulled it away without looking. A small whine arose from the back of your throat, like a hurt dog.

You wish you were a dog sometimes.

A dumb dog who couldn’t mess things up, maybe then she’d love you again.

“Ashley…” your tongue felt heavy in your mouth.

“What?” Her voice felt like a knife stabbing at your heart.

“I’m…I’m sorry…” you lowered your hand.

Ashley’s body made the slightest movement, “For?”

You tensed. Genuinely, you didn’t know what you did, but it must’ve been something. You gulped, looking down at the floor of the car, “For….” You grimaced as you couldn’t think of anything.

Ashley sighed, turning to face you. Her pink eyes stared into your own, you shrank a little at her glare, “Genuinely- you don’t know what you did?”

You shook your head, unable to stop the tears forming in the corners of your eyes. Ashley sighed, apparently seeing you on the verge of crying was enough for her to open her arms to you. Without hesitation, you threw yourself into her arms- face burying itself into the crook of her neck as you sniffled. You felt her hand tangle itself into your hair, almost petting you.

“There there…” she shushed, “You’re forgiven.”

It felt like a weight was lifted from your shoulders as she said those words, you held on to her tighter- not wanting to let go. Not wanting to lose the one person who didn’t make you feel stupid or like a burden or annoying or- any of those things.

Ashley made you feel warm. Ashley made you feel good. Ashley is good.

And you want nothing more than to be good for her..

[mgmm-shifts]

SHIFTER INTRO

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

HELLO

I'm new to shiftblr, so I wanna introduce myself :)

PSA: If you stalk my account and see my past reposts and likes, no you didn't lol. This account is hello old and I'm trying to cleanse it. I had an intense sports phase when I was 14-16, dw bout it...

⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀:¨ ·.· ¨: ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . ꔫ

About me:

☆General: I'm Melanie, but you could just call me Mel. 23 y/o, Leo, She/Her. I moved from shift tok to here! I want to find fellow shifters and continue my journey! I don't really have shifting friends so I figured here was a good place to find some mutuals :) ☆Shifting journey: The first time I shifted was in 2022 (or 2023, it was winter i don't remember which month) and it was by accident. I had no idea what shifting was oop. Since then I've, although I hate this term, "mini shifted" a few times since, but my mentally has definitely gotten better! I have been lucid dreaming since I was a kid, so when it happened I knew immediately it was different and I was so confused lol.

☆Main Dr: Attack on Titan (My script is pretty diff than canonverse, practically no titans left, no war, peacetime, much more modern times etc. I will explain script in a later post if ppl are interested) I had other DRs like JJK but lost interest in that (in the show in general tbh) and DBZ (the one I shifted for the first time ever to). Don't ask but it existed lol. Still love the show though, it was my first anime 🕺🏻. Tbh I'm just focused on my main one, I may make one with L Lawliet in some way eventually. Otherwise I haven't really been inspired to have anything different. ☆Hobbies: I love to draw! I haven't really began my dive into digital art (it's on my to do list) so I mainly stick to sketching and occasionally painting. I'm also trying to learn Japanese right now which is quite hard but I love it. I could already speak Italian and English and they're soooo different. Aside from that idk, I'm currently in school so I don't have time for much. I write some fanfics from time to time and read (manga/books) or play xbox occasionally. I also love to shop and collect anime shit lol. ☆Fav shows: -Grey's Anatomy -AOT -DBZ -Death note -Chainsaw Man -Nana -Gossip Girl -Spy x Family (I'm currently watching but still at the beginning, so spoilers pls) -Demon Slayer -The Vampire Diaries (a good fall classic) -Friends -Alice in Borderlands (where tf is s3 oml) -JJK (I've watched, used to be obsessed with, now I'm pretty disinterested but always love me some Toji lol) -Jersey Shore (a true italian-american classic 😩) -JoJo's (also still at beginning oop) -Hunter x Hunter (i stopped mid way) -Black Clover (there seems to be a theme here... stopped mid way) There's prob more I just can't think rn ☆Why I shift?: Tbh, since I was a kid I would make DRs without even understanding what that was. I am a very creative person with a huge imagination (thanks ADHD woo) so I've always wanted to be a part of these realities I would make as one does. I've also struggled with a history of depression and to be candid, my home life sucks. I've done a lot of maturing and mental work on myself so I'm a lot better now, so my reason is not necessarily for an "escape" but like yeah. I don't like wording it that way because I feel as though it's a bit dangerous to just completely toss your CR aside and rely on shifting as a end all be all fix, but if that's not the case then escape away :) I've been on the other end of that journey before so I'm speaking on behalf of my experience, but that's just what has worked for me and my mental health personally. As long as you are happy and healthy, do your thing <3

Okay this is already long af but if you made it this far, thank you🥹. Now that I have started up this page, I hope to interact with you guys and post about my DR and shifiting journey! Also most importantly...

WE WILL ALL SHIFT TONIGHT :)

[ladyloveandjustice]

My Favorite New Manga and Graphic Novels I Read in 2023

It's time to take a look at the comics and manga I read this year! I read  a whopping 78 manga and graphic novels in all. Here's a link to my Goodreads year in books (the manga is at the beginning, the novels start with Siren Queen) and my storygraph wrap up.

I also read 36 novels! If you want to see my favorites, check out my reviews here!

And finally, I've got the continuing manga series I've enjoyed this year here, so check that post out too!

The Magic Fish by Trung Le Nguyen

This is a tale about a first-generation Vietnamese-American boy struggling with coming out to his mother. He connects with his mother through fairytales-- she uses them to express her journey as an immigrant, and he uses them to explore his queerness and identity as a Vietnamese kid growing up in America. It's an absolutely gorgeous book full of Trung Le Nguyen's signature stunning art. The fantastical, ethereal fairy tales are weaved beautifully into the lives of the characters. The book explores how fairy tales can form connection, can express culture, can tap deeply into something real and true, and can offer tragedy and catharsis. The protagonist uses fairy tales to write his own story, and the ending is lovely and moving.

Exit Stage Left: The Snagglepuss Chronicles by Mark Russell and Mike Feehan

You may know Mark Russell from his darker, socially aware re-imagining of the Flintstones, which made quite a splash on Tumblr with this post. Well, I had pleasure of meeting him at a local convention, and I finally got his comic re-imagining of Snagglepuss, also of Hanna-Barbera. He re-imagines the titular pink puma as a closeted gay playwright in the 50's dealing with McCarthyism. It's as wild as it sounds,but also really digs into the politics of the time, the struggle of standing against oppression and how art fights through suppression and censorship. It's tragic, hopeful, poignant and full of historical references. I enjoyed it ! Definitely be cautious if you're deeply disturbed by homophobia and suicide.

The Summer Hikaru Died by Mokumokuren

A story about a teenage boy, Yoshiki, who realizes that his best friend and crush Hikaru has died and been replaced by a strange eldritch being who is imitating him. But, missing his loved one and desperate to cling to any piece of him, Yoshiki decides to keep on having a relationship with this mysterious entity. This book's horror is visceral and sublime, especially the bizarre, creepy, beautiful body horror involving the being who replaced Hikaru. It's an exploration of anxieties involving grief, relationships, and sexuality that hits just right, and the atmosphere layered with dread is top notch. I love me some messed up relationships and unknowable queer monsters, and this book delivers.

Chainsaw Man, Look Back and Goodbye Eri by Tatsuki Fujimoto

Chainsaw Man needs no introduction, but I did end up really enjoying the story of the doggy-devil boy hunting other devils. It got so tragic and intense at the end, with lots of great surreal horror imagery and darkly funny moments. I'm impressed it went so hard, though the random powers that kept piling up made what was happening hard to follow at times, especially in fights. I'm also enjoying the current weird arc starring a class-A disaster girl and the demon sharing her body.

Look Back

I really do enjoy how Fuijimoto writes messy pre-teen/teenage girls. They ring so true. The manga follows the fraught friendship between two girls as they create manga, exploring the struggle of art mixing with real relationships, and how someone keeps creating after tragedy. It's a little hard to follow at times (especially since I have to differentiate the leads based on hairstyle), but it's a good read.

Goodbye Eri

Probably my least favorite of the three, but it's a fun read- a weird ride that examines the thin line between fiction and reality in art and makes good use of Fujimoto's cinephile background and signature gaslight gatekeep girlboss characters.

Is Love the Answer? by Uta Isaki

The story follows a teenage girl, Chika, who has always struggled with not being attracted to anyone. When Chika enters college, she meets queer people all across the spectrum of asexuality, and starts exploring her own identity. As an ace, this is the best story about asexuality that I've read. It was a nuanced look at asexuality and queerness and all the variations. Chika's journey and how she found her community was moving and poignant. It's a honest, moving look at relationships and identity, and how complicated and hard to define both of those things can be. I loved the moments of Chika imagining herself as an alien to explore and cope, and how she bonded with people through magical girl shows and other geekery. My favorite new manga of the year, it really connected with me!

The Girl that Can’t Get a Girlfriend by Mieri Hiranishi

Oh girl, I've been there. This is a fun autobiographical comic about a butch4butch lesbian's struggles finding a partner in a word that favors butch/femme, and it's just an honest look at the messiness of loneliness and relationships. I also appreciate that crushing on Haruka in Sailor Moon and becoming a HaruMichi stan was the beginning the author's queer awakening because uh...same! She has taste, and is truly relatable.

Qualia the Purple: The Complete Manga Collection by Hisamitsu Ueo and Shirou Tsunashima

See my review of the light novel here for my general thoughts on the story, since it's adapted pretty faithfully. I do think the manga is overall the best experience though, because the illustrations break up the detailed explanations of quantum mechanics a bit, and it includes a bit of extra content that fleshes things out, especially withthe ending.

The Single Life: 60 year old lesbian who is single and living alone by Akiko Morishima

Just like it says on the tin, this focuses on a 60-year-old single lesbian. And definitely the shortest thing on here, since only one 30 page chapter is out.  It's a grounded story about a woman looking back on her journey to finding her identity, touching on sexism in the workplace and other challenges. It paints a portrait of a proudly gay elder who's still perfectly content being single and feels fulfilled by the life she had rather than regretting past relationships. I definitely want to see more.

Daemons of the Shadow Realm by Hiromu Arakawa

Arakawa's latest, the story is about a boy who lives in a small village with his little sister is imprisoned and has to carry out a mysterious duty...but then the village is attacked, supernatural daemons awaken, and everything he knows might be wrong. I'm enjoying this fun romp so far! It delivers an really nice plot twist right out the gate (and an excellent subversion of the usual shonen "must-protect-my-saintly-sister" narratives). It boasts Arakawa's usual fun cast and interesting world (and cool ladies). There's some slight tone and pacing issues in the first part- there's so much time spent explaining mechanics the lead doesn't really get to react to his life turning upside down. But it starts smoothing out by the second volume. I'm excited to see what's next!

Superman: Space Age by Mark Russell and Michael Allred

This is a retelling of Superman set throughout the late fifties to early eighties that has Superman interact with the political and social upheaval of the time and question his own role in things. It explored the Superman mythos through a lot of cool new angles, and has a good Lois (why yes she would break Watergate) which is how I always measure a Superman adaptation. My one complaint is, while I liked some of the things it did with Batman, the ending with the Joker was pretty weak. The ending of the overall comic will also be bizarre for anyone not uses to how weird comics can get, but I think I dug it.

#DRCL by Shin'ichi Sakamoto

A manga retelling of Dracula that focuses on Mina as the protagonist and imagines the characters at an English prep school. It adds a lot of  diversity to the characters  and has exquisite, evocative art. I'm curious where it will go and what it  intends to do with all it's changes (especially Lucy), because right now it's mostly vibes and creepiness and the direction isn't clear.

[anonymousewrites]

One Hell of a Love (Book 1) Chapter Seven

Sebastian Michaelis x Demon! Reader

Chapter Seven: One Hell of a Reaper

Summary: (Y/N) and Sebastian fight a Reaper.

            Grell slashed at (Y/N) and Sebastian wildly as they dodged and flipped around to avoid her attack. “Two demons and a reaper!” said Grell gleefully. “Ah, I wonder if it really is impossible for us to understand each other.” She leapt into the air after (Y/N) as they dodged onto the roofs. “What a Shakespearian tragedy! Two loves that cannot be! Ah, (Nickname)! Wherefore art thou (Nickname) and Bassy?!” She pushed off and wall and drew close to (Y/N).

            Sebastian jumped into the air and kicked between Grell and (Y/N) to force Grell to flip to another roof and move away from (Y/N). The two demons regarded her carefully as she continued her laments and flirtations.

            “If you were to throw away the name given by your masters and only look at me…perhaps we could be meant to be!” cried Grell dramatically.

            “You’re too loud. Like a puppy dog,” said (Y/N). They narrowed their eyes. “I don’t like dogs.”

            Sebastian smirked at their words as Grell gasped in offense. She deserved it for being such a nuisance. “I will say just one thing. From the moment my master named me Sebastian, I was baptized in the contract, and from that day forth, I truly became Sebastian, as I vowed by the moon.”

            (Y/N) had to admit they understood why Grell was so fascinated with Sebastian. With such poetry, such power, and such an appearance in the moonlight, Sebastian was the epitome of the demonic beauty that tempted so many humans.

            “A vow that sways as the moon waxes and wanes?” scoffed Grell. “You are quite the inconsistent man.” She smirked. “Your eyes are filled with impurity that loves absolutely nothing. You are a demon that befouls pure souls with your hands and lips.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes flicked to Sebastian, and his eyes gleamed fuchsia. Neither demon felt bad about any of the acts they had committed over the centuries.

            “Ah, how splendid you both are! I can’t decide, I must have both!” cried Grell, blushing. “Hold me in your arms and kiss me until I lose my mind!”

            “Please stop. That is disgusting,” said Sebastian, shivering.

            “I think she already has lost her mind,” said (Y/N).

            “How cruel to reject my love!” cried Grell. Her chainsaw revved to life. “Beautiful tyrant!” she cried to Sebastian as she swung at him. Whirling on (Y/N), she forced them to dodge as she praised them, “Angelic demon!” Sebastian grabbed Grell’s wrist to keep her from moving. “Raven with heart-shaped wings!” (Y/N) stamped down on the Death Scythe to jam it into the ground. “A ferocious kitten!” She sighed dramatically as the demons held her back. “Ah, if only morning would never come, we would be able to continue our love like this forever! But our adventure must end here,” she cooed. “Let us part with a kiss!” Grell slammed her forehead against Sebastian’s, and he jerked back. “A thousand farewells!” She swung her chainsaw down on (Y/N) and sliced through their front. “Now, allow me to see your devilishly dramatic record!”

            Blood flew through the air as (Y/N) stumbled back and scraps of their Cinematic Record spiraled into the air. They gripped their chest as they watched pieces of their memories be exposed.

            Sebastian and Grell watched a roll of film fly by, dark with a hand stretching up towards the sun and people’s faces obscured by a watery prison. Another glowed with flames as angry mortals screamed and shouted.

            But those scraps flew by in flash, merely seconds in the full extent of (Y/N)’s life. The rest of the memories Grell managed to grab were just…the four troublesome servants causing issues at the mansion.

            (Y/N) narrowed their eyes as they watched Grell cry out at not getting anything more interesting. They panted as they held their chest, angry at Grell trying to get to their memories like that. Those were personal.

            Sebastian’s eyes became slits beside (Y/N). He glanced at them, his blood boiled, and his eyes flashed fuchsia. Grell had to go.

            “Just what the hell is this?!” cried Grell as she watched the other servants of the household run around like hooligans.

            “Their recent time here on Earth has been filled without nothing but that,” said Sebastian, smirking.

            “I have no interest in such domestic flashbacks!” said Grell, pouting. “I saw something good! I want it back!”

            “Grell.” (Y/N) smiled with their eyes closed, but it was chilling. “If you try to pry again, I’ll tear you to pieces in a firsthand experience of what I’ve done to people in my time as a demon.”

            Grell shivered. “Oh, now that really gets me going!” She jumped at (Y/N), but Sebastian kicked her back decisively.

            “Ah, (Y/N), your dress is ruined,” said Sebastian. He sighed as he pulled their coat from overtop their dress. (Y/N) raised an eyebrow but allowed him to take it. “It was not my wish to employ this sort of tactic, but I have no choice.”

            “You’re finally going to be serious with me, then?” cooed Grell. “Let’s put an end to this with the next blow! Farewell to this world! Let us be bonded to each other in the next, darlings!”

            She leapt at the demons, and Sebastian threw up (Y/N)’s coat and jammed it into the Death Scythe. Grell stared in surprise as the blades stopped turning.

            “Hey!” she cried, trying to pull the fabric out.

            “That jacket is made from the finest Yorkshire wool. You will find that there’s a lot of friction in wool production,” said Sebastian. “Once it is woven, it is quite hard to tear apart. I didn’t want to use it, but you had already ruined it.” He smirked and stood over Grell with (Y/N). “Well then, I have a bit of confidence in plain fistfights.”

            “Absolutely,” said (Y/N), smirking darkly at Sebastian.

            “W-Wait a minute!” said Grell. “Please, not the face!”

            Sebastian kicked Grell in the face and sent her flying off the roof and falling to the ground below. (Y/N) attacked in the air, punching her so she hit the ground hard. The demons landed beside Ciel as he glanced at the reaper lying in a heap before looking at them.

            “You’re in quite the state,” said Ciel, glancing at Sebastian’s torn shoulder and (Y/N)’s bloody front.

            “We had a little resistance,” said (Y/N) distastefully.

            “Hey!” cried Grell.

            Sebsatian’s eyes slid to Grell. “My, that’s a reaper for you. I suppose you would not die from blows alone.”

            “But Sebastian, she was so kind and brought along her own weapon,” said (Y/N), smirking playfully.

            “You’re right, she did,” said Sebastian, smirking and picking up the Death Scythe. “And a reaper’s scythe can cut through anything, which means it should be able to cut through you, right?”

            “Wh-what?” stammered Grell from the ground. “W-wait a moment!”

            Sebastian stamped down on Grell. “It is quite unpleasant to be stepped upon. Doing the stepping, however, feels good.”

            “It hurts!” cried Grell dramatically.

            “I hope so,” chirped (Y/N).

            “Young Master, even though this hideous reprobate is a reaper, a god of death, are you prepared to accept the consequences of killing her?” questioned Sebastian.

            “Are you trying to make me give the same order twice?” snapped Ciel.

            “Understood,” said Sebastian. He pulled the wool coat from the Death Scythe, and it roared to life.

            “W-wait!” cried Grell.

            “My, you do have an attractive screaming voice,” said Sebastian slyly. He raised the chainsaw above his head. “Let me reward you.” He was going to be immensely satisfied by ending Grell’s life, for more reasons than just being ordered by Ciel. “I will let you depart via this beloved toy of yours!” He looked at (Y/N). “Ready?”

            “Absolutely,” said (Y/N).

            Sebastian smirked. “Perfect.” He swung the chainsaw down.

            A metallic object stretched out from above and blocked the attack before it reached Grell. Sebastian and (Y/N)’s eyes snapped up to see another man standing over them. He wore a suit and spectacles and had the same fluorescent eyes as Grell. It was another reaper.

            “Forgive me for interrupting you mid-conversation,” said the reaper formally. “I am one of the supervisors of the Reaper Dispatch Organization. William T. Spears. I have come to take that reaper back.”

            “Will! William!” cried Grell gratefully. “You came to save m—!” Her head was slammed into the ground as William landed basically on top of her.

            “Dispatcher Grell Sutcliffe, you have committed several regulations violations,” reported William. “First, the elimination of those not on the To Die list. Next, the use of a non-sanctioned Death Scythe. And finally, the disclosure of information pertaining to the lives and circumstances of death of the aforementioned departed.” He bowed to (Y/N) and Sebastian. “I apologize profusely for any inconvenience caused by this.” Sebastian and (Y/N) were not impressed, nor were they moved by William extended a business card to them. “Here is my business card.” William raised an eyebrow distastefully. “Honestly. Having to bow my head to vermin like you really does smear mud across the reaper name.”

            (Y/N) scoffed, and Sebastian replied, “Well, in order for you not to cause the ‘vermin’ further inconvenience, please keep a close watch. Humans are vulnerable to temptation. When they are forced to stand on the hellish precipice of despair, they will unfailingly take any route out of it that appears to them, no matter what kind of web it tangles them in, no matter what kind of person they are.”

            “The ones who take advantage of that and taunt humans are you demons, no?” said William stiffly.

            “Neither of us deny it,” said (Y/N), smiling pleasantly.

            William glanced at Sebastian and then at Ciel, knowing they were contracted. “I suppose that those dogs kept leashed as pets are better than the mad dogs that roam around with no principles.” His eyes moved to (Y/N). “The ones who can go about as they please are troublesome strays.”

            (Y/N)’s eyes flashed fuchsia, and they smiled. “I’m no dog.”

            William tsked before looking down at Grell. “Well, then, we shall return, Grell Sutcliffe.” He grabbed her hair and began dragging her behind him. “My goodness, at a time when we’re already short-handed, once again, I won’t get to leave today. Of course, the director will scold us anyway…If I keep having to do overtime like this—”

            Sebastian threw Grell’s Death Scythe at William. The reaper caught it between two fingers.

            “You forgot that,” said Sebastian with a “pleasant” smile.

            “Thank you,” said William with cold civility, letting the Death Scythe lay on Grell’s stomach carelessly. He adjusted his glasses. “Well, then, excuse us.” William pulled Grell after him, and they disappeared into the night.

            (Y/N) put their hands on their hips. They were disappointed at not getting to finish Grell off, especially for having nearly exposed their private memories, but at least the reaper was gone. Their hand traced over their chest, but although blood stained the clothes, the skin beneath was already healing due to their demonic nature.

            Sebastian glanced at (Y/N) and then at their wound. Satisfied that they were recovering well, he turned to Ciel, who sat beside Madame Red’s body. “I must apologize. I let the other half of Jack the Ripper escape,” he said.

            “It’s fine. It’s over,” said Ciel dully. Sebastian stepped over to guide Ciel to his feet, but he slapped Sebastian’s hand away. “I can stand on my own.”

l

            “So, the funeral arrangements went to plan?” remarked (Y/N), pulling a red rose petal from the shoulder of Sebastian’s jacket. They had known Ciel planned to give Madame Red a true departure in red as she would have wanted.

            “Yes,” said Sebastian. “The Young Master created quite the impression.”

            “Just as the Madame would have wanted,” said (Y/N). They turned and went back to folding clothes (better to keep Mey-Rin away from this since she had somehow managed to tear several pieces of clothing last time).

            “I will never understand the need for humans to have such a ceremony surrounding death. They spend their short lives fearing it and yet obsess over it at the same time,” said Sebastian in amusement.

            (Y/N) paused in their work. “Death is the one thing they cannot avoid. They cannot beat it once it comes for them. And as we have seen over the centuries, all it takes is a moment for death to arrive, and then they have to face the unknown.”

            Sebastian cocked his head. “Do you speak from observation or experience?” He gazed at (Y/N) as they slowly put the shirt they were folding down.

            (Y/N)’s eyes were fuchsia as they met his gaze. “My…mortal life was long ago. I faced death and came out of it stronger.”

            Sebastian smiled. “Yes, you did.” He remembered the same look in their eyes the first time he had ever seen them, the same weight of knowing a human life before becoming a demon. And he found it as fascinating now as he had then.

            (Y/N) blinked as they saw a strange look in his eyes. The fuchsia left their eyes as they relaxed. Sebastian wasn’t disrespecting them for having been human, nor was he prying. (Y/N) respected his slight, very slight, honor.

            “I speak from experience,” said (Y/N), simply, answering his original question. “As a demon I know that once I die there is nothing else for me. As a human, I didn’t know what awaited me, not really. That is why mortals have such a fascination with death despite their fear.”

            Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “And those two older memories that appeared. Were those your death and experience after?”

            (Y/N) was silent. Sebastian had never asked about their human death. They had never spoken about it. “They are what led to my death.”

            “Do you feel shame about your human life?” questioned Sebastian suddenly.

            “Excuse me?” (Y/N)’s eyes flashed. “I died and came back a demon. I’ve lived for centuries bringing justice and power to those who are preyed upon by other humans. What do I have to be ashamed of?”

            Sebastian chuckled as (Y/N) spoke before he opened his eyes. His eyes were glowing in the evening’s creeping darkness. He reached up, and his hand brushed over their skin. “Nothing. No demon like you should be ashamed of anything.” He smirked. “I chose to teach you for a reason.”

            “Because I had already died?” remarked (Y/N), eyes darting to Sebastian’s hand. They should be worried about his touch, uncomfortable as usual, but they weren’t. They stood calmly before Sebastian.

            “Because you had strength already,” said Sebastian.

            (Y/N) raised an eyebrow and was about to ask what that meant, but Sebastian smiled and stepped back. “Continue with your work. We shall have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.” And with that, he left (Y/N) alone.

            (Y/N) gripped the shirt in their hand tightly before letting it fall to the table they were working at. What was that? (Y/N) sighed and ran a hand through their hair. They were a damn demon. They shouldn’t be at all offput with someone being that close. They’ve literally seduced dozens of people. But for some reason, Sebastian made them actually have a reaction.

            Pushing aside the feelings wasn’t working. (Y/N) couldn’t escape the thoughts. They were attracted to Sebastian. They liked him far more than a demon should like anyone. They liked the one demon who respected them but was also so skilled as a demon that he didn’t get attached to anyone.

            Damn.

l

            Sebastian quietly watched the stray cats hanging around the mansion eat the scraps of food he had given them. Ordinarily, he’d be cuddling and cooing over the cats by now, but his mind was otherwise engaged. As much as Sebastian attempted to ignore it, the picture of (Y/N)’s blood spilling flitted through his mind continuously.

            (Y/N) had come closer to death than he had ever seen them.

            And Sebastian hated it. He hated it because he was attached and he didn’t want to let them go. Sebastian narrowed his eyes. (Y/N) may have seemed unconcerned due to having already died before—which also made Sebastian angry since if drowning or flames were part of their death that was suffering he wished to impose on whoever had caused it—but Sebastian hat despised the situation. He wanted to keep them close. He shouldn’t want the bond, but he did.

            Sebastian straightened. He was attracted to (Y/N). He was attracted to the strange, human-born demon that respected him and earned his own respect and honor.

            And now he had admitted it.

Taglist:

@technikerin23

@im-making-an-effort

@izzieg3987

@jinxxangel13

@alexpangender

@otomyoli

@neenieweenie

@nex-crowley

@anxious-chick

@bellacastiel

@v1l-ismissing

[sugar-grigri]

analyze the ball kicking scene 🫶🏼 (out of joke, love your posts <3)

Yes, even kicking balls has symbolism in Chainsaw Man

You're joking, Anon, but I wanted to do a post about it yesterday, and now you've given me the opportunity. Everything in this chapter is about the symbolism of kicking balls, yes, even the beginning!

Haruka Iseumi flicks through several TV channels, rather blasély, until he comes across a woman whose speech seems to resonate with him, a woman who seems to feel betrayed, disoriented like these teenagers who have been put in danger by an institution that has never seen their good, the church. But this girl only talks about her disappointment following a scandal surrounding over-mediatized stars.

What Haruka is going through right now is disillusionment, believing that his problems would have been taken seriously, his situation as an escaped high school terrorist, would have interested the public. But people prefer not to face up to these kinds of problems; an epidemic of people turned into demons is as commonplace as wars. To avoid jeopardizing personal comfort, people prefer to focus on other problems. Because people literally don't have the balls to face reality.

But contrary to what Haruka thinks, he's not so different: he's also an angst-ridden child who had totally surrendered to his idol, Chainsaw Man, to the point of convincing himself that he was bound to him, even pretending to be him for a semblance of trust. What the chapter seems to show is that Haruka is more down to earth than that girl on TV, but what it really shows is that he's exactly like that girl, but no longer admits it to himself.

No, Haruka, you're not dreaming, or rather you have been until now and now you can't do it anymore.

Because you've reached his idol, you have literally reassembled his image, you've seen the boy you have no interest in behind that reassuring mask.

What this chapter is about is the illusion into which we accept to insert ourselves in order to better resist our fears and existential ills.

Denji doesn't have to exist to shatter the illusions he needs to survive; even his awakening and his speech are too much, as his image no longer matches the one he wears as a universal puppet. He's literally cuter when he's inanimate, because that's what he's made for. At least, that's the only way we accept him. He's made to fill your person, and it's impossible for Chainsaw Man to be a person in his own right.

As proof of this, when Denji wakes up, his first reflex is not to discover that he's complete again, for he exists only to fill others, hence his question to Asa as to where her arm has gone. Unknowingly, Denji has accepted his role.

For Katana Man and Yoru, Chainsaw Man is a goal, a dream to be achieved. Seeing the person behind it, the other half, disturbs them. Considering it might even make them reconsider their choices.

Katana Man has deluded himself into believing that Denji no longer has the heart of a man, that he was his grandfather's tormentor and not the child who was the victim. He needs this revenge to move forward, just as Yoru, as a war demon, needs to fight an unattainable adversary to continue wreaking havoc.

But what's that got to do with it? What does this have to do with beating Denji's balls off?

Who kicked Katana Man in the balls? Aki and Denji. If Chainsaw Man is the metaphor for the comforting illusion of others, Aki is the symbol that revenge (often impossible) is a long-term, survival goal for hearts scarred by resentment. Beating the balls off? The meeting of the two.

When Aki and Denji beat up Katana Man, the illusion of a proud, virile, traditional man who swore by his honor had been shattered. What Katana Man represented to himself and to the readers, this formidable adversary, had been dismantled.

But above all, this was a gentle, more accessible form of revenge, one that would allow us to survive, a way for Aki to avenge Himeno in her own way, without actually avenging her. It's about beating your opponent while admitting you've lost in some way.

Similarly, when Katana Man and Yoru defeat Denji, they lead to a renewed desire to dismantle Chainsaw Man's image. To bring it together as their long-term goal of revenge. But despite this balance of power, this gesture symbolically demonstrates that they are not certain of their victory.

Above all, the important answer in this chapter is once again in the background.

Fami continues to eat undisturbed. She eats all the time, but in this chapter, she seemed almost to be regaining her strength.

Why was that?

Her plan was clear, to make people fear Chainsaw Man as well as the war, to make Yoru and Chainsaw Man champions. But what about the media? They prefer to do what's most profitable, keeping viewers entertained for as long as possible, so that they forget about the real issues.

People prefer to delude themselves, to dream dreams, rather than focus on reality, so will Chainsaw Man and Yoru have their strength increased to the point where they'll be potential opponents for death?

because people are already escaping the fear of death through entertainment, which is even the best champion.

Instead of thinking about our existential crises, we flood our brains with unimportant information.

As the philosopher Pascal would say: "Since men have not been able to cure death, misery and ignorance, they have decided, in order to make themselves happy, not to think about them. Notwithstanding these miseries, he wants to be happy, and only wants to be happy, and cannot not want to be happy".

But let's close this loop of questions: if Chainsaw Man allows this comforting disillusionment, Denji is the opposite, something we refuse to see, if Chainsaw Man is a dream, Denji is reality. Let's get back to our main subject: beating up balls.

When Aki first beat Denji up, he wanted to disgust him enough to prevent him from signing up as a public hunter. Literally, he preferred to spare Denji from reality, by killing the symbol that is Denji (did you miss the headaches I caused?). But when Denji retaliates, to insist that he wants to enlist, it's the other way around: it's the harshness of reality that Denji fully accepts that will prevail over Aki's attempt to protect him.

When Katana Man and Yoru beat Denji's balls off, in reality they're trying to fight the reality of what Chainsaw Man is, this mixture between a boy, reality, and the bloodthirsty enemy, the dream, Chainsaw Man. Beating up Denji is an attempt to avoid the harshness of life. It's that illusion.

So when Denji helped Aki beat up Katana Man, he allowed him to escape his survival mechanisms, his revenge, his illusion, by enjoying the present moment, pure reality. But when Denji defeated Aki, it was also the announcement of the reality of Aki's fate, which would outweigh this illusion - the success of his revenge.

That's why Pochita, the dream and illusion, prevents Denji from opening the door. When Denji sees reality, he can't help opening it. Just as Makima concentrated on her Chainsaw Man dream without seeing reality, Denji right behind it. Just as the dream allows Denji to escape reality, the contract between Denji and Pochita has allowed Denji to become someone else, escaping from himself, himself a victim of the dream without being able to know exactly what he is.

But don't forget, beating the balls off is Denji's tactic.

Why is that? Because no matter how hard you try to escape it, reality will always prevail.

[verilly]

Friendly First Meetings

Angel Devil x Reader

•••|•••|•••|•••|•••|•••

Part 1 {CURRENT} || Check for other parts on my MASTERLIST. (Pinned link)

What is to come: OOC, reader pining for Angel unintentionally (?), you curse ONCE for funsies, chainsaw man violence but not really

Description: Makima oversees everything. She knows who you are, and from all the time you’ve spent in Special Division Four, she trusts you enough… no. More as in, Makima forces you to house Angel Devil in your apartment.

•••|•••|•••|•••|•••|•••

“Makima? Er- Miss Makima? You wanted to see me?” You make your way fully into Makima’s office and close the door behind you. Makima is sitting at her desk with a simple smile on her face. In the left corner of her room, there was someone with wings and a halo standing by themself.

“Hello [name], it seems as if this is our first time meeting… I’ll get straight to the point with you already. Since your last partner died due to unforeseen events,” her voice was soft. In fact, this was the first time you ever heard her speak, “I must assign you someone new. This is the Angel Devil.”

“A devil? Full on?” You slightly questioned, but shut up before you get on her nerves

“Yes, a devil. You won’t have to worry though, Angel here is a special case. He isn’t hostile towards humans, so it’ll be fine. Just don’t get too close. Whenever Angel makes contact with a human, he consumes the lifespan of the one he touches.” Makima shifts her gaze to the person in the corner, “Not only will you two be partners, I will also make it so that living arrangements are made for you two to stay together.”

“Wait- living together?!” You stutter out

“What? Is something wrong with that?” Makima looked a little disappointed

“Well no, it’s just that… are you sure? My apartment isn’t even that big…”

“No, it is suitable for at least two people.” Makima turns her chair to face the window, “That is all. You two have work now. Patrol route 14, have fun.”

You take a good look at the Angel Devil. He was pretty, he had long hair, beautiful wings, and a shiny hallow. You then go and look back towards Makima, you bow and say goodbye and signal the Angel Devil to come with you.

-

Route 14 was in a secluded and almost empty part of the city. Probably because the Angel Devil’s extra features would stand out in a crowded area. The patrol was silent for almost fifteen whole minutes before you spoke up and tried to start a conversation

“Did you know you were gonna come live with me?” You tilt your head towards him, he was looking up at the sky

“No, Makima didn’t tell me anything.” He responded nonchalantly, not taking his eyes off the sky

The walk was silent yet again. He didn’t try adding anything at all, you two made a turn into an alleyway to get to your next destination.

“Where were you living before?” You look at him again, his eyes were locked onto you. He looked… a little annoyed.

“In that big building behind bars. I’m still a devil, they don’t really care for me. I’m sure your place is a lot better.” He took his eyes off of you after finishing his sentence, he enjoyed the silence.

Though, the silence wasn’t there for long. The next turn you two made was one where you two were in front of a somewhat large devil, blocking the way to continue your route. It locked its singular eye onto you and tried to move its body away, leaving a trail of goo on where it used to sit.

“Alright then,” you turn your way to the Angel Devil, “Why don’t you show me what you can do?”

He let out a sigh and summoned a sword from his halo after saying something you couldn’t quite catch. He made his way slowly towards the devil and cut through its body. Goo splurged out as it let out an annoyingly loud shriek. But the devil quieted down and inflated its body larger to cover to wound in its body. The Angel Devil backed up and murmured, “I don’t think we can do this by ourselves. You should get out of here.”

“That’s not happening” You back up a little and grip your spear tighter, “We can do this.” You throw your only weapon at the devil and it plunges deep into its eye. The devil cries out again.

“Are you serious? That’s your only weapon. You must be dumb-“ you cut off the pretty devil

“Yeah but, can’t you spawn a new one for me or something? Or you can make a new one for yourself, because I’m gonna be using this.” You take the sword from the Angel Devil’s grip, making sure you don’t touch him. You shift your gaze towards the large devil and get ready to fight.

-

“Good job Team [name]. You two have slayed the Claustrophobia Devil all my yourselves.” Makima smiles at the both of you, who are both covered in the devil’s blood. You more than the angel, “You two can reward yourselves by going home, it’s about time you two sign off anyway. You can show Angel his new home, [name]. Take care.”

You thank Makima and head off with the Angel Devil back to headquarters, “Is there anything you need to pick up to take to my apartment?”

“No, they didn’t really let me have anything.” the angel looked towards the big building and sighed

“You don’t have any other clothes?”

“I have more uniforms, we could take that.”

“You actually don’t have normal clothes??”

“No.”

“That’s sad.”

The walk back was silent yet again, the Angel Devil takes extra uniforms and puts them lazily into a plastic bag. Meanwhile you, still covered in blood, fill out paperwork on the Claustrophobia Devil while it’s still fresh in your memory and so you wouldn’t have to do it later.

You received congratulations from Himeno and a few other devil hunters in the building while you try and figure out where the angel was. He was sitting down at the lounge with his plastic bag full of clothes sitting next to him. He looked tired.

“Alright, that’s all. Thanks for waiting for me~” you laugh a little

“I don’t really have a choice. So…”

“Okay whatever, my apartment’s not that far, but we’ll be getting a- hmm. Do you think anyone’s gonna let us get in their taxi while we’re covered in blood?” You sit down next to him

“Probably not.”

“I wonder if Himeno is still here…”

-

“Thanks for driving us! You’re the best, Himeno!” You wave a goodbye to Himeno, who graciously drove you back to your apartment.

You two use the elevator and rise all the way up to the sixth level and walk towards to your apartments entrance. Unlocking it quickly, you opened the door and allowed yourself and the Angel Devil in.

“This is my humble abode. It’s small, you can go take a shower first… it’s that door, the one with the blue sticker on it.” You gesture to the correct door, “And after you finish your shower, I’ll get you some actual comfortable clothes!”

The Angel nods and takes his shoes off and makes his way towards the bathroom. You close entrance door and relock it. You take your shoes off and take the jacket of the suit off and let it drop onto the floor. The blood’s already dried, gross. You make your way towards the only bedroom and check out your closet to see if the angel could wear any of your clothes. After you found something, you laid it out on a chair in the kitchen.

You knock on the bathroom door, “Just call my name whenever your done! I have the clothes for you.”

“…”

“Angel Devil, are you alive? Hellooo?”

“… I don’t remember your name.” His voice echoed quietly

“That’s right, isn’t it? We never introduced ourselves to each other!” You smile to yourself, “My name is [name]. What should I call you? Angel Devil doesn’t really roll off the tongue.”

“Angel is fine.”

“Alright then Angel, call my name when you’re done.” You turned back to get your own clothes for when after you bathe. You sit down on the couch and hum a tune.

Now you won’t be so lonely.

“[name]? I’m uh, done.” You hear Angel’s voice through the door

“Alright! I’ll be right there.” You walk to the bathroom door with Angel’s clothes in hand, “I can hand you your clothes if you just crack the door open” The door opened slightly and you could see a part of Angels wings, “I’ll close my eyes.” You push Angel’s new clothes into the bathroom door and he grabs them from you quickly.

You back up from the door and go back to sit on the couch, sooner or later, the bathroom door opens and Angel slowly walks out. You turn your head to look at him

“Hey! You look just like me” you joke

“These clothes are… nice. They feel nice, thanks.” Angel murmurs out

“How are your wings?”

“They’re fine.”

You nod in response and go into the bathroom yourself while holding your own clothes, “You can take a look around or whatever, there isn’t a lot to see or anything though, make yourself at home.”

-

“Man, I’m starving… you must be too!” You say as you walk towards Angel with a towel laying on your neck, fresh out of a shower

“Yeah, I’m hungry. Give me food” Angel was looking out the window, there wasn’t a real interesting view, maybe he just didn’t want to see you?

“Well what do you eat? You’re a devil… so do you just eat blood and flesh or whatever?” You joke, but it was still a genuine question

“I’ll eat anything that’s edible, including what you just said, but I don’t think you exactly have a supply of blood. Do you?”

“Haha, nope! But if you wanna eat normal food…” you shuffle your way to the fridge to see what you had in store. It was somewhat full of small snacks. Nothing that would be considered a meal. What were you really expecting though? You weren’t the best cook, so most of your time eating was when you were out with your now deceased partner or getting take out.

You sigh as you check cupboards and shelves to find any sign of food. Nope. It was like a barren wasteland. Though, you check the last drawer to find a few ramen packets that weren’t expired. You gleefully pick them up and get ready to cook by picking up a pot and placing it onto the stove.

After a few minutes of waiting, the food was finally ready. You carefully place the bowl in front of Angel with free wooden chopsticks you get at some restaurants. You hear him mumble a “thank you” in response, your heart felt happy. Soon after you placed your own food down in front of him.

Though it was silent, you two enjoyed a meal together! One step closer into becoming the best partners public safety has ever seen, hopefully.

It was already 8PM, and there was still a lot to do before you were ready to sleep.

“Okay Angel, there’s not a lot to do at my apartment. Forgive me! Just sit on the couch and… you can read? Or you can watch TV? I don’t know if there’s anything good playing right now though- whatever! Have fun, I have to clean some stuff!” You huff out and smile when Angel nods in response.

You make your way to you room and start tidying things up to look somewhat approachable. Putting away clothes laying out on the floor, vacuuming, clearing up your desk, emptying the trash, and putting your things in a presentable manner. The last thing you had to do was wash your bedsheets and blanket.

“Angel, where did you put your dirty uniform?” You ask with a Laundry basket in hand

“Uhm, I think it’s still in the bathroom.”

“Alright, thanks”

You went into the bathroom to see both yours and Angels uniforms still covered in dried up devil’s blood. They were separated, you could barely tell whose was who’s but picked them up anyway. On your way out you decided to tell Angel to try and mark his suit in some way so they wouldn’t get mixed up.

Laundry was almost done. Finally you could rest, and so could Angel. All you had to do now was set down bedsheets and fold your now clean clothes. Angel was still sitting on the couch, skimming through a magazine that was sitting on the kitchen counter.

“Hey Angel, do you know how to fold clothes?”

“Yeah?” He looks up at you, his eyes were big, and oh so pretty

You stare for a moment before speaking up again, “Okay then, could you fold these? Also find out which one is yours. I just have one more thing to do, so I’ll be back soon with a surprise!”

Angel agrees to fold the laundry after he questions your actions for just a moment. You head back to your bedroom and struggle to put on the bedsheets on your own, but succeed after one last attempt. The room was finally finished for Angel to sleep in.

You make your way back to the couch and let out a happy sigh, “So. Everything done? Because I’m ready for you!” You put your hands on Angel’s shoulders, he jumps a little from the sudden touch.

“Do you have a death wish or something? How are yo-“ Angel’s words were threatening but his eyes were full of concern

“Don’t worry, it’s through cloth, right? So it doesn’t hurt one bit! Anyways are you done with the laundry? I have something to show you~” you laugh at his surprised state and take your hands off. To be honest, the touch was out of instinct.

“Yeah. I’m done. It wasn’t a lot so-“

“Great! Follow me to your room!” You said as you watch Angel stand up from the couch

“What do you mean? There’s only one-“

“Shush, just follow me! Sorry I keep cutting you off too by the way”, you lead Angel to the bedroom, it was newly cleaned so that he could rest his body in peace. Your posters and pictures were still there for you to enjoy, but the bed would be his now, “Tada! You’ll be sleeping here, be grateful. I spent so much time cleaning this shit.”

“Uh, thanks. Your room is, very… nice?” Angel looked confused, “But where are you going to sleep?”

“I’ll sleep on the couch, it’s always available y’know.”

“I just don’t understand, why am I getting your room?” He questioned you, perhaps he felt like it was a trap? You didn’t really understand

“The couch is pretty small and cramped, so I just thought it wouldn’t be good for your wings. Is that bad?” You sweat a bit, maybe what you did was offensive to him is some way?

“…thanks.” Angel’s wings perked up a little bit, it was quite noticeable. How cute.

“Don’t get too comfortable though! I’ll still be using that room for my closet and what not, I’ll have to buy a wardrobe for you too now, huh? Well, we can think about it later.” You yawn, Angel looked happy to see the room. That made your heart tingle, just a little bit.

“Good night, [name].” Angel’s mouth perked up into a smile slightly before coming back down to his resting face. His lips looked soft and plump, you smile back in return

“Good night Angel! Sleep well, we have work tomorrow. Oh yeah! Good job today, too!” You turned back to go to your new sleeping area, the living room. The bedroom door closed softly. You could hear Angel’s steps going towards his new bed. This was all so new, when did you become so nice?

Laying down on the couch was just a tad uncomfortable, you couldn’t help but miss your bed. You had a soft blanket on top of you and a few stuffed animals to keep you company. Though, most of them were still in your room. Maybe Angel’s enjoying them? Hopefully he likes them.

Why was Angel occupying your mind so much? Was it his small stature? His long beautiful hair? The way his eyes are laced with concern whenever someone accidentally touches him? Was it his magnificent ivory wings that you could enjoy with your eyes from miles away? Maybe the way his mouth slightly shifted into differing emotions, but always morphed back into his normal expression, which was just as pretty? Or it could be that shiny halo that followed his every move. You didn’t really know, but your glad that you have someone again. And perhaps, he’s thinking about you just as much as you think of him. Just maybe.

•••|•••|•••|•••|•••|•••

A/N: ALL DONE OMG I LOVE ANGEL SO MUCH??? I JUST RECENTLY GOT INTO CSM AND I READ ALL THE MANGA AND WHATNKT ABD THE ANIME IS SO BEAUTIFUL?!?!?! Maybe I’ll write something for aki, just maybe.

I like him too but I LOVE angel. This might just become a Angel devil fan account

Also yeah I came back from a four month break because of him so that MIST mean something

This blog also’s gonna turn into a multi fandom thing definitely.

Did you know nutrience isn’t a word? And that the correct spelling is nutrients? Well I didn’t. Anyways I spelled it as nutrience in here so 😀👍

-Yours truly, 💟

[ravennaortiz]

Halloween SOA Day 12: Pumpkin Carving

Summary: Chibs has the club help his old lady out. Mostly fluff.

“Hey Gemma” you called as you floated past her on your way to the clubhouse. “Hey sweetheart. Glad you’re finally here so the boys will settle down. All I’ve heard about today is this pumpkin carving contest” she replied laughing as she moved into the office of Teller-Morrow. You shook your head and chuckled. You were honestly just glad that the tough bikers had agreed to carve the hundreds of pumpkins needed for the children’s hospital that you didn’t even care they had made it into a competition. As you pushed the door open you were hit with a pungent aroma of pumpkin, beer and cigarettes. The sight inside though stopped you in your tracks like a deer in headlights.

It looked like a massacre. Pumpkin guts and seeds clung to every surface. The men were also covered in them and blood as they all looked to you with huge grins. “Careful Lass, floor be slick” called your old man as you stepped carefully over the piles of orange goop, using the toe of your black high heeled boots too nudge broken knifes and glass to the side. “Oh, guys” you finally spoke as you started to laugh at the scene around you. “Thank you. This is way beyond what I imagined” you continued before reaching Chibs side and kissing him quickly. ”Anything for you love” replied Chibs as he smiled down at you. “I want to go on the record that some people cheated” called Juice from his table with a pout before shooting a glare at Happy who stood expressionless with a chainsaw. “Best get to making your decision before another brawl breaks out” whispered Chibs into your ear. “Another” you replied as you looked at him. Well that explained the blood and bruises, pumpkin carving was supposed to be peaceful you thought as you shook your head and started walking around. You had to admit you were impressed with their work, of course some were to obscene and would have to stay here but the details were immaculate.

“Alright gentlemen” you started after a few minutes before Tig cut you off. “You can’t choose Chibs because you’re sleeping together” called Tig before Jax slapped him in the back of the head. “She will be fair, but darling if it gets us extra points I just put fresh sheets on this morning: joked Jax as he winked and sent you a devilish smirk. “Laddie” warned Chibs roughly as you shook your head and laughed. “Hush, all of you. The winner is the prospect. He really captured the essence of all of you in his little pumpkin family” you stated as you smiled sweetly at him as he jumped into the air. “What did I win?” he asked as his gaze lingered on you a little too long for Chibs liking. “The privilege of loading them up in the truck and taking them to the hospital as well as cleaning this place up” stated Chibs

As the guys started cleaning up Chibs grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the dorms. “Care to join me in my room? I think I might be able to find another pumpkin to carve in their” whispered Chibs in your ear as he winked at you.

[rayslittlekitten]

Spooky Time

“You Got This” Masterlist

A/N: I think writing "My First Night" kicked up some old feels for this universe. Here is a wholesome little nugget of them much younger. Jax and Opie as 14 and reader is 12.

Rating: T

Word Count: 806

Pairing: Teenager!Jax Teller & Preteen GN! Reader/OC; Teenager!Opie Winston & Preteen GN! Reader/OC (reader is F in the series, but this particular fic can be read as GN)

Plot: While Opie taunts you for being scared, Jax protects you.

Contains: sibling banter, cursing, protective!Jax, spoopy stuff

You stare up at the man-made haunted house towering in front of you. The fog, flashing lights and sounds of terror coming from a big speaker has you rethinking about tagging along with your brother and Jax. Since you were little, you've always followed them around and wanted to do everything they did. This is no exception. Every year during this time, you would all come to the County Halloween fair where they would have hayrides and all sorts of spooky activities. You always went on the kiddie rides, corn mazes, and have seemingly mild fun, but since Jax and Opie just started high school, they want to do older kids stuff, including the haunted house. This was one thing you always avoided, but you were sure you wanted to do this because Jax and Opie does.

"Come on, what are you waiting for?" Jax nudges you.

"I... I don't really feel too good. I think I ate too much funnel cake. I'll just wait for you guys," you reply.

"UGH! You know we can't leave you by yourself. You said you wanted to tag along so you have to do everything we're doing," your brother jumps in, annoyed.

A scream from inside the house spooks you, making you jump.

"Aww, are you scared?" Jax teases.

"N-no," you lie.

Opie rolls his eyes and huffs.

"Come on, it won't be that scary. I'll protect you, squirt."

Jax puts his arm around your shoulders and pulls you in closer, giving the top of your head a little tousle before guiding you inside the haunted house and following Opie who is leading the group. Once you enter, you cautiously walk through the loud and dark maze. Opie suddenly jumps and screams, making you shriek and grasp onto Jax, but then your brother starts laughing.

"Haha! Spooked ya!" He says, pointing at you.

"It's not funny!" You throw a weak punch at his arm.

"Then why am I laughing?" he taunts.

"Alright, come on, keep it moving," Jax jumps in to break up the sibling squabble, pushing Opie along.

"Stay close behind me, alright?" Jax tells you, guiding you behind him.

You grab onto the back of his shirt as you all continue to walk through. Your eyes dart around while being super vigilant and alert, also looking ahead at your brother in front to see if anything might scare him. The creepy music and inability to see things well in front of you add to the fright. A random hiss from behind you makes you curl up against Jax's back even more. You feel Jax's hand reach back, touching your hip like he's feeling around for something. He then turns to look over his shoulder.

"Hold my hand."

You look down and slip your hand into his while the other still fists his shirt. When Jax turns a corner, he takes a sudden small step back, stumbling into you, as his free arm guides you to remain behind him and now stepping sideways.

"Stay behind me," he instructs you.

You continue to follow him while using him as a shield. The sound of a chainsaw next to you makes you shift in the opposite direction. You feel Jax's hand squeezing yours to let you know you're safe. This feels like a never-ending maze. You start to notice a scent that comforts you. Leaning into Jax's shirt, you stick your nose into it and take a sniff. You don't know if it's the laundry detergent Gemma uses or something else, but it's distracting you from all the terror. After a few more turns and focusing your attention on Jax's scent, you finally make it out of the haunted house unscathed.

"Was that it? See, it wasn't so bad, was it? There wasn't anything really-- AHH!"

Opie gets frightened by a clown seemingly popping out of nowhere and his immediate reaction is to punch it.

"Is... is he dead?" you ask, peeking out from behind Jax with wide eyes, after seeing the clown face down on the dirt unmoved.

Opie gives it a gentle nudge with his booted toe.

"It's a fucking doll," Opie replies, then gives it a swift kick. "Fuck you."

"Looks like you're the one who only got spooked," you laugh.

Opie fakes a lounge at you and you jump back hiding behind Jax, shrieking. Jax instinctively steps between you and Opie, reaching his arms back again to protect you.

"Alright, let's go do the Terror Drop next." Jax suggests the ride where you get dropped from a great height.

"Um, I'm afraid of heights," you tell him.

"We'll do this together. You can hold my hand again," Jax says. "I promise you're gonna love it."

"Last one there is a rotten egg!" Opie says as he dashes off.

You and Jax then start chasing after Opie.

[powderblueblood]

the king of hawkins high

hawkins, indiana. 1960-somethin'. al munson reckons with the reality of his brother being shipped off to vietnam, and carries on a years-long tradition of swapping a ring with his best friend, ray doevski. which could mean nothing. cw: swearing, mention of criminal activities, era-typical misogyny and implied homophobia, guys is it gay to wipe motor oil from your homie's face when they've possibly just set a heinous crime in motion, murder but kind of not really. i didnt proofread this i am really just running on the fumes of vibes atp wc: 6.1k. what goes on. tagging @slowdancer, without whose continued interest in the old man yaoi aspect of hellfire & ice, this would not be possible. i appreciate you more than you know part of the hellfire & ice universe

He comes to with his head against the tile. 

Comes to as in wakes up or comes into jettisoned back to sobriety by the force of his own piss stream, he’s not sure, but he is here and he’s awake. 

With his dick in his hand. 

Al’s mouth feels like a fucking shag carpet. Every bud on his tongue has grown its own ecosystem after the amount of beer and whiskey and tobacco and ketchup and mustard and sugar and salt and smoke and someone else’s spit he’s let populate there. 

It’s been a long… however long it’s been, cooped up in this clubhouse on the outskirts of town. 

Undesirable types like to hole up here and pretend it’s a bar, but it functions more as a halfway hovel. Some genius calls it the Hideout. 

Al just about keeps himself steady as he shakes the last drop out (more’n three and you’re playin’ with yourself), zipping his pants back up with a hop that he instantly regrets. A knife slices right through his temporal lobe. 

The tubular bells have begun to ring and remorse starts to churn in his stomach. 

Time’s up, party’s over, away we go home.

Staggering back out into the front bar, Al catches a fond sight–a shapely, tanned rump lying bare across the pool table. Given that he’s missing a shirt, he figures he must have been splayed underneath that body before nature had called. 

God given miracle he’d made it to the bathroom in whatever state he was in.

One of Al’s hands reaches out and caresses a perky, round cheek, giving it a squeeze. A grumble from the mouth it belongs to, buried under a mass of blonde curls. 

“Kar-ennn,” he sing-songs, voice sputtering like a fuckin’ chainsaw, “It’s after ten.” 

“Mmnff.”

“On a Sunday.” He bends, bringing his mouth to the peachy mound. Teeth sink in. “You’re gonna be late for–”

“--church!” yelps the blonde, darting up and rolling over in this mad scramble to get her frilly old halter dress back on her body. “Shit! Shit-shit-shit!”

“Oh, slow down,” Al says, his brain moving a little slurrier than he’d anticipated–which is to say, he’s still polluted. He cages his arms around Karen where she’s sitting, leaning his perspiring forehead into her chest which stills her in an instant. “God ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Yes, but my mother is,” she grabs him by the ears, yanking him to her eyeline–woof, way too much movement, “gonna kill me.”

“Proposal,” Al mumbles, leaning for her mouth but landing on her neck, “I tell your mama that we’re gettin’ married. Tell her the next time you enter the house of God it’s ‘cause you’re gonna make an honest woman outta me.” 

“Al,” Karen sighs, shoving him off and dismounting the pool table. This bouncy blonde, this head cheerleader apple pie type… Al had her nailed the moment he walked into her homeroom that first day at Hawkins High. Stacked to the ceiling, her gorgeous baby blues stuck on him like a fly trap. 

He hadn’t expected to stumble across a babe like her in this glorified cornfield of a town. 

“You’re very cute, and you’re a lotta fun. I mean, we have,” she shuffles in her little skirt; so cute, scandalized by herself by the light of day, “a lot of fun, but no matter how many times you ask, there’s no way I’m marrying you just so you can avoid shipping out.” 

He adopts a slump. “But what if I said I loved ya?”

“You’d be lying!” Karen cries, a phosphate giggle. She manages to find that letterman jacket she came in here wearing and slides it over her shoulders. Lobs a guilty look over her shoulder at Al.

Like he’s supposed to share in some reverent moment of shame, like he should feel bad that he’s giving her what that Wheeler meathead can’t. 

Guy’s graduated and still insists that she wears his letterman jacket. It’s sad. 

“Look, are you coming to that Gomes chick’s party, at least?” 

“Gomes? Gloriana Gomes?” Karen’s gone all incredulous on him. “Al, I’m going to have to try and sneak past my mother after being out here all night–you really think I’m going to risk my neck going to some greaser cookout?” 

“Tell them you’re goin’ to Bible study. Repenting and all that.”

Her mussed curls shudder as she shakes her head, heading for the door with her tennis shoes in her hand. “See you at school. Last week of senior year!” 

—

To Al’s shock and delight, someone’s been paying the phone bill at the Hideout–he wonders what kind of bootlegging operation necessitates a phone line, but he’s thankful for it all the same. Lets him punch in one of the only numbers he knows in this shitheel town and bark, “Bring the Caddy ‘round, Jeeves!”

Forty minutes, his found shirt and a flat beer later, a battered, rusted truck kicks up dust outside of the Hideout. 

“Thought you were dead,” a clipped voice echoes out the driver’s side. 

Al takes his time ambling over. He reaches through the driver’s window and chucks Ray Doevksi’s chin with his ringed hand. 

“Wished I was, more like.”

The greased slick of Ray’s pompadour catches an offensive amount of light, and Al’s got to shield his eyes. He throws himself into the passenger side and lets Ray size him up with customary disapproval.

“Christ, you smell like Corn Nuts and pussy.”

“Take a big whiff, Doevski!” Al rifles through the glove compartment before Ray shoves a soft pack of cigarettes at him. “Might be the last one you get for a while, seeing as you’re liable to strike out tonight.” 

“And what makes you say that?”

“Because you’re sniffin’ after a girl whose big brothers are known Hawkins heavies,” Al scoffs back a mouthful of smoke, more to curb the ever-present craving than anything else. “You don’t got the stones to see a thing like that through.”

He catches Ray’s sidelong glance at him, the line of his hardened jaw with the shiny fucking hair on top. A dollop of oily black, showing up starkly against his pristine white t-shirt. Ray is crisp and calculated-looking, without the starched strangulation of looking like some prep. Ray looks like they peeled Jimmy Dean off the blacktop and reinflated him, gave him a Presley dye-job. 

Brought him back wrong. 

See, Ray Doevski, Al’s best friend, he looks like the sensitive type but he’s all mean streak. 

Al, ever the other boy’s foil, looks like exactly what he is. A hick with a perpetual hard-on and a mouth too smart for his brain to catch up with. Luckily, Al sucked up all the charm in his gene pool; Hawkins has been a cakewalk ever since his folks moved him and his sullen older brother down here from the good ol’ hills of Appalachia. 

In fact, Ray was the first person to step to him about that. Make some crack about they got running water up there yet? Or y’all still bathin’ in pig spittle? 

‘We haven’t quite gotten to experience the spoils of modern plumbing, but your mama was kind enough to let me wash off after I balled her into oblivion.’

Up went the scuffle, and they were immediate friends after the fisticuffs were thrown. 

Since then, Ray’s led Al into the underbelly. The doper contingent that Ray’s foster family has connections to, the bikers trafficking shit through places like the Hideout. The only exciting thing about a town like Hawkins is how many secrets it can hold, and there’s not a whole lot, but enough to keep them entertained for now. 

Ray has designs on fleeing to business school after they graduate. 

The only designs Al has on are his boxer briefs. 

Speaking of, he scratches his crotch. 

“Don’t get crabs on my passenger seat,” Ray monotonously scolds him.

“This passenger seat’s a ward of the state,” Al grumbles. Translation: he knows this truck is stolen. 

“Am I driving you home, then? Is your tail sufficiently tucked between your legs yet?” 

Al hates when Ray acts like he’s his own personal O. Henry story, reading him down to the last punctuation. 

See, his last three lost days on the tear with Hawkins’ grimiest and all their passers-through had been the result of some family problems. Well, not problems. Consequences. Of living as a part of the greatest country in the world. 

Al’s brother Wayne had been drafted. Ticket up, number called. Death certificate as good as signed. 

You’re next, boy, Al’s father had said, If they can find any goddamn use for ya.

 “I’m conscientiously objecting to the whole thing.”

“Shit. Didn’t know you had one of those.”

“Just trying it on for size. I can still return it for store credit.”

The rubber on Ray’s tyres squeal onto Philadelphia, stopping dead outside of the Munson household. Clapboard. Best they could do on short notice–needs a lick of paint that no one got around to sticking their tongue out for. But it’s home. 

It always will be. Al understands that might be why his heart feels like it’s sinking. 

He feels Ray watching him as he stares out the passenger side. A dry swallow. 

He doesn’t want to go back in there. He toys with the idea of telling Ray to hit it again, to keep driving til the wheels come off this thing, so he can stay unmoored and un-privy to the disappointment dripping down the walls of that house. Those stains don’t lift. 

They never will.

“Pick me up at eight, sugar?” Al snaps back into character, simpering with Donna Reed sweetness at Ray. He rolls his eyes under long-lashed lids. 

“If you survive ‘til then.” 

A heave to the rustbucket of a door and Al’s hopping out of the truck. 

“Al,” Ray calls, gunning the engine back to life. “If I make it with Gloriana Gomes tonight…”

“Mighty girthy if.”

“... that calls for a changing of hands.” Ray gestures to the rock on Al’s finger. The Hawkins High class ring, the big brass bastard with its imitation emerald. Green and gold, the colors of their proud and mighty cowpat of a school. It had been Ray’s originally, seeing as how Al had all but dropped out at this point. But there were few things Ray had that Al didn’t want, and vice versa. 

Balls. Charisma. Something big and ugly and shiny. 

Something to be proud of. 

So one day Al goes, ‘Bet your ring I can’t aim this stink bomb clear through O’Donnell’s classroom window,’ continuing his habit of torturing the newest faculty member. Ray’d said sure, because Al’s aim was reliably shitty– except for that day. Bullseye. Screaming. 

Ray had reluctantly handed over the ring. 

Then, at the derelict drive-in where they’d watched On the Waterfront together, Ray’d said, ‘Bet your ring I can’t shake down the candy shack for whatever’s in the register.’ 

A made-up kid-choking emergency and fifty-odd dollars later, Al was handing the ring back.

It went on like that, the bets increasing in risk and moral soundness. The ring bearer was dubbed the King of Hawkins High, a stab at the squares that actually gave a shit. Al lived for it. Not because Ray was easy to best, he wasn’t. One really had to get creative, or not be afraid to be hauled in by the heat. Ray was a worthy adversary. 

Made Al feel like he could accomplish things. 

“That’s a little tame, don’t you think?” Al says. The stakes had crawled up a little higher than balling some chick, no matter how white hot her family supposedly was. Unless, this is Ray really trying to prove something.

The Gomes brothers were the number one name in town for racketeering, gun thuggery, speed distribution… you name it, they had dominion over it. 

If he won over their princess Gloriana, eased into their good books… that’s the making of a man. Al knows that. 

Ray knows Al knows that, leveling him with a steel-edged stare over his sunglasses. 

“See you at eight, sugar.”

—

The Munson household is dark and quiet, thank Christ, allowing Al to slink into the bedroom he shares with his elder brother and catch some well-earned hungover shuteye. 

Sleep sinks him quick, his exhausted, wrung out form hitting the mattress without so much as kicking his boots off. His dreams are vivid and vague, parched and sweaty, indecisive and arresting as they always are after a sleepless bender. In the one he can recall the best, he sits behind a cartoonishly large wheel of a cartoonishly small van. He’s driving around labyrinthian turns, around a trailer park that he vaguely recognises from the outskirts of town. 

Gravel crunches underneath, sounding like bones cracking. Grinding teeth. 

He wants to get out, but he can’t find the lot that he’s looking for. Someone’s yelling at him from outside the vehicle; and he can’t exactly turn his head to see, but he’s vaguely aware of a baby girl lying in the passenger seat beside him. She’s crying and he’s hushing, promising that they’re almost there. 

It’ll all be okay, honey bear! Al’s gonna fix it.

The window of the van is slung low, and hailstones begin to rain in on him and the baby, pelting him in the forehead–

Takes him a minute or two to come to. Wayne stands, a shadowy figure in the doorway with a handful of peanut shells. 

“Dinner,” the elder Munson grumbles. 

“I’m comin’! Jesus!” Al whines.

“No, this is your dinner,” Wayne keeps tossing the shells. “You wanna run off and join the circus, you better get used to circus food.”

“I’d sooner crawl inside of a lion’s asshole than bend over and take it up the chute for Uncle Sam, I’ll tell you that,” kid brother grumbles into his flat, yellowing pillow. 

“Real nice, Allen.”

“You know what,” Al, annoyed now, rustles up in bed, furiously blinking his bleary eyes at Wayne, “When did you go and get so fuckin’ patriotic anyway? Far as I know, your greatest contribution to society was teaching me how to boost a car on my sixteenth birthday.”

Wayne scoffs, tossing the last of the shells onto the floor. “Yeah, and a fat lotta good it did. Still got that… Doohickey pansy chauffeurin’ you around, huh?”

“Christ, you really fell out the sad bastard tree and hit every branch on the way down, huh? Just ‘cause you ain’t got no friends, man–”

“Allen.”

“--doesn’t mean you need to go buzz your head and get a rifle about it, I mean, my god–”

“Al.”

“I think it’s really pathetic, y’know, real pathetic that you’re gonna go play stooge for a system that wouldn’t piss on folks like you or me or Ma or Pa if we was on fire–” 

As if Al really gave a damn about the system.

“Al, you’re gonna have to grow up pretty soon. You know that, don’t you?”

That plugs him up fast. Al’s vision has unbleary’ed itself. A cold jolt arcs through him, one he tries to scoff away. Wayne always does this, drags out the stoic shit because he knows it’s a surefire conversation ender. He’s so solid that way, this living full stop Al has to call a brother. His way or the highway. His way or the chopper. 

Wayne was always telling Al no, always telling Al do this and do that and take the fall, they won’t care, you’re the youngest, they’ll go easy on you and watched as their father snatched a knot into Al’s head that a navy man couldn’t untie.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Wayne leans a little heavier on the doorframe. Al can see paint chips loosening where his shoulder presses. 

“Means I gotta go and do this because Ma and Pa won’t be able to survive if I don’t. Not if they got you leechin’ off ‘em still. Which, signs point to,” Wayne gestures to their shared bedroom. A harsh split down the middle; Al’s side is a ragged explosion of dirty socks, underwear, records, comics, cigarette butts. Wayne’s side is so orderly, Al bets he could bounce a quarter off the bed. 

Like he’d been waiting to ship out his whole life. 

“I’m warnin’ you, boy,” Wayne’s tone darkens. Al wishes it didn’t make him flinch on instinct, but it does. “You better clean up your act. Get some kinda life together. Otherwise, you’re gonna end up in prison before your ticket’s even drawn.”

He lets it simmer for a minute, drawing out the silence that he’d usually feel like he has to fill. It’s so muggy, it has been muggy, this quiet between them since Wayne decided he was the kind of person that wanted to do the right thing. Do what he’s told, more like. 

Another knot of a different kind tightens in Al’s sternum. Fear. He doesn’t look at Wayne because to look at him, he would know. Wayne would see it in Al’s face, and Al would see it in Wayne’s. They’re terrified, the both of them. 

Munsons are no heroes. They don’t pull out of things like this. 

Even if Wayne uses all the right moves, likelihood is he catches a stray bullet or blowback from a bomb and goes down. Stupid for him to think anything else would happen. 

Every time Al looks at him, he knows it might be one of the last.

Then again, what else has Wayne got? He wasn’t happy about being dragged by the ear from Appalachia to Indiana. He couldn’t shake the stubbornness to make friends in town. Left school before he even broke tenth grade. He couldn’t hold down a job for nothin’-- Hawkins decided they didn’t like the smell of hick shit that the Munsons were dragging through the place. Their father was barely hanging onto the gig he’d moved them here for, drinking what little he did make. Their mother was catatonic most of the time, drinking twice as much as their father did. 

Wayne is floundering, if not practically dead in Lover’s Lake already. 

Might as well die someplace tropical. 

But where does that leave Al? Al, the spitfire kid who needs Wayne to anchor him so he doesn’t spin completely out of control. He gets this notion of speed, thinks he’s capable of beating God at his own game–not in small part spurned on by Ray Doevski. Gasoline, matches. He needs Wayne, needs his big brother to remind him that the ground below him is hard, not soft. What goes up must come down, and all that shit. 

So, how dare he. 

How dare he choose Vietnam over Al. 

“Well, brother mine,” Al says in a tone smooth as silk, rolling onto his back and stretching his wiry arms up like a languid cat. Smug beats stoic. “Just so happens that army green ain’t really my color. I’ll take my chances.”

—

Hastily scrubbed and half a shoulder of stolen bourbon deep, Al kicks rocks in his shoddy driveway. If he had a watch that wasn’t broken, he sure would check it, then drunkenly shake his fist at the sky and curse Ray Doevski’s tardiness. 

Just as that thought occurs, of course, Ray hits his mark. Skids up to the facade on Philadelphia with a little more urgency than usual. 

“Don’t burn that rubber too fast, now,” Al says, almost missing the step as he climbs in, “You know how tyres are a bitch to lift.”

“Ain’t you gonna offer me a drink?” Ray’s voice is a little reedier than usual–that usually means he has something on his mind. Something cooking. 

Through the encroaching fog of his inebriation, Al gives him a little once over. He’s got a smudge of motor oil on his cheek. 

Al wipes it away with a clumsy hand and feels Ray stiffen. His dark, delighted eyeballs seem to jitter in his skull before he jerks his head away from Al’s hand. 

A moment throbs, and Al pushes the booze towards him. He doesn’t totally understand and it shows as much on his face. 

“S’goin’ on with you?” 

He watches as Ray mechanically reminds himself to relax, chill out, they’re headed for a party. Like the gears are clicking behind his face, evening out his expression.

“Lemme ask you something,” and that vibrancy is back in Ray’s voice, “Your folks still on your ass about gettin’ a job?”

“Like flies on shit.”

“What if I told you I had an opportunity that would make them very happy?”

“Happier than they are with my brother, the Colonel?”

“Way,” Ray’s teeth gleam in the late Autumn sunset, the bodacious orange twisting the planes of his face into a handsome Jack o’ Lantern. “Real cash. And fast.”

Al slugs a little whisky and slouches further down in his seat. “Can’t be any dumber than the bullshit I’ve already heard. Hit me.”

“You’re gonna fuckin’ flip,” Ray shakes his head, “The Gomes brothers wanna cut us in on a deal. They, uh, they’ve gotten familiar with us. Told you it was worth showin’ your face at the Hideout every once in a while.”

Every once in a while, sure… Ray and Al skulking the parking lot, chainsmoking and playing marbles like a couple of errant kids in order to get familiar with the local heavies. Prove they were trustworthy. That they’d see shit, but they wouldn’t say shit.

Flies on shit.

Al jerks forward as Ray steps on the gas. 

“A deal, huh?” Al finally manages. 

“Distribution,” the gentlemen’s term for slinging dope. Speed, hash, benzos. Whatever. “This is a real business, Munson. With real payout. We make the right connections, there’s no tellin’ what we can do with it.”

Ray’s just about frothing at the mouth; Al’s never seen him so jazzed about something before. Similar to Wayne with that cool as ice, hard rock front. It’s unnerving to see it crack. Al’s stomach winches. 

Prison before your ticket’s even drawn.

Then again, what else has Al Munson got going for him?

Ray’s shark eyes reflect a bolt of lightning that doesn’t appear in the sky. 

Al’s groan sounds like thunder. “Fuck it. Sure.”

“Thatta boy! We gotta be at the pickup spot at midnight sharp, Cinderella.” Ray’s hands drum against the wheel, and Al could swear that he sees his bare ring finger twitching. “And–listen, Al. Don’t go spreadin’ this around at the party, alright? Especially to the boys. Mixin’ business and pleasure… just puts a bad taste in people’s mouths, y’know.”

“I’ll behave.”

—

Easier said than done. 

Al wobbles through Gloriana Gomes’ backyard with the grace of a newborn gazelle, but at the very least he can make almost falling into the band’s drumset look cute. Lantern lights above him triple, quadruple, and he’s wondering just what the hell the bruiser bitch put in this punch. 

“Munson.”

“Ah! The lady of the hour,” Al manages almost coherently. “Lemme get look at you.”

He squints through one eye to take in Gloriana’s shapely figure, packed tight into a halterneck catsuit that would make any man shed a tear and cry glory to God. She’s stunning, this chick, with her blunt black bangs and her lacquered cherry lips and her spike heels–but by god, is she lethal.

Al needs exactly this amount of Dutch courage to even fathom speaking a full sentence to her. 

He heard she keeps a switchblade in her bra, which is how she’s won so many pageants. Pure intimidation.

He wants her to shave him bald all over with that very same switchblade.

Lurching forward, his lips brush her bouffant and almost swallow her earring. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“It’s not my birthday,” Goddamn, he can feel her nails dig into his bicep. Whisky dick is being rendered a myth with every passing second. “It’s just a party.” 

“Thassa damn shame, ‘cause here I am with this biiig ole gift for you,” Al’s choking on the chemical tinge of her drugstore perfume and the copious amounts of hairspray she wears. This, the girl with always has a lit cigarette perched in her fingers… walking fire hazard. White hot. 

Al’s hand slides over Gloriana’s hip, only distantly aware that he’s likely in Ray’s direct line of vision–that man rarely takes his eyes off the baddest Betty Hawkins has to offer. 

“You wanna see it? S’in my pocket…”

Those Dutchmen are really onto something.

Her nails dig again and Al wonders, with a throb to the crotch, if she’s drawing blood yet. 

“I’m gonna do you a favor, creep,” Gloriana hisses into Al’s ear, “I’m not going to slap the shit out of you in front of my brothers and their friends, because I don’t feel like helping anybody chop up your lousy little body tonight. I just did my nails fresh.”

“I can feel that.”

Gloriana lightly but politely shoves him off. Her face curls up into this charm-offensive, butter-wouldn’t-melt smile, which is completely at odds with her tough girl appearance. Still, it’s like a cherry nipple on a milkshake tit. Just perfect.

“You and that foster home freak are made for each other,” she says to Al, and he sees two pairs of ruby red lips instead of one. She makes it sound like she’s being friendly. Foster home freak—that’d be Ray’s calling card. Hawkins loves to remind Ray and Al that they don’t really belong here.

And then she’s gone, and Al feels a hand physically propping him upright. It’s dinky, bony and feminine so it can only belong to one person–

“Joycey!” he bellows into the young Maldonado birdy’s face. Now, Joyce is a gal that Al has always had a minute for and vice versa. She was always good for a smoke and a jaw about nothin’, as was he, but he didn’t love having to share his stash of finely toasted tobacco with that lug Jim Hopper she’s so goddamned fond of. 

Joyce flinches at the greeting, wiping a little of Al’s spittle off her cheek. “Jesus H., Munson, wake the neighbors muchly?” 

“Oh, between me and Dick fuckin’ Dale over here,” he gestures in the vague direction of the garage band that belongs to one Gomes or another, he’s sure, “they’ll be up all night. What’s shakin’?”

Joyce digs around her grubby jeans for her smokes, doing Al the honor of both putting it in his waiting maw and lighting it. She shrugs in that tight-shouldered way that she has, always wound up about something or other. She’s so twiggy, this girl–probably why Al’s never tried to put a move on her. He’s scared she’ll have a nervous breakdown or something. 

“Just wanted to see how you were.”

That’s the other thing. Bleeding heart Maldonado, always checking in on her good pal Al. Ever since he’d broke the news that Wayne was Viet-bound, she kept looking at him sidelong, all sadlike. 

“Me? Spiffy, sweetheart. Just darling, if you must know,” Al says, volume and theatricality increasing. “Any day now, I’ll have a full bedroom to myself. Ain’t that exciting?”

Joyce snorts, a puff of smoke coming out of each nostril like she’s the world’s most anxious dragon. “Gonna invite Karen over for a sleepover?”

“Ixnay on the aren-kay, Joy-say! My god, we can’t have the whole of Cherry Lane know I’m balling a cheerleader,” hands cup around Al’s mouth, cigarette still dangling from it, “It’d be just about my ruination!” 

Joyce giggles all big and unbridled, which Al likes because he likes when she loosens up, but it’s swiftly cut off as Al finds himself stumbling into the nearest deck chair–which is to say, into the lap of the person sitting on it. This lucky customer happens to be one Leonard Gomes, affectionately nicknamed Lurch. Guy’s built like a brick shit cathedral, not just a house, with a selection of fascinating prison tattoos covering his neck. Al can’t make ‘em out, even up close.

“Myyy sincerest apologies, big boy!” Al slurs, but doesn’t get up right away. Lurch’s little black eyes are blackening and blackening. “But hey, I’ll catch you later. For our big date, right? Right? Can ya gimme any clues for what we’re movin’, can–” 

Oof, hauled up by the front of his ribbed tank! Only Ray Doevski in full crisis management mode could manage such a feat. 

Just kidding. Joyce could probably do it if she put her mind to it. Al’s about a hundred pounds soaking wet. 

“Hey, this is my favorite shirt, man! Don’t stretch ‘er out!” 

A seething Ray hauls him all the way to the front of the house and about heaves him into the truck. Al complies pretty limply, not hating the feeling of being puppeteered around. His limbs were getting heavy. 

“Daddy’s givin’ me a time out,” Al pouts. And promptly leans out the passenger door and pukes. It’s all bile, three or four days of full bender bile. He’s barely eaten. It scores his nostrils and steams up on the pavement. 

Ray stands just out of the splash zone with his arms folded, waiting for Al to let up. 

When all the blood has been sufficiently drained out of his face, he does. Slumps against the seat. 

Ray doesn’t exactly look at him with anger. Or annoyance, even. There’s a pillowy nature to the way he stares him down, before he walks over to the Gomes’ garden hose and turns it on, stretching it so it’ll reach Al. 

He laps at the water gratefully. A hound. 

Ray digs a vial from his pocket, the kind that comes complete with its own little spoon. Something he’d lifted from some foster kid he’d lived with, he had told Al before. This little number is a sight for sore eyes. 

“The smelling salts. You shouldn’t have.”

Al huffs a bump up each nostril and shoves the heels of his hands into his eyeballs. 

Whammo. Slowly coming back to reality. 

“Sorry.” 

“S’alright.” Ray’s head swivels around, evidently spotting the Gomes brothers heading to their hot rod. His voice comes out tight and he bolts for the driver’s side of the truck. Moves so fast he makes Al dizzy. “We gotta move anyhow.” 

“Midnight already?”

“The witching hour.” 

—

His head wedged into the corner of the open window, Al breathes deep the dusty night breeze on Holland. On the drive out here, you can count down the seconds until you smell the lake. 

Five, four, three, two… Cannonball. 

They drive in an imbalanced silence. Tense on Ray’s end, nauseated on Al’s. But he’s just about starting to come to, starting to clock into the reality of their situation. 

Al had tossed around a little grass before; he came by it easy and could move it even easier. An operation like this, however, with clandestine pickups under the cover of night, with the armored Gomes vehicle tailing them–this is serious. 

Wait. 

Hold on. 

Al cranes his neck to get a look out the back window. They’ve lost the Gomes’ headlights. Nothing but dark, dark road beyond the reddened back beams of Ray’s truck. That’s funny. Guys of that caliber, big pieces of gristle and meat, they’re hardly going to be tardy to their own drug pick-up party. 

“Where’d they go to, Ray?” Al’s voice is a croak when it comes out, fighting against his burning throat. 

“Shut up, Al.” 

“Ray–”

“Shut up, Al.” 

Al shrinks down in his seat, a child admonished. Ray’s hand flexes over the wheel, a man desperately trying to keep control.

They pull around to this shitheap looking place on Lover’s Lake, so bent it’s practically sliding down the embankment. A van already sits there. Black, sleek. The kind a serviceman would have or something. 

Ray kills the engine and some force from beyond prompts Al to grab at his arm before he can jump on out. 

“Ray.” 

“You’re doing this for your family,” Ray seamlessly reminds him, the gaze he turns on him empty. There’s not a waver in his voice. Like he’d been preparing this little bon mot of encouragement. “I’m doing this for mine.”

“But w–”

“Doing it for love. That’s honorable,” Ray nods. His features have taken on this waxy sheen under the moonlight that threatens to bring Al to a dry heave. He’s like a ventriloquist doll, down to the wooden way he’s moving. “I’ve done things for love that you wouldn’t believe. Now get out of the fucking truck.”

Beat for beat, Ray exits the truck, Al exits the truck, then a guy in overalls appears from the shiny black van. All of it moving in this rhythm that’s making Al’s head swim–feels like an unreality. Feels like he’ll blink, be behind the wheel of that van with a crying baby to his right. Feels like a dream. 

Al, for once, clams up. Doesn’t say anything at all, because it’s the only way he can mask the nervous twitch his face takes on when he’s this piss-pants scared. 

But it’s funny. It’s not like a drug operation he’s ever dreamed of. There’s no real shadiness to it. Guy just opens up the back of his van and tosses Ray a brick wrapped in brown parcel paper. 

“Lurch and Palo on the way?”

It’s incredible. To Al’s knowledge, this guy, this guy with all the drugs in the back of his fucking van, has never seen Ray before but implicitly assumes he’s taking point on this deal. What if he had been a cop?!

But Ray Doevski does have this thing about him. Gives you one good, meaningful look and he has you shackled for life. You can’t help but trust him. 

Still waters, man. Just like Wayne, Al thinks and feels something different rise in his throat. 

“Lurch and Palo got caught up. Car trouble.” 

Overalls guy just shrugs and helps load the rest of the packages into the passenger side of the truck. Al, he just stands there. Rooted. Watching him. Ray doesn’t pass any heed; like he’s not even there. 

“Not much of a talker, your guy?” Overalls jerks his head in Al’s direction. 

“Nah,” Ray grins in the briefest of flashes. “Strong and silent type. Right, Munson?”

A light flashes on at the porch of the half derelict looking house. Al can spot a hulking figure in the window, obscured by what has to be clouds upon clouds of smoke.

Ray raises a hand in the form’s direction, as howdy doody casual as a fucking neighborino.

“Who is that?” Al hears himself ask.

“Rick. I’ll introduce you next time. You two’ll like each other.”

Next thing Al’s physically aware of is the pile of packages at his feet as Ray guns the truck to life. This insufferable smirk curls up the corner of his mouth, the kind that Al has an immediate instinct to slug right off. 

A bad feeling, a terrible feeling twists up his guts.

It’s justified about fifteen minutes into their drive back. 

Al sees the flames licking around the plumes of black smoke first, easing up into that inky sky stabbed through with needlepoint constellations. He sees mangled hot rod hardware wrapped around a great big tree. He sees blue lights, he sees red. He sees an ambulance. He sees two stretchers and two body bags. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he spits, his lips feeling loose and panicky. “Ray, Jesus, we have to stop!” 

“You wanna stop?” Ray laughs, voice so light you’d swear Al had asked him to pull in so he could take a piss. “You’re sittin’ on a small fortune of narcotics and you wanna stop? Don’t be such a morbid little rubbernecker, Munson.” 

—

The untimely passing of the Gomes brothers brought with it a varied reception. The angle from one end of town was that it’s great when God deals with hoodlums before the law has to. On the other, someone had to pick up the slack and keep the seedy underbelly of this wicked little place nice and satiated. 

Ray Doevski didn’t leave Gloriana Gomes’ side from the moment she got the news about her beloved brothers. She’d broke down wailing in his waiting arms, her red lipstick bleeding at the edges.

Those same brothers who regarded the scheming nowhere kid with such distaste that they’d never let them anywhere near their sister, or their business. 

Over their dead bodies.

The only reasonable move was to remove them from the picture entirely, and step in gallantly. The hero. A picture of suave severity, backroom business acumen seeping from his blacktop hairdo. He’d fill the hole, he’d keep the cash flowing.

When he got the time to cut the Gomes’ break lines, we’ll never really know.

Al couldn’t fathom pulling off such a stunt. 

Ray never admitted to it, of course. Can’t show your hand. Not to anybody, not even your best friend. But there was always this sense of knowing… even if he didn’t do it, he was capable of it.

Once he got over the shock of it all, how quick and seamless Ray had made that elimination, Al was overtaken with admiration. Tinged with latent fear, of course, but admiration all the same. 

When Ray dropped him off at the house on Philadelphia in the wee hours of the morning, Al pressed the Hawkins High class ring into his hand. 

“Well played, my liege.”

“Couldn’t’ve done it without ya,” Ray smiled. “Pleasure doing business.”

Business was right. At Al’s feet sat serious cash. Cash he could use to pull his weight around the house. Cash he could use to get out of Hawkins entirely. Cash he could rub in Wayne’s face, show him, hey! I’m not nothing! I can move this, I can be part of something huge and heavy! I can run this fucking town!

But he didn’t have any clear designs on doing anything without Ray’s say so.

The only designs Al had were on his boxer briefs. 

He was only really sure of one thing. He’d spend his entire life trying to best Ray Doevski. Trying to get that ring back on his finger.

Just for the love of the game.