#let me figure out what the hell is happening before throwing out the potential of nonlinear timelines

[wibble-wobbegong]

“but they are not stops on some linear timeline in grief” yeah ok. get more blatant with it why don’t you. rub it right in my face some more

[babywriter]

It was hard enough to be taken seriously as a young woman in such a male-dominated field. You even had the added disadvantage of being particularly pretty. Younger men saw a potential date while older men, if not pervy, saw a girl which to them meant that you were ditzy and weak. 

This particular client was a man. Maybe five years older or so, you guessed. When he opened the door, he seemed surprised. And you thought he looked at you a little condescendingly. But were you going to show him. You walked inside with an authoritative air, your tools by your side. Cool, calm, collected. You started working on his cabinet right away.

Thing is, normally clients tend to leave the room when you work. You know, since they have things to do and it’s awkward to stand in the corner for an hour. Didn’t bother him clearly. You felt him staring at you. For such a long time too that it became a distraction. You figured he was looking at your butt. The man was attractive, you had to admit, but it felt so disrespectful. You became flustered. How to make him go away? There was another reason you didn’t enjoy people staring at your butt. You happened to wear diapers.

You’ve always like diapers and you had decided to go 24/7 a few years back. This was generally not a problem. Actually, it was great when you were working because you didn’t need to use the client’s bathroom. But when someone watches you like a hawk exactly where you don’t want them to look, it tends to stress you out. And of course, of course, your diaper was peaking out.

You heard a little laugh.

“Oh. Little lady.” the man said. Little lady, really? “What’s that you’re wearing underneath those overalls?”

Either he’s used to asking women what they wear, either he was doing it just for you. Regardless, you didn’t feel like answering him.

“None of your business, sir.” You answered. In spite of his awful behavior, you wanted to remain professional.

“If you’re wearing, what I think you’re wearing, you shouldn’t be dealing with all those tools!”

“Sir, if you don’t let me finish my work in peace, I will leave.”

“Oh. Are we throwing a tantrum?”

A tantrum? Who the hell is this guy?

“Alright, sir, that’s enough.” You tried to leave, but he was bigger and stronger and blocked the entryway. He held your wrists.

“Sir, let me go.”

“Oh no, little lady. Work’s not done.”

He forcefully removed your overalls. Your medical diaper was exposed. 

“Go on, keep working if you’re such an adult.” 

You obeyed, but did so red and humiliated. Nevertheless, he never left the room. Not once.

You figured that he would need to leave the room at some point. But what you hadn’t accounted for was that you would need to go to the bathroom much sooner than he would. Normally, using your diaper was a pleasure. But in this situation, it certainly didn’t feel like that. Your bladder suddenly ached and while you tried holding it as much as possible, your bladder was too weak from years of going into diapers. You barely held out for a few seconds before leaking into your diaper.

“Oh no.” you said in a high-pitched voice under your breath. You were bending down  to see the damage to your diaper. You had been completely and thoroughly humiliated. Brought down to nothing more than a baby who pisses her pants.

“Looks like princess went in her diaper! Good thing you were wearing them, baby!”

“I’m not a baby!” you bawled out.

“Shh-shh. It’s okay.” The man came to comfort you. You didn’t like him, but it did feel good to have strong arms around you. You felt safe. “Don’t worry, Daddy’s here. Daddy’s going to take of you from now on. No need to be a big girl.”

You liked being a big girl, but you had a feeling you didn’t have much of a choice.

Photo credit: Shantal from ByteMine

For more stories by me: https://reamstories.com/babywriter

[roseykat]

TITLE: Venom Eater

SUMMARY: Moving on proves its challenges. Not everyone has the ability to accept that what happened, happened - and what was, was. So as you try to lead a new life, single and trying to heal, the journey proves to be far from easy. It’s worse than difficult and more painful than what you could’ve imagined. The only comforting source is that what will be, will be. And there’s no changing that.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with me, my work, or page whatsoever.

TAGS: mentions of breakups, exes, angst, arguments, swearing, smut, slices of life here and there, alcohol (Jisung is drunk but there isn’t much detail on it), confrontation.

WC: 6K+

TAGLIST: @emikisses @linos-kitten @chansbabygirlsstuff @lixiespick @frogieeheart @/fuckthinking @nimx9 @/shishou1687 @inniescandy-01 @konstanceee @/rose13255 @queenmea604

Venom Biter (Part 1) | MASTERLIST

A/N: the long-awaited part 2 to Venom Biter! This was originally meant to be longer but I decided that I wanted to flesh out the plot a little bit more so things will get worse and or better who knows…

There’s never a grey area about what people do after a terrible breakup. It’s always black and white. Whether someone cuts their hair, dyes it, alters their aesthetic, or goes on holiday to escape the reality. 

The gym can make for the perfect best friend to subtly take revenge on someone a person once had.

But your new best friend was Tinder. A platform of opportunities to explore and select at your perusal. Providing you with gorgeous men who were looking to fuck and nothing more than that. If Tinder wasn’t the buzz for you that night, it would be going out with friends - friends that didn’t include ones that you made through Minho. 

These ones’ you would only see about once every three months then band together again as if nothing has changed in the space between. It’s not awkward when you’re around them and so far, it has taken your mind off the past two months. Since then, your connection with Minho has been one of which where-

“God fuck I’m cumming!”

Minho knows he is too when his eyes screwed shut, laying back as he lets you use his cock, “shit, so am I,” he breathes out, watching you roll your hips in a frantic craze to get yourself over the edge. You miss this. 

The way that you squeeze around him is the final straw that breaks the camel's back. Minho swears towards the ceiling, back arching as his dick glides in deeper. Within a couple of seconds, his vision flashes just as white as your insides that he fills. 

The top half of your body flops forward onto his chest, spent from the past fifteen minutes that you’ve been riding him non-stop. Now it’s almost possible to hear the rapid thumping of his heartbeat that violently bashes from within. Not wanting to stay in that position for any longer, you peel yourself back, hopping off his body. 

“I need you out by seven,” you declare, picking up his sweatpants and t-shirt from the floor and then throwing them right at him. 

Minho grumbles but doesn’t flinch, “seven? Fucking hell.”

“Well, I have to go to work so you’re not staying.” 

“I figured that,” he fusses before sitting up. “At least let me use your gym here.” 

You pause for a second to look at him, wondering where he gets his audacity from sometimes, “fine.” 

“Thank you,” he replies then starts donning his clothes as you make your way to the bathroom for a hot shower. 

This is what it’s been like for a while now - a pernicious seesaw effect of meeting up with Minho, sleeping with him (usually in the mornings), and going about your day as if he wasn’t in your guts twenty minutes ago. 

It’s always a good feeling in the moment but after, there’s a lingering icky weight that you’re tirelessly towing along with you wherever you go. You’re not sure if Minho feels the same because even though you’ve talked to him a few times, there’s no talk of each other's feelings anymore. It’s not that neither of you are ready for that looming and tender conversation. It’s just as if there’s no point. 

By the time you were out of the shower, Minho was still on the edge of your bed, fully clothed and ready to leave. 

“I’m not making you breakfast,” you say to him, wrapping the towel around your body a little tighter. 

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t expecting you to,” he responds. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Can it wait until the end of the day, because I need to get ready for work.”

He groans, getting fed up, “surely you can get ready and listen at the same time.” 

You rustle through your drawers for a pair of underwear and bra, “to other people maybe.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If you want to use the gym, go now,” you instruct sternly, hoping that he’ll just disappear. 

When he detects that he can’t get through to you right now, he gives up. It’s too early to argue, so places his hand on the door handle, opening it for himself to leave and head down to the first floor, leaving you to prepare for another day’s work in peace.

After a quick breakfast, getting dressed and decent, you grab your bags and depart. On your way out, you spot Minho using the weights while you dart past the foyer, briefly thinking about how the time to cut him off is fast approaching. 

You can’t keep doing this. There’s no way to move on if you’re both still latched onto each other's ankles like how kids are with their parents. That need for one another is still present. 

“Who even am I when I’m not with you?” Minho asked you two weeks into sleeping with him again after breaking up. His comment sums up the reason of ‘why you decide to keep running back to each other’.

It’s not a hard statement to understand. You’ve been with Minho for a long time, you’re both still young and haven’t dated anyone else except between yourselves. It’s like being a dog that was never socialised as a puppy, unable to interact with others because it’s not sure how. 

Suppose it’s the fear and anxiety that comes with separating from your favourite person. 

The world and society have become scarier than it previously was and life is not as secure when you’re not with the person who can shield you from those things. There’s no comfort, only pure vulnerability, and what better way to feel protected than to return to a lover even when there’s nothing but a feeble spark that’s left over from what was once a blazing forest fire. 

Seungmin challenges that particular view of yours at dinner with Felix as well after a long day at work. He wanted to see where you were coming from but also because he’s there to force feed you the icy, sobering truth when you don’t want to hear it. 

“If there’s no romance, what’s the point of going back to each other?” he asks. 

“They were dating for years Seungmin, you don’t just get over someone that quickly,” Felix responds instead like he was the one being offended.

Dissimilar to Seungmin, Lix will let you down gently and is afraid to hurt you with the sharp use of words that can be sometimes. 

“Supposedly,” you mutter to yourself knowing full well how fast it was for Minho to just go ahead and fuck someone else after you had broken up. 

“Do you still love him?” Seungmin questions swiftly. 

“No,” you respond promptly. 

“If there was an opportunity to get back together with him, would you go for it?” 

“No,” you answer again. “I couldn’t.” 

Felix blinks, not expecting that answer, “well…then…”

“Then stop seeing him if you know what’s good for you,” Seungmin continues. “Those icky feelings that you get after sleeping with him - not good. That’s the regret you’re experiencing and it’ll never feel any better.”

There’s no crack or fault in his advice. Had you not dished out the truth about the details of your messy breakup before and after, you would’ve still been glued to the same spot. It’s important to have someone humble you, and there’s no better person to do that than Seungmin. 

“Just keep thinking about it, okay? On another note, Hyunjin’s coming back from France next week so we’re having a dinner and drinks,” Seungmin mentions. 

Your mind briefly departs from the subject of your ex, “is he? Has it really been that long?”

“Yeah,” Felix replies, also surprised. “You’re coming right? We’re going to have a few drinks too, and catch up.”

“What time?” You ask.

“Around six,” Seungmin answers. “Does Minho know?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” you shrug, the thought of him returning to your mind once again. “I don’t know if he’d have any interest in going since they’re not friends anymore.” 

Felix recalls that factor, “that’s right. But, if the rest of us are going to be there, we should invite him too, no? Unless it’s too difficult for y-”

“It won’t be difficult,” you reply, punctuating the rest of Felix’s sentence a little too quickly. “He and I can get along for about…ten minutes before things go sour. Plus, I don’t mind not going if he wants to. I can always catch up with Hyunjin another day.” 

“You’re our friend too, remember? Don’t let your asshole of an ex-boyfriend stop you from seeing us. You broke up with him, not us,” Seungmin sends you a powerful reminder. “I’ll have a chat with him so that you don’t have to.”

He has a full understanding that if you and Minho were to attempt another civil conversation, it’ll go haywire and lead to more regret that you don’t need to be feeling right now. It just goes to prove that he’s beyond correct to even assume that fact.

The minute you both try to convey how or what it is that you’re both feeling, tensions boil over. For some reason that tension is only resolved by being bent over the nearest surface and fucking it out together. 

It’s not healthy. 

You go to remind Minho of what he did to you which he hates hearing, not because he denies it but because he does truly feel guilty. His only saving grace to that argument was that you had both technically broken up, meaning there were no ties to one another afterwards. Still, he missed the point of the fact that he hurt you as a result of those actions. It was too fresh to have done that to you.

Even when he recognised that factor, it was hard for him to accept that he actually caused you some form of irreversible emotional harm

However, Seungmin was right in the fact that you broke up with Minho and not your friend which enabled you to leave that dinner feeling a bit better and with a clearer judgement about going forward with a decision to cut all ties with Minho. It wasn’t something to look forward to. 

But what was, is the dinner in the upcoming week. It’s the prime opportunity to see everyone again for the first time in over a month. 

Despite your collection of text messages and calls from the likes of Chan, Jisung, Changbin and others, it was hard to associate yourselves with them in fear that all they’ll do is unintentionally remind you of Minho. It was the same way he felt when he was clearing out his house - not wanting to be around anyone or anything that would refresh his memory of you. 

Now, all you want to do is move on. 

Work had a helping hand in that process. Having been so busy with things piling up, your mind was free from Minho during the day. You were able to focus on tasks instead of wallowing and thinking about whether or not to give him a second chance

If it weren’t for Seungmin texting you the details of the upcoming dinner, work-life would’ve swallowed you up whole and made you forget. 

From Minnie: 6 pm we’re meeting up, Also, just a heads up, Minho said he’s coming. Take it with a grain of salt though bc he might change his mind. 

To Minnie: Thank you :)

You inhale a breath of fresh air. Going to this dinner was necessary whether it was going to be difficult or not. The presence of Minho wasn’t going to stop you from seeing your friends, and with that, you decide to get ready and head straight to the venue. 

The restaurant has a separate open area for functions and tables people can book out. The dim golden lighting brings a warm and cosy vibe to the venue, coupled with a beautiful earthy aroma from reed diffusers distributed around the place and the smell of promised good food. It’s a relatively fancy setting, but not to a degree where you would be denied entry if you didn’t meet a dress code. 

As you walk further down, you can already see Chan and Jisung chatting up a storm in the corner while they wait for the others. It’s a relief that not many people have made it so far in order to keep as low of a profile as possible and to not draw attention to yourself. However, little by little, they will definitely notice you’re there. 

Jisung is the first to spot you, his jaw becomes unhinged as he drags himself out of the booth, speeds over with his face lit up, and throws his arms around you in a bone crushing hug. He nearly squeezes and shifts all of your organs out of place. 

“Do you know how much I’ve missed you?” he exclaims loudly in your ear. 

Chan laughs in the distance at his best friend's behaviour, “let her breathe Jisung.” 

He releases your body for a rush of oxygen to surge back to your brain, “sorry, I just can’t help the fact that I haven’t seen you in a month!” 

“You Facetimed me Jisung,” reminding him of that one and only time you accepted him reaching out to you to see if you were okay. 

“That’s completely different, anyway sit down,” he offers. “I’ll get you a drink.” 

Without wanting to hear any protest from you, Jisung darts off to the bar nearby, ordering a beverage or two. Chan then waves out, ushering you to come and sit before you walk towards the booth. 

“If I had gone another week without seeing you, I’d probably start to forget what you look like,” Chan jokes, patting his hand down on the space of cushion beside him for you to sit. 

“That wouldn’t be such a bad thing,” you respond. 

The second you’re seated, you can already feel Chan’s mind trying to intrude yours. There’s no point in lying to him when he’s akin to one of those Occlumens from Harry Potter, an all knowing person who can hear every one of your thoughts at will. Regardless of the fact that he’s not, it’s his parental nature which exudes that. 

“Going okay?” He asks you. 

You take a deep breath in and sigh out, “I could be worse.”

“You’re still here though,” he responds wisely. “And so are we.” 

Chan never wanted to ask why you never told them or came to them when you first broke up with Minho. They all had to find out through one another then needed to text or ring you to confirm that it was actually real. However, they all knew that you must’ve had your reasons. Naturally, it would’ve been tough to accept let alone leaning on your close friends for support. 

“Thank you,” you respond. 

“Here we go,” Jisung calls out, carefully returning with two different types of cocktails. “They’re both strong as hell so don’t try to choose.” 

“Not that you’d have it any other way right?” you reply, helping him with the glasses as he sits down beside you. 

He pats your head as he goes to sit down and slings his arm around your shoulder, “you know me too well. Anyway, Changbin and Hyunjin are here. He just texted me before.” 

Chan sulks, “what? No! he was supposed to wait until everyone else was here.” 

“To be fair, they were meant to be here twenty minutes ago so Changbin is actually on time,” Jisung responds. “Anyway, how are you missy?” 

“Better now that I’m with you guys,” you answer, giving him a bit of a friendly nudge before leaning into him.

Jisung grins, genuinely relieved on the inside to hear that you are. Not that you have been able to notice, but they were all worried for you at one point. The lack of information regarding your whereabouts or even the state of your well-being was concerning. It was almost like you had dropped off the face of the earth at one point, right up until you finally made the decision to start accepting people trying to contact you. 

Unfortunately for your friends, they had to learn about what you were up to through Minho, and even today, you’re not sure if what he said to them was the truth. Nonetheless, they all knew at the end of the day, if they were ever unsure or suspicious of what he was feeding to them, they were mature enough to come to you to double check. If they were able to get through to you. 

“Good. Now come back and hang out with me because these guys are boring.” 

Chan goes to lift a finger and point across at Jisung to object his statement before Changbin rounds the corner with Hyunjin trailing at his side. 

The last you saw him was some five years ago, just before he went away to an arts’ school in France to study. Now he returns taller with much more cut and distinct features and a head of light brown hair that’s visibly eclipsed his natural jet-black colour. Despite that, he also seems softer or shy when he gives everyone at the table a half smile. 

“Who’d you say was boring?” Changbin prods into the conversation. 

Jisung points up with his beverage in hand, “you and Hyunjin!”

Hyunjin’s eyebrows knit together with worry, “is he drunk already?” 

A bright smile fashions on Changbin’s face when he notices you, “Y//N! Now it’s two welcome home parties!” 

Hyunjin turns to look down at you in surprise, “have you been away as well?”

His question serves as a reminder that he has been relatively out of the loop since he’s been gone – not that you expected him to be fully aware of everything since he probably had better things to do. Hyunjin was still active in the group chat, but none of you prefer to communicate that way when hanging out is the better option. Whilst he’s missed out on a lot of stuff that’s happened, he hasn’t been so oblivious to other things. 

“Not exactly,” you respond awkwardly. “But welcome back by the way.”

He smiles softly, “thank you.”

The get-together officially kicked off when Jeongin, Seungmin, and Felix arrived just before the second round of drinks was ordered. Everyone was happy to have Hyunjin back. Even for you, it was nice to see him again after so long – it was nice to see everyone in general. The setting was reminiscent of old times when everyone banded together. Whether it was at karaoke, dinner, a bar, someone’s house, or at some event, it’s always a good feeling when you’re around them. 

It leads you to feel slightly upset that you haven’t seen them in so long. You’ve missed hearing their laughs, their jokes, and the safety that you feel too. But for a very painfully obvious reason, none of it seems to be the same without Minho. 

“Didn’t show up did he?” Seungmin, who had been chatting up a storm with someone at the bar, walks over and takes a seat opposite you at the cornered booth. Just about all of them were alternating from the table to the bar, and a space they’d found to stand up to talk, or in Jisung’s case, dance by himself. 

“Mm,” you mumble. “Which I’m sure is a good thing.” 

He shrugs carelessly but with a small grin, “for your benefit. Not that I’m an expert in relationship problems but I can speak from personal experience.” 

“That’s true,” you respond, remembering that he has in fact had his heart broken a few times by the same person. 

Luckily for him, he’s ceased the chase and gave an account the other day at dinner of how freeing it was to be his own individual. It’s something you can only hope to achieve at this point – to be liberated from that sticky dependency you have on Minho. 

It’s not love that you feel for him anymore, you’re sure of it. But it’s similar to a violent craving. His skin, voice – oh his voice. Everything about his body has you itching under the surface to have him by your side even though things end in a fiery argument, which is usually how it goes. 

It wasn’t love anymore. It was dependency. A type of separation anxiety that fills you up with this icy cold feeling that won’t go away until you specifically have Minho near you. Still, deep down, you knew you didn’t love him anymore. 

“Is Jisung okay?” Hyunjin ticks his head towards his friends’ direction. 

Judging by the fact that Chan was holding a barely conscious Jisung up was a clear indicator that he definitely wasn’t okay. Never has he been able to handle his alcohol well and it was evident by the lack of control over his own body. 

Seungmin looks over concernedly then looks down at his phone to check the time, “shit, I have to take him home too.” 

He abandons you briefly to help out Chan. Both of them collectively agree that Jisung needs to go home or at the very least be removed from the bar to sober up. They take him to an empty table nearby and ask the bartender for some water. Meanwhile, Hyunjin turns a blind eye to the chaos and talks to you instead.

“How have you been Y/N?” He asks. 

“Yeah, good. You? How was France?”

By the look on his face, it was as if your question brought back a whole heap of good memories to the forefront of his mind, “I couldn’t have asked for a better experience.” 

“That’s good to hear,” you reply. “So have you graduated already?” 

“Three months from now I will be,” he answers. “Why? You wanna come watch me walk across the stage over there?” 

You consider his offer, “what if I said ‘yes’ to that?” 

“Then I’d be over the moon,” Hyunjin emphasises then offers a brilliant suggestion that springs into his mind. “In turn, maybe I can show you around France and all the places I went to.”

“Is that a deal then?” 

“Sounds like a solid deal to me,” he responds and whether he was joking or not, either way, it seemed a pleasant idea. 

During the last hour of the dinner, you spent having an in-depth conversation with Hyunjin. From what he got up to in France, what he wants to do in the future, then covered what you’ve been doing as well

The topic of your ex-boyfriend was difficult to navigate, but you managed it well by diverting to another subject. The last thing you wanted to talk about was Minho for fear that the more you think about him, the more you’d want him. 

Then again, you’re reminded once more of the fact that Hyunjin and Minho aren’t friends. He may not have any interest in him whatsoever. But it’s not like they left each other on horrendous terms. Not like how you and Minho did. Plus, it’s hard to see this fresh shade of Hyunjin in front of you, hating anyone he doesn’t like or doesn’t know. 

The Hyunjin from five years ago would’ve held a grudge, but now you can see by his shift in personality, that he’s let it go. 

When it came down to having to leave, everyone seemed to have their own plans. Seungmin would have the misfortune of taking care of Jisung. Felix, Jeongin, Hyunjin, and Changbin decided to go bar hopping while they were still stable on their feet and even encouraged you to come with them. It took a lot of convincing to tell them ‘no’ after you were set on heading home to the comfort of your own space.  

Seungmin assured Chan that he was fine to handle Jisung, then thought it would be a polite gesture to accompany your side when you decided to walk home, regardless if it was only a minute's commute from the restaurant. 

“How are you holding up?” Chan addresses the elephant in the room. 

His question could be seen a mile away. It made you wonder if that was the reason he chose to walk you home since his place is in the opposite direction. Although he wasn’t confronting you, that’s exactly what it felt like. 

“Somewhat okay, I suppose,” you answer. 

“No, how are you really? We see Minho all the time. In fact, he won’t leave us alone. But we haven’t seen you,” he responds. “You can still hang out with us you know?” 

“I know that,” you almost whine, especially after offering your ear to Jisung just for him to repeat the same words for over two hours. “I’ve been busy.” 

“I guess being busy is a positive.”

“It’s when there’s nothing to do or I don’t feel good and I don’t have anyone around,” you respond and both come to a halt when you reach the entrance to your apartment building. “That’s the hardest.”

“That’s when you call us,” Chan says strictly. “I know you know this too, but all of us would drop whatever it is that we’re doing to come and help you. Not just Minho, even though I had some reservations about seeing him after what he did.” 

The last parts of his words surprised you. Chan actually thought about cutting Minho off too when he found out what happened…

“So he did tell you everything.”

“Everything,” he confirms. “Including everything that you’ve both been up to now. Like how you still see each other now and then – and not for the reasons I had hoped. So why do you keep seeing him when you want to move on?”

Your eyes narrow at him, “how do you even know that I want to move on?” 

“The fact that you still sleep with him but won’t pursue any sort of communication to get back with him romantically, says a lot Y/N. And I know that because he’s told me,” Chan answers bitterly, but not in a nasty way. “Your body might miss him, but I know your mind doesn’t.”

He’s bitten through the truth which you can’t seem to, his elderly brother-type personality forces you to see reason. You’d be offended if Minho tried to initiate a conversation about wanting to get back together, knowing that he’s not in any position to be making requests after what he did. 

“Why are you telling me all of this?” You ask tiredly. 

“I want what’s best for you,” he says. “Yes, Minho too in some way, but I told him he needed to figure out what he did on his own because I can’t help him with that. That’s his punishment.” 

You supress a laugh, “thank you.” 

Your short talk with Chan made you realise how empty your cup had been since you last saw him – since you last saw all of your friends under one roof. It was rewarding and it felt like home to be near them. However, his words weren’t there for you to just defer from. You had to listen to him. He was right in saying that your body misses Minho but your mind doesn’t because the next time he came around, you swore to yourself that it was going to be the last time you saw him.  

But it needed a conversation, one that you weren’t even sure if you were ready to have, too scared to rip that band aid off. 

As you don your bra back on and shimmy on your underwear that Minho almost tore off, you think of all the possible ways to approach this situation, bearing in mind that it does have the potential to blow up. 

“W-We need to talk,” you stammer, wondering if that’s a good way to start. It’s a start, that’s all that matters. 

Minho stares at you from the other side of your bed, halfway through putting on his t-shirt, “okay, what about?” 

Without any warning, you blurted out what needed to - what must be said, “we should stop seeing each other.”  

Heavy silence drapes over the room, except for the cogs working overtime in Minho’s brain, trying to decode your words could almost be heard. You can most definitely see it on his deadpan face. It illuminates the seriousness of the situation compared to what it was five minutes ago.

“Can you give me some more detail about that?” He requests. 

“I just don’t think it’s healthy that we continue to sleep with each other when we’re not going to get back together,” you inform him. 

“You don’t want to get back together?” Minho poses the long awaited question that hurts to even conjure an answer. 

“Be honest, we’d be together right now if you knew that I was serious about it,” you say truthfully. “I’ll never not love you, but I can’t love you in the way that I used to.” 

The sheer surprise of the conversation made Minho realise that he’s been consuming too much of a good thing. That he actually wasn’t prepared to talk to you about this. It’s been creeping around the back of his mind since you both started seeing each other casually but ignored it so as to spend as much time with you as he could even though you weren’t with him anymore. 

“Right.”

“Look, just…don’t go cold on me, because I do want to talk to you about these things,” you plead with him. 

“Such as?”

“Such as our friends,” you start off. “All of us hang out a lot, but I didn’t want our…breakup to stop either one of us from seeing them. They’re your friends and mine too. I’d hate for us to be driven away from them because we can’t coexist anymore.” 

“Fair enough.” 

You can sense that he’s already starting to shut down. An obvious coping mechanism that’s triggered by something he wasn’t prepared to hear. But while the final shreds of his rationality are still with you in the room, you make haste, and dish out the important points he needs to know.

“We might not ever be friends again even though that’s not what I’m hoping for-“

Minho stands up from the edge of your bed, cutting the rest of your sentence off in the process, “if you’re serious about everything that you just said, then I don’t want to see you text or call me first asking me to come over. This isn’t a one-sided deal that only applies to me, you have to stick to it as well.” 

“This isn’t even a deal Minho. I am telling you not to.” 

“What? Telling me ‘not to’ because you can’t control yourself around me? Fine. I don’t know if you realise this, but the majority of the texts between the both of us, are mainly sent from you - you asking for me, telling me how lonely you are, or how much you miss my body. So don’t start handing out instructions when you’re not going to adhere to them as well.”

There’s a viper-like sting to his words that keeps piercing your resolve. A truthful sting that seeps poison into your blood, making you feel sick and cold. He’s torn you off your high horse for a moment, bringing you back down to earth to realise that it’s not just him who needs to see reason as well.

He had a very strong argument.

Minho sighs and tails more information to his tangent, “look I will do whatever it is that you want me to do. But, if this is what you want, then you can’t deny that it will only work one way.” 

There’s an efflorescence of achiness in your chest. A familiar one that you felt in the early days after breaking up with Minho. It was the same one you would feel whenever you’d have to lock the door to the spare bedroom in his house whenever he bought someone else over. 

Heartbreak. 

It lingers when he finally leaves with the promise of never reaching out to you again, at least for sex because there was no way of avoiding him in the future. That fact was impossible to refute. But this is what breakups consist of. Not one hairline shy off of being messy. It could, though, be much worse. That’s as much you had to be grateful for when you have to start from square one all over again.

Changing things up was necessary. You had already moved out from Minho’s, which there was no choice behind, but that meant new scenery. Different places to peruse in your own time that you hadn’t yet ever since you had moved out

It opened up new opportunities to visit some local things, especially on your way back home from work as you decide to call into a small cafe.  

Soft bossa nova plays calmly in the background as you stand and deliberate on something sweet to take home with you for after dinner. If it weren’t for the many niche options to select from, you would’ve almost missed the voice talking from beside you. 

“I heard the matcha bread is nice here.”

Your surprise gets the better of you, almost forgetting how to speak for a split second when you see a familiar tall figure you met once more from the other week. 

“Hyunjin?”

“Hey,” he smiles. “Wanna sit down together?”

You end up ordering yourself a warm drink and a sweet pastry to go while Hyunjin found a small table right in the crook of the cafe. His sudden appearance was rather pleasant, allowing you to divert from your own thoughts for a bit. Plus, it’s always nice to sit and chat with a friend. 

“I thought you might’ve been here to meet up with one of the others,” you say to him. 

Hyunjin nods, putting his coffee down, “I just spent the last couple of hours helping Changbin buy clothes just down the road at one of the shopping centres, so that’s where I came from.”

You smile, “well he trusts you more than the others in that department.”

“As he should,” Hyunjin grins softly. “How are you?” 

“I’m well, I just finished work and was heading home,” you respond.

“I’m not keeping you from going am I?” He asks politely.

“No, not at all,” You quickly exclaim. “The longer I stay, the more of an excuse I have not to do the mountain of things I need to for work.” 

Hyunjin chuckles, “well, as long as it doesn’t get you into trouble with your colleagues.”

“I should be fine,” you hope. 

“You know, when I think about it, you and I never really spoke that much back then,” he points out. “I only just realised that from last week when I saw you again.” 

His comment makes you think back too

Hyunjin was definitely part of your friend group, but not one who you would hang out with individually or with another person. He was just there, almost like he was known to you by association. Aside from the fact that he’s well-mannered and kind, the only aspect of his personality that seemed to have changed is how boisterous he used to be.

Although, that’s to be expected when people mature and cross the bridge from adolescence to adulthood. 

“True enough,” you reply and start snickering when you remember something funny. “But I have good memories of you though. Like when you threw that bottle at Jisung.”

Hyunjin’s eyes nearly pop out of his head, “I remember that. I could’ve killed him with that too.”

“Or when Chan had to pull you up from the train tracks because you fell off the platform and got stuck,” you add on.

“Most of those memories seem to have some type of mortal peril attached to it,” Hyunjin discovers. 

“You were young,” you remind him tenderly. “They make for the best memories anyway.” 

He agrees, staring into a space on the table as he reminisces, “true. So much has changed since I got back. I feel like I’ve missed out on growing up with you all even though we were just teenagers back then and adults now.” 

“Maybe, but we’re still young though and some have more growing up to do than others,” you hint very cryptically at one person who automatically springs to mind. “So don’t feel sad that you’ve missed out when there’s still a lot for us out there.” 

Hyunjin sits a bit more comfortably knowing that. As you both continue to talk, he realises how much you’ve changed yet somehow remained the same. You grew into your features, enhancing what was already there to a finer degree. Your looks were Hyunjin’s first impression of you when you first met as devious young teenagers. 

That was before he discovered that you are as kind and cool as you come across. But you were just distant friends back then. Now, Hyunjin detected a space for that to potentially change. He wanted to get to know the friend he hung out with here and there.

Even though time threatened to cut the starting opportunity short, it was still a start nonetheless, and Hyunjin was confident that there would be other times to arrive as well. So as the baristas begin cleaning up behind the counter and around the cafe, both you and Hyunjin took it as a sign that it was probably time to head off. You both take your belongings, thank the staff on your way out and head into the night. 

“Y/N,” Hyunjin says to you. “We should get coffee again sometime.” 

You nod, “I’d love that. I still have your number.” 

“So do I,” he replies. “What way are you heading?” 

“I’m just literally around the corner, not even a minute away,” you answer. 

“Okay, I’ll look forward to your text then,” he says. 

I strictly forbid and do not permit ANYONE or any user on any platform to copy, re-upload, translate, remake, or pass off any of my work here on Tumblr or to any other online platform whatsoever. Doing so will result in having your account suspended, deleted, taken down, and or permanently banned.

[scoobydoodean]

Something fun for you to ponder. When Sam was soulless, Bobby thought there was a chance that, "This is just Sam." I think it's because Sam tends to perform empathy somewhat selectively, at times more cognitively than emotionally. Do I personally think it's a neurodivergent trait? Yes, I do. BUT. It's hilarious to me that Bobby looked at soulless Sam and thought, "Hmm. There's a good chance that's just Sam." No?

Ho ho! Very interesting.

From 6.06 "You Can't Handle the Truth":

DEAN I don't know how much longer I can do this, Bobby. You got to figure out what the hell he is and fast. BOBBY I'm trying. But, Dean, there's a worst-case scenario. DEAN What, Satan's my co-pilot? Yeah, I know. BOBBY Well, that'd be the other worst case. DEAN Well, then what? BOBBY Maybe it's just Sam

Notably: This happens before anyone knows Sam is soulless and before Sam has admitted that he doesn't feel anything, but after Sam has let Dean get attacked and turned by a vampire.

I don't think that Bobby disagrees with Dean that Sam is acting different from before (I think that's why he calls it a worst case scenario). Sam has been putting everybody on edge, not just Dean (Samuel says that Sam scares him in 6.07). I think what Bobby is considering is that Sam simply isn't the same person after The Cage—that Sam compartmentalized his emotions to deal with the trauma—turned himself into a stone cold killing machine as a coping tool—and now Sam doesn't know how to warm back up to feeling anymore or caring about anyone or anything (or maybe can't because it's still too raw). Bobby's considering the idea that Sam may have simply cracked open and spilled his emotions out on the floor somewhere and left them behind... which ironically, is pretty much what happened?

Bobby is aware of similar (though less extreme) behavior from Sam in the past in coping with trauma. In fact, he arguably knows this side of Sam better than Dean does. Sam ghosted Bobby while Dean was in hell (and for months in 3.11 "Mystery Spot", though Bobby doesn't remember that). It wasn't that Sam stopped feeling (he was full of anguish and rage), but he did push Bobby away and focus obsessively on revenge, hunting like a machine. Sam pushed away the potential to talk through Dean's death with someone else who loved Dean and understood a lot of the grief Sam was feeling because it opened him up to a dangerous amount of vulnerability.

This is very John-coded behavior from Sam and it doesn't represent a lack of emotion as much as it represents "I feel so much that I cannot stand the idea of touching that emotion or I will break". It's a refusal to engage with and feel certain emotions, because if he did, he wouldn't be able to get up. Anger is fuel that burns hot and keeps you moving, but grief and fear can rip the life from you.

Consider even John's way of dealing with the worry he perpetually felt about Sam. Yelling and telling Sam never to come back when Sam wanted to go to school, making the fight all about betrayal and responsibility when deep down the entire time, John was just scared that Sam would get hurt (1.08, 1.20). Griping at Sam as a kid for wanting to play soccer (1.08), but without Sam's knowledge, quietly placing Sam's soccer trophy in a storage unit because John couldn't bear to throw it away even though there was no room for it on the road (3.03). John buried certain representations of affection and love because they were fraught with so much terror. Being open about how much he cared exposed him to feeling so much fear he couldn't cope with it, and John feels emotions incredibly deeply like Dean does. When the crying starts he cannot stop. It isn't macho bullshit—it isn't "I'm a man so this is unacceptable"—it's "If I feel this emotion right now at this exact moment then I will shatter into a million pieces".

Sam does the same thing when Dean is dead. Bobby represents vulnerability, family, and love—talking about how much Dean meant to both of them. The rage is easier. Being a hunting machine in 3.11 is easier. Focusing on murdering demon and training to kill Lilith is easier.

When the people Dean loves are in pain, Dean talks to them—he tells them how much he cares about them. He lets himself be vulnerable with it. Sam wants something to do and he needs to take charge. We see this is in 5.07 after Bobby reveals that he's having suicidal thoughts. Dean is distraught, and Sam is too (we see how much Bobby's opinion of him matters to Sam in 5.01)—but Sam just tells Bobby he isn't going to let him sacrifice himself, then jumps into action and focuses on the mission, while Dean lingers at Bobby's side. Then at the end of the episode, Dean sits down with Bobby alone and tells him how much he loves him and needs him. I don't think Sam could have that conversation at that point in his life. I genuinely don't think he could—and not because he doesn't love Bobby, but because he can't touch the distress that would surface from a discussion like that. One could argue Sam really does the same thing in 3.10, stepping outside of Bobby's house and seeking out Jeremy inside Bobby's dream while Dean goes up the stairs and finds Bobby and again—opens himself up to vulnerable emotions and expresses how much Bobby means to him—that he sees him as a father and he can't lose him. Sam focuses on finding the guy doing all of this and skirts the emotional vulnerability.

I think this is something Bobby, then, is very familiar with from Sam, so when he takes it to an extreme, where Sam is now dealing with a traumatic experience from being in The Cage, he can easily see how Sam would suppress his emotions and focus on hunting like a machine yet again, and how that could possibly reach such an extreme that Sam would stop feeling altogether and maybe not know how to or not be able to come back from that. And you know... I've never thought of this before in this exact way, but how did Sam's soul and body get separated in The Cage? Is there anything that disproves the idea that Sam himself ripped his soul from his body to cope with Lucifer's torture?

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

yay!! the gift has been gifted, so here's the little ficlet i wrote for @thefreakandthehair's wedding gift zine!!! congratulations Lex!!!!!

pairing: steddie | word count: 1,313 | rated: G | on AO3: it started with the oven

It started with the oven.

Well, with him complaining about the oven, to be specific. The house those government folks put them up in after everything happened last year was new to them o’course, but nowhere near brand-spankin’. Still had some issues to work out.

“Sorry boys, roast might be a bit crispy on one side. Damn oven is acting up again.” 

Wayne didn’t notice it that first time, but Steve immediately perked up, the look completely throwing off his attempted casualness about what he said next.

“I can help you fix it if you like.”

Without even looking at his nephew, Wayne knows they’re both giving Steve twin looks of confusion.

“You know how to fix an oven? How in the hell do you know how to fix an oven?” Eddie asks, half incredulous, half actually curious.

“I uh…had to figure it out once when ours went out…”

Wayne could hear the rest of that statement clear as day, though Steve stayed quiet after that. “It was either that, or go hungry.” Those goddamn Harringtons…

“Sure thing son, let's let it cool down and we can take a look at it.”

By time dinner is over, Eddie’s disappeared, back to his room to do god knows what while he and Steve pull the oven away from the wall.

The longer they work, the quieter Steve becomes. Knowing what he knows now, it was the nerves about what he wanted to ask, but to the Wayne in the moment, it was just nice to get some help around the house without also hearing loud complaining.

Steve tells Wayne what he’d done before to fix his, and Wayne gives him a couple other tips with other potential problems, and soon, the oven is once again able to heat evenly.

“Looks good, kid,” Wayne says, clapping a hand on Steve’s shoulder once they’ve got the thing pushed back where it goes.

He turns to put away his tool box, leaving the young man to do whatever it is he normally does with his nephew (gross), when Steve’s voice stops him.

“Wayne?”

“Hm?” 

Steve falls quiet again, so Wayne turns, taking in Steve’s uncharacteristically anxious demeanor and now pale complexion.

“I–” Steve looks him in the eye, but only briefly. His gaze drops to the dirt on his hands, which he brushes off. “Nothing, just–thanks.” he finishes with a small smile, heading down the hall immediately after.

Wayne shrugs, going back to his toolbox. Odd. But whatever; glad to be of help with…whatever it was he helped with.

—

The next time, it was the front porch.

Luckily not ‘cause of anyone fallin’ through or anything, just about high time he got those front few planks replaced before someone does.

He says as much to his boys at dinner a few weeks after he and Steve fixed the oven, and Eddie volunteers himself for moral support.

“You just wanna see me shirtless and sweaty.” Steve accuses.

“Correct. Moral Support.” Ed sweeps his hand out and leans back in his chair.

“Do I hafta be shirtless too?”

Both boys loudly protest in answer, fake gags and all.

He and Steve get to work tearing out the old rotted boards a couple days later, and as expected, Eddie makes himself scarce within an hour. Something about “You guys workin’ this hard is making me thirsty. I’m gonna go grab milkshakes.”

“Moral Support my ass...” Wayne mumbles, shaking his head fondly.

Again, not long after Eddie’s gone, Steve’s easy conversation peters off; and again, Wayne just assumes he’s not quite used to being around him alone, or that he just prefers comfortable silence over chatter (something Wayne himself can appreciate).

He does come back in, however, after a long lull. “Wayne, I wanted to ask…”

Wayne doesn’t find out what Steve wanted though, as Eddie’s van rattles up the road at that moment, the promise of a cool treat too good to pass up for chattin’ with his boyfriend’s Uncle.

Though, as he watches Steve help Eddie out of the van, grabbing the milkshakes (and a quick kiss) from his boy, Wayne thinks he already knows what it is Steve was gonna ask.

And what his answer would be.

—

The third and final time was definitely the time.

This time, there was no pretense. Wayne and Steve weren’t already working on something together, no current excuse to talk without Eddie nearby. It was a Thursday evening and Wayne was alone at home about to head in for a shift.

Opening the door to a knock was weird though. Steve basically lived here, so opening the door to his wide-eyed, pale face was a shock.

“Steve? What’re knocking for, boy?”

“Sorry, sorry, I’m just–I’m–”

“You ‘right, son? C’mon inside now..” Wayne coaxes the kid inside, and Steve takes his shoes off automatically, lining them up along the messy pile of Eddie’s shoes just inside the door.

“Eddie’s at the Emersons’ y’know.” Wayne says, plopping back into his previously abandoned armchair.

“Y-yeah, I know, I just dropped him and Henderson off there for their game.”

They both fall quiet then. 

Steve rubs the back of his neck nervously, and Wayne waits patiently.

…Okay, maybe not that patiently.

“Now look, Steve, not that I don’t appreciate spendin’ time wit’cha, ‘cause I do, but it seems t’me you came here for a reason.”

Steve’s gaze snaps up, mouth agape. “How’d you–nevermind.” he clears his throat and continues.

“Mr. Munson–”

“Nope, none’a that, not even for this. M’name’s Wayne, son.” He enjoys throwing Steve off sometimes, alright? Sue him.

All the breath in Steve’s lungs seems to escape at once and he smiles slightly, visibly relaxing just a tad. 

Good.

“Wayne, Eddie and I have been dating for over a year now…obviously…you know that..”

“Is that what you two’ve been doin’? I thought you two were just the best of buds.”

This time, Steve actually laughs. “Shut up, I’m nervous, okay?”

“I know y’are, kiddo.”

He takes another settling breath, much calmer now, and continues. “I love him, Wayne. More than anything in my life.

“I know it’s not for real, I know, but I want him, and you, to know that I mean this to be forever. That if I could, I would marry him tomorrow.” Steve chuckles to himself at that, “Probably would’ve months ago, to be honest.

“All this to say—to ask! Ask…” he shuffles nervously again.

‘You got this, Steve, you’re almost there.’ Wayne thinks encouragingly at him.

As if he could hear him, Steve steels himself, looks Wayne in the eye, and (finally) says:

“Wayne, I would like your blessing to propose to Eddie.” He takes another short breath and presses on. “And I don’t want to hear anything about “Why’re you askin’ me, he’s not my kid.” or some crap, either. You’re the most important person in his life, and always will be. It may not be important to you, but it is to me… That you approve, I mean.”

Okay, he knew it was coming. But the added impassioned (and unnecessary) speech that came with it was a surprise. As if Steve was willing to fight Wayne for thinking Wayne wasn’t important to Eddie. 

He stands, hefting himself out of the sunken springs of his chair, and immediately pulls Steve in for a hug.

“Good speech, son.” he says, squeezing the kid tightly for a moment before adding on, “Though I don’t think there was a single question mark in that whole rant o’yours.”

Steve laughs into his shoulder, beaming his wide bright smile when they separate.

“Do I have your blessing or not, old man?” he snarks, pulling a bellowing laugh out of Wayne.

“That’s more like it!” He claps a hand onto Steve’s shoulder. “And of course y’have it, Steve…

“I’d be proud to call you a Munson.”

you can read this one and the whole rest of the collection here!

[flawedtulip]

Here’s my wholly unasked for take on Isabelle and Daryl:

Whilst we know that in the beginning Isa’s intentions with Daryl were not as clear cut as they so seemed; she lied, twisted her words — can anyone truly say they wouldn’t make up a few white lies to save themselves and their family during an apocalypse to get the help and protection from someone who sure as hell knows what they’re doing? I mean come on, we’ve seen it happen with just about every character on the show.

As for the popular opinion whereas Daryl knows he is being lied to yet he’s accepting such behaviour because he feels needed? Absolutely not, that is the most absurd opinion I have ever heard. Daryl for sure knows, but he also knows that he too is getting something out of it; a way back home. What they had was a give and take system going on — Isabelle needs, Daryl does, Daryl gets closer to finding his way home. It’s a win win situation for both parties involved.

Now what I see is that along this month long journey, they have bonded in one way or another. They are two lost souls who have found one another in a darkened world which actually isn’t that much darker than their own worlds before the break out. I see two halves of a whole where romantic feelings have begun to gradually blossom. I see two people who just want to go home and two people who now care about one another much more than they let on. I believe that Isabelle’s upset reaction towards the end of the series was just that - sadness. It wasn’t disappointment because she was losing the person who looked after herself and Laurent, it wasn’t selfishness because he would no longer be around to help her, it wasn’t a form of manipulation to get him to stay with crocodile tears. No. It was a sadness she hadn’t expected. A sadness that comes with potentially losing someone you have grown a strong connection with and someone who started to feel something akin to home.

That being said, I think these two have a beautiful canvas to begin their love story with. Which I suppose is an unpopular opinion as most people prefer his chemistry with Connie, Carol (She’s basically his mother figure), and Beth (Dead AND was a TEENAGER??) which I respect (not Beth’s) but there’s no need to throw Isabelle under the bus solely because she’s a potential love interest. And let’s be honest, they’d be perfect for one another - he was so nearly ready to settle at the end but me made promises and he doesn’t break his promises.

[hopeforkitten]

I was inspired by the lines of playing a warlock from the game, and I really wanted to describe the psionic mind fucking from your patron. Yes, it took an unexpectedly large plot for this

Everything was going so well and fast, wasn't it? All such vile problems with illithids and maggots promised to end with a crown of divine power on your master's head. Raphael's stories and dreams have just been passed on to you, and you set off through the back streets of Baldur’s Gate to continue your journey. However, this sunny warm day was suddenly replaced by darkness and cold....

A dull blow to your head and rough palms that pull you by the arms into the alley.

Next, the cloth cloth of the bag is on you, your twisted body and the smell of dust. Gradually, he was completely blown out by the icy wind as the noises of the two loud kidnappers grew louder. They argued and grunted until your head was completely lost in space due to the chaotic shaking.

Soon the cold disappeared, the smaller bag remained on your head, and your hands were handcuffed. You were led for a long time, supported by scaly hands, through the corridors in relative silence.

The bag was abruptly ripped off your head and you were blinded by a golden light. Your eyes adjusted in a few seconds and you stared at the huge figure in front of you. The devil was sitting on the throne and you realized that it was Mephistopheles. There were removed portraits in Raphael's archive, and when they were examined, the most unsuitable for his style was found. They were similar in face, but the style of clothing, facial hair and the shape of the horns were definitely not in Raphael's preference. The portrait was engraved on the frame "Archdevil of Cania Mephistopheles, beloved father" you then winced when reading and Raphael's brief answer was enough to understand their relationship to each other.

But now he is in front of you and you swallow realizing the depth of your position in hell.

Its horns stretch upwards and then to the sides, separating like a red deer. He has a beard on his red face, and his wings hang loosely behind his back. A black robe exposes the chest and hides everything else, you wonder if there are hooves under this dark cloth.

The golden eyes sparkle at you with interest, and the face smiles like a winner.

"So you're Raphael's special interest, aren't you. Tell me how my son is doing."

He throws a brief hand gesture, leaving you at a loss. What should I tell him? Is Raphael okay?

"Em... He makes deals and conducts typical devilish business"

Your mouth dries up from such a weak potential of eloquence. You are nervous and look down at your hands, they are in iron shackles and covered with frost, your hands are pale and how strange that you do not feel cold. The desire to move them loses out to weakness, which, along with the cold, spreads from the iron on your hands.

"No, little lamb, I want to hear the answers. They say he is more active than ever, what inspires him to do this?"

Again, my head is empty, what kind of question is this anyway?

"Em... his ambitions? He's your son, what else can you expect from him. And by the way, I think he won't really like it if I say too much..."

You blurted out your thoughts as if they could change your position. Nevertheless, keeping at least something in mind seemed like hard work. The power emanating from the archdevil made you lower your head and press your neck into your shoulders.

"That's how things are... Then let's make it easier"

Mephistopheles shifted his support to one hand and looked somewhat disappointed. He lifted his wrist up and with a lazy movement of his fingers, pain pierced you. It was as if these fingers pierced your temple, and an invisible force prevented you from pulling away or indicating your pain. The last thing you see clearly is the face of the archdevil in front of you before your gaze is covered with white smoke.

Further events continued to happen without your will. You hear Mephistopheles' questions, you hear your mouth answering him, but the pain in your head makes you want only to lean back and squeeze something in your teeth.

Your head turned out to be a place of battle because you clearly felt two presences. One is seeking from Mephistopheles, and the other is protecting from your patron. The first one inexorably cut through the passages in your brain as Raphael's defense retreated further and further. It was unbearable that you couldn't even show your trembling. There was a taste of blood in your mouth, and warm trickles flowed from your nose when you felt that Raphael's presence had disappeared. Before you is the laughter of the devil, and then the sounds when you talk about the Crown of Karsus, that one of the thieves was an old guest of Raphael, about the plans of the dead trinity and about such lucky adventurers that they almost handed the crown into the hands of his son and, of course, about his plans to conquer hell.

Your story ended, and you felt that any intrusion into your head had stopped.

The haze in your eyes remained only along the contour when you were forced to look up exactly into the face of Mephistopheles.

"Tell me, little lamb, does my son love you?"

He leaned forward a little while sitting on the throne, waiting for your independent answer.

"I... I don't know

You spoke uncertainly. It was unpleasant to move your lips while droplets of blood from your nose flowed into your mouth, and you couldn't stop them with your shackled hands. You cringed, expecting another intervention in your head, but it did not come. Only the Archdevil's evil and low laughter followed.

- Of course he loves, otherwise he wouldn't have been so compliant in protecting your little head and you'd be dead. He had the opportunity to defend his plans, but he didn't do it.

He leaned back in his chair and he didn't even need to voice an order for you to be taken away, he just waved his hand towards the doors.

This time you were led through the corridors without a bag on your head, but after all you were not up to examining the interior. Soon the golden environment turned to gray and you were thrown into a prison cell. Three cold walls of iron bars and one cold wall of stone, next to other similar rooms. At first glance, they are empty, but in the next one you notice a lump of clothes, it seems bones are visible at the edges. This image of a former prisoner flashed through your mind as you leaned against the wall and slid down it powerlessly. The cold enveloped you like a blanket when you felt the air burning your lungs more and more.

It is not known how much time has passed, but someone was shaking you, there was only a warm dark spot in front of your eyes, and a hum in your ears instead of a voice. It is interrupted by a sharp pop and a flash when, instead of the cold of kania, the heat of averno pinches you.

Your vision thaws and you understand the picture. Raphael is hugging you to him in the middle of the portal room. He is on one knee when your back is on the other, and his hands are hugging your face, threatening to leave a characteristic burn on it. There are new emotions in his face-worry and regret.

"My treasure, I'm so sorry."

He's talking to you.

Someone quickly distracts his attention. His face returns to its usual expression when he barks an order in response.

Your jaw thawed only after you were loaded into a warm regenerating pool, right in your clothes so that it would not burn your cooled skin. Only your head was lying on a cushion by the pool, and Raphael was sitting next to you, holding his hand in your hair.

"I... Raphael.... he asked, and I had no choice...."

You wanted to apologize and tried to find the words, but they didn't come to you.

"Shhh... Sweet, it doesn't matter. It's not your fault."

He told you to be silent and his words thawed your soul.

It's important that you're here. It begged to jump off Raphael's tongue, but he restrained himself. He's already fallen too low today. It is unlikely that Mephistopheles really cared about his son's plans, he only wanted to harm him. And there was no better way to do it than through you, a concentration of his potential power held together by affection.

[moodymisty]

Headcanins for Samael's lover being attacked one night? Thankfully Sam is close by when it happens and can react fast, but still.

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙| 𝕬𝖔3]

Author's Note: Gods help the person who decides to attack the lover of who is effectively a prince of hell... I hope these HCs (and a little tiny drabble at the end) are acceptable, anon :3

Relationships: Samael/Gn!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping, Canon typical violence, Minor injury, Is fluff including a demon still called fluff? lol

Samael had been aware for quite awhile that you could be used as a potential point of weakness for him, had any demon with the gusto and power wished to irritate, or even attempt to overtake him.

The main denominator that kept them at bay however, was simply that there wasn't many demons out there that could even consider trying to do such a thing, unless they had a death wish. They might accomplish more by simply throwing themselves at him with a rusty sword.

Though perhaps that borderline cockiness is what makes Samael all the more surprised when one does. He wouldn’t say he underestimated his fellow demons of hell, but more so not expecting such a blatantly suicidal act.

He doesn't tolerate when people steal from him.

Normally, this would've served little more than to annoy him; Had they not decided to use you as bait.

When Samael caught sight of you with your wrinkled, torn clothes- bruises and cuts marring your skin, he heard blood pump in his ears.

If only past him could look at him now; So up in arms over a tiny little human. He's willing to kill and maim, for a member of a species he once scoffed at.

For the moment he doesn't necessarily care if you see him like this, all roars and sharp claws.

You, rightfully so, are skiddish for a good while afterwards. Samael uses it as an excuse to unleash a part of him that has always been exceedingly overprotective, but he’s held back. You rarely leave his wingspan. He's always been been irritated whenever you return to your realm and out of his sight, and this only serves to compound those complaints.

This is also the time you learn that demons, or at the very least Samael, do this weird sort of- you'd call it nesting, but it isn't exactly that. But it's oddly similar.

All your things are in one room that you rarely leave, and Samael is content to keep you all bundled up. Figuratively, though with the amount of silks it could be somewhat taken literal as well.

Long after any sort of minor injuries as healed Samael still hovers, and you actually have to try and push back a bit in order to get some breathing room.

You try to do so gently, as much as you enjoy him being so, overtly affectionate in his own odd way, you'd like if you didn't have a massive demon attached to you 24/7.

And you mean attached. He likes to play with your hair, his massive clawed fingers toying with it while you are almost totally obscured by his wingspan.

He seems almost, disappointed however when you want to move away a tad. You feel a little bad and let him hold onto you tightly for just a bit longer.

It maybe be a bit out of character for him, but you can't say it's bad, that's for sure.

"Samael," You groan, attempting to reach for the edge of the bed. Your fingers just can't reach, unable to get purchase and slipping away when you're pulled deeper into the demon's warm grip.

"Let me go, I need to get up."

You don't know what the sound is actually called, but it's this odd mix between a rumble and a purr, that Samael lets out when his chin brushes against your head.

"Last I checked, you have no where you need to leave to." His wings stretch outward for a moment, rolling his shoulders before they return to folding close to his body. As much as you might've enjoyed it at first, your skin is boiling; Samael radiates so much heat it's almost stifling. It doesn't help that his general disposition right now is stifling as well.

You feel his one finger brush over a healing cut against your cheek. He's quite gentle considering everything, even when your cheek shifts as you purse your lips.

"Samael, I am fine. That was days ago. Can I please at least get some fresh air?"

You can hear a grumble in his throat, far less pleased than whatever sound he'd made earlier. But you're looking up at him pleading, trying to wiggle away to get just a smidge of breathing room. He begrudgingly lets you sit upright, loosening his grip. You repay him by cupping his massive face in your hands and giving him a kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"I'm fine, promise. I wouldn't lie if I wasn't." You wouldn't be able to lie to him, but he finds a pleasantry in your uniquely human honesty.

"You are remarkably persuasive," He jokes, loosening his grip more. You shift just far enough away to stretch your arms upward and yawn.

"What a compliment, coming from you~"

[graysparrowao3]

WIP Whatever!

Holy shit. Hell yeah! We've got so many WIP snippets incoming, let's goooo all my incredible writer friends! Thank you @darkurgetrash for the beautifully heart-breaking teaser for Lead Me Through the Dark and the tag! As well as all the others that have shared! BG3 fic writing hype!

Who needs a tag? Who doesn't have a tag and wants one? (No seriously, let me know I would love to tag you in). Would any of youuuuu like a tag? Consider it a welcome invitation! @benicemurphy @ashprince-of-bel-air @rinwellisathing @winged-monkey @sorceresssundries

Not sure if anyone is interested in the Rolan, Cal, and Lia stuff, I know it's all so miserable right now, but it's going to look up in the next chapter.

I was working on it today then I remembered I'm a liar and fucking out of control and started some light-hearted banter for the totally-not-going-to-exist next instalment of Rugan x Aradin series as well. (It's all @lizziemajestic's fault, who helped inspire the scene).

So...

Both under the cut? ...Both under the cut.

Rugan x Aradin totally-nonexistent-next-installment banter WIP

Rugan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Think assassination is reserved for folks of some standing. Nothing but plain old murder for you.”

“Oh well,” Aradin replied, enjoyably thick with sarcasm, “in that case I don’t fancy it at all. Besides, we both know you’d botch it.”

“You still on about that?”

“Let’s have it then,” Aradin asked as he busied himself pulling his gauntlets off. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Just came to ask for your hand, didn’t I? Throw you over my shoulder and take you back with me.” The younger man’s amused gaze flickered over from where he was unlacing out of his heavy footwear, and a flash of alarm petrified Rugan’s face. “Please tell me you didn’t take that serious.”

Aradin puckered his face up dramatically. “Best cancel the flowers. And they would’ve gone so nice with my eyes.”

“Oh aye,” Rugan snorted. “Would’ve really highlighted the pubescent angst you turned into a personality.”

Aradin pulled the chair back and relaxed into it, swinging his legs up and resting his feet on the table, one foot crossed over the other. “Reckon I’d look good in a dress, big slit in the side so you can see the boots. Get the feelin’ formal wear isn’t really your thing. Bet you scrub up nice, though.”

“Swear to Gods,” Rugan let his face fall into his hands and forcefully rubbed his eyelids.

“You’re so easy to wind up mate,” Aradin clasped his hands behind his head and grinned.

Rolan, Cal, & Lia next chapter WIP - I swear they've hit the bottom and after this next bit of sad discussion in the next chapter they're finally going to have a win and things will start looking up.

Rolan put his elbows on his knees and slid his hands in his hair.

“I’m sorry.”

“It wasn't your fault, Rolan,” Cal said, rubbing his temples. He was so tired, perhaps even tired of making that response.

“I thought that…” Rolan waved vaguely, hoping his pathetic gesture would do the talking for him. “I thought I'd finally figured our way out. But I stalled. Waited around like it was going to come to me. If I’d have acted sooner, if I’d have written the letter when I first thought of the idea. If I hadn’t wasted so long doubting it was even possible we might have left for Baldur’s Gate a great many tenday before this all happened. It could hardly be worse, reputation notwithstanding. The resources such an accomplished wizard would have access to - we’d be long gone and basking in the upper classes of the Gate before Elturel even thought of taking an extended holiday to the Nine Hells. Not to mention the earnings potential.”

“If I can’t eat it, he can keep his gold,” Cal muttered.

“I should’ve thought of it sooner,” Rolan voice clipped harsh with regret.

“Did think of it,” Lia said forcefully, an honest attempt at reconciliation. “Hells, even got accepted. That’s not nothing, Rolan. That one lady seemed impressed.”

“Not sure if impressed would be the word I used,” he mused. “Though it certainly helped us throw our weight around.” He paused, reflecting on that day that they had first entered the basement. He thought about that woman and her vile judgment. Then her child, and that insufferable ball. And then… Rolan shook the recollection away. They had always avoided looking through the remains of that room.

[geralt-of-baevia]

Call It What You Want: Chapter Two

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine

pairing: nobreakout!joel x f!ofc (Violet Fletcher)

rating: explicit, MDNI 18+

word count: 1.9k (small but mighty! the next one is much longer)

summary: Seeking solace from a painful breakup, Violet relocates to a tranquil town, purchasing a neglected house to renovate. In her new neighborhood, she befriends Harlow, who introduces her to Joel, a gruff and seasoned contractor with a heart of gold. Despite Joel's initial grumpiness, Violet finds herself drawn to his expertise and hidden kindness.

As Violet immerses herself in home renovations alongside Joel, their dynamic begins to shift, with Joel unexpectedly opening himself up to the possibility of love. Their budding relationship faces challenges as shadows from their pasts emerge, testing their newfound connection.

warnings/tags: literally just some good ol' fluff. it's a slow burn, what can I say?

a/n: hi guys! i hope y'all liked the first chapter. this chapter is a short one, but don't worry! the next one is much longer and event filled muahahahah.

A few days had passed after Joel fixed my door and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I tried to get him out of my head by making an apple pie, something I could just focus on throwing myself into. But flashes of his face and his arms kept interrupting me. He had ended up staying until dinner time fixing my front door. I helped him occasionally, holding a nail or a board for him. I admired his determination and how hard of a worker he was. 

There was no way in hell I could have done what he did, or at least nowhere as easily. It was making me start to doubt my ability to redo this house on my own. Maybe it was a stupid idea like my ex had said. 

I tried to shake the thought from my head. I put the finishing touches on the pie before placing it in the oven and setting the kitchen timer. 

A knock at the door made me jump, thankful it happened after I had put the pie in the oven. That was a mess I didn’t want to clean. 

I lazily made my way to the door, not in any rush to see what someone was potentially going to be selling me. To my surprise, Joel was standing on the porch, his hands in his pockets. An uncontrollable grin spread across my lips, causing my cheeks to instantly ache.

“Hi Joel,” I said, trying to contain my smile.

“Hiya Violet. I was hopin’ you were home,” he said nervously with a smirk.

“How can I help you?” 

“I was just in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by to see how the door was holding up,” he said. I looked the door up and down. 

“It looks like it’s holding up well,” I said sarcastically. He looked at me blankly for a moment before cracking a grin at my stupid joke.

“Would you like to come in?” I asked, opening the door wider for him. He nodded happily and walked past me into the house. I shut the door and led him to the kitchen. My eyes winced at the mess. Dirty bowls, flour, and apple peels were scattered all over the kitchen table. 

“Sorry about the mess,” I told him, grabbing a bowl and taking it over to the sink. 

“It looks like you made an apple pie or somethin’,” he said. I watched Joel pick up a few things from the mess and walk them over to me at the sink. My heart fluttered. 

“Well, it’s your lucky day, sir,” I said I with a smile. I couldn’t help but notice his mouth twitch when I called him that, but I decided to keep that information tucked away in the back of my mind. 

“Is that so?”

“Mmhmm. Go open the oven.”

As I started to run the water, he went over to the oven and opened it a crack. A small smile formed on his face. I left my spot at the sink and continued to clean off the table.

“Is that an actual goddamned apple pie?” he said in disbelief, letting out a scoff and looking over to me. I nodded. 

“It is. I had some leftover pie dough in the fridge and some apples so I figured, what the heck?” 

“I’ve never known anyone who has just made an apple pie on a whim and it look that good,” he said, giving the pie one last look before closing the door. 

“Well then you must not know many pastry chefs,” I said with a shrug. He scoffed out a sigh, putting his hands on his hips. 

“Are you really a pastry chef?”  

“I am. I used to have my own little bakery and everything,” I told him. I finished cleaning the bowl I was working on and set it in the strainer, leaving the rest for later. 

“What was it called?” 

“La Petite Patisserie,” I told him, trying to hide the ache I felt saying its name. I loved that place. It was my absolute pride and joy. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you have it anymore?” he asked gently. 

I sighed. “I sold it and bought this house instead. The property I had was prime real estate, so I sold it for a good lot. I was able to buy this house and still have money left over to fix it up,” I told him. 

“What made you want to buy a house like this?” he asked, “one you have to fix up that is?”

I shrugged. “I wanted to make this house my own and do it myself. I’d always dreamed of doing so and enough people told me I couldn’t. So I finally did it and said fuck you to those people,” I said, uncomfortable pride swelling in my chest. Joel gave me an approving smirk. 

“Well, good for you.”

“Do you want a tour of the house while we wait for the pie to bake? It’ll be at least 45 minutes,” I said to him. He raised his eyebrows in confusion. “I figured you’d want to stay until the pie was done and you could have some.”

Joel’s face lit up. 

“I’d love to.”

The tour of the house took about forty minutes altogether. In every room we went in Joel would look around, seeing the condition of the ‘bones’ of the house. He told me I had lucked out and this house was in very good condition. We joked about the colors, or lack thereof, in most of the rooms. The bathroom was the worst of them all. A weird split two-toned teal color. 

“That’s just not easy on the eyes,” Joel said, cocking his head as he looked into the bathroom. I giggled. 

“I know. I think this is the first bathroom I’m going to paint,” I said with a wince. Joel walked over and had a lookover of the clawfoot tub that sat in the corner of the room. He glanced up and pointed at the makeshift three-sided shower I currently curtain up, giving me a questioning look. 

“Look, okay I couldn’t find a rounded shower curtain holder, and honestly I don’t trust myself to put it up without falling on me in the middle of my shower,” I stated, crossing my arms and leaning against the doorframe. 

“I can do it for you, it’s not too hard. I’ve put up quite a few of them in old houses like this,” he said nonchalantly. I felt myself start to blush again. 

“That’s very kind of you, but please let me pay you this time for your help.”

“We’ll figure something out,” he said, and I could swear to god he gave me a small wink. 

The alarm on my phone went off. A wide, elated smile spread across Joel’s face. 

“Is the pie done?”

I nodded with a matching smile. 

We both rushed downstairs to the kitchen. I put on my mitts, opened the oven, and was immediately hit with apple cinnamon steam. After I got my vision back, a gorgeous apple pie sat there on the middle rack. I pulled it out and set it down on top of the stove for the time being, then I closed the oven and turned it off.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Joel asked. The butterflies in my chest began to flutter again. 

“Um, over there on the wall are some trivets. Will you pick one out?” I asked, nodding to the wall next to the fridge behind him. He turned around to see what I was talking about and went over to get one. As he did that, I went over to the window I had crawled through yesterday. “Will you put it down there in front of the window?” 

I went and got the apple pie and as I made it to the window, Joel met me with the trivet. He had picked out one that had two chickens on it and was surrounded by ornate ironwork. 

“Holy shit, Violet,” he said as I sat the pie down. 

“What?”

“That pie looks incredible. Like, it’s almost too nice to eat,” he said with a chuckle, proud of his small compliment. 

“Well, we’ve got about 20 minutes before we can eat it. Would you like some coffee?” I asked. He nodded. 

“Oh yes. I could have coffee at any time,” he said happily. I giggled to myself, still stuck on him not being the grump he was cautioned to be. “What?”

I shook my head. “It’s nothing don’t worry.”

“No, what? I’m not gonna be able to stop thinkin’ about it. You want that on your conscious?” he asked jokingly. I rolled my eyes playfully. 

“It's just that I was warned that you were a curmudgeon of a person. And so far you’ve been nothing but kind to me,” I stated, my cheeks flushing again. He put a hand to his brow and shook his head, a little embarrassed. I tried my best to ignore it and continue preparing coffee.

“I’m assuming Harles is the one who said that?” he asked, looking up at me between his fingers. 

“She is indeed,” I responded. He shook his head again. 

“I mean, she’s not wrong. But maybe blown a little out of proportion,” he said. 

“We’ll see about that.” 

After about a half hour I cut into the pie, gave us each a slice, and set the plates down next to each of our coffee cups at the table. Joel cut into the piece hastily, shoving a giant bite into his mouth. I took a drink of my coffee as he chewed, and his face softened into a stupid happy smile. My eyes widened as he quickly cut another piece with his fork and shoved it into his mouth before he was even done swallowing the first bite.

“Are you breathing, Joel?” I asked with an airy giggle. He looked up at me from his plate and smiled. 

“Violet,” he started, his mouth still full of pie, “this is the best pie I’ve ever had. Does all of your baking taste like this?” He looked down lovingly at the pie.

“Actually, it does. There’s a reason I had a bakery,” I said, “but I will have to say this is a first for me, seeing someone eye fuck a piece of my pie.” 

Joel about choked on his mouthful as he swallowed it, causing me to giggle a little at his reaction. He coughed for a second but drank his coffee to wash it down. 

“Okay Violet, here’s the deal. I don't need any extra money. I make what I need, I live comfortably. So, let’s do this,” he said, placing his fork down on his plate with a clang, “You buy the materials for what needs to be done, and I’ll do the work. The trade-off is you make me food and baked goods. I’m not much of a cook myself, so I’d much rather be fed incredibly good food than get paid. How does that sound?”

“That sounds like you got yourself a deal, Joel.”

[thecluelessdoctor]

*sigh*

I'm going to be talking about a game today.

For now, we won't be talking about the things happening with the creator. Only the game. I've been wanting to talk about this game for a while, but haven't had the guts to due to the creator and the horrible things she and her husband have done.

Today I'm going to be talking about the game Your Boyfriend. Yup. T h a t o n e

Like I said, for this post we will only talk about the game. Nothing on the creators because I don't believe it is my place. If you want to know about it, I suggest this video

the video link is unavailable, so you'll need to find it manually.

Again, we will ONLY be talking about the game.

So, trigger warnings: obsessive love disorder, ranting, you boyfriend game, murder, etc.

So without further adue, let us proceed.

So if you don't know what YBG is, YBG is a visual novel horror game about a man who is obsessed romantically and sexually with you the player.

The man will be referred to as Peter seeing how that's his name- anyway.

First, let me say I've only seen up to day 2- or whatever day He kidnaps you. Yeah he does that. So my summary might not be accurate

So the game begins with you being at the park, your favorite spot. Here you meet Peter who claims to be your boyfriend. You can either go with it, or not. Your choice.

I haven't seen a playthrough in a while, so this is rusty. You later go to a flower store and meet him again, reaching for the same rose you are. He's like 'oh sorry' and you can react negatively or positively. Reacting negatively will make him hold the rose super right he bleeds.

Anyway the day ends with him at your window. Spooky/sarc.

Already right off the this sucks. But we ain't done we have day two.

In day two you go to your job, and you meet TK, your fellow employee, and someone who has romantic feeling for you.

During your job you see Peter again. Again being able to react negatively or positively, each ending in a different reaction. If you act positively, he'll walk you home, in which Dom..? I think, your landlord says your roommate hasn't been paying their share and might need to be kicked out. Peter offers to live with you with sexual intentions. If you agree your roommate will appear and be pissy.

Now if you react negatively, go finish your shift and go home, your roommate, Lucy is her name, noticing you look distraught. You two get high or drink, I don't remember, and I think y'all end up fucking.

Now here is where the next part comes into play, where you have a horrible headache or smt and leave your room to find pills. You see a figure in front of you, and you think it's Lucy and they are offering pills. Before you can react, they are shoved into your mouth and your mouth is covered and you hear Peter say something so forgettable that I don't care.

Nice. This game STINKS.

Not only does it romanticize a person with obsessive love disorder, it's just not scary!!! Yes the concept is truly horrifying, seeing how it's something that has, and does happen!! But this game treats it like us haha silly. And it's like. FUCK NO.

This game HAD potential.

Let's also talk about the style of the game- the visual novel style.

This style is only good for horror Under VERY specific circumstances. It needs to be done right, and holy hell does this game not do it right. It's terrible. The game just tells you the thing to fear outright or shows you completely. There isn't any FEAR here. It's not SCARY. Orginally when I first learned of the game, I was pretty young, but I still had my obsession with psychology, so I thought this game was going to be a psychological horror, and show the fear behind this concept.

BUT NO.

IT JUST THROWS JT AWAY GOD DAMNIT!!! INTO THE BIN!!!

And I HATE how this game claims to be mature for more than the sex themes!! Fuck, bendy and the ink machine, a mascot horror game for 13 plus is scarier than this shit.

Anyway I hate this game <3

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

Endless Dusk Chapter One

This is I guess a sneak peak at Endless Dusk. The entire first chapter! If you so saw me post an unfinished version of this chapter a few months ago no you didn't

Hope you guys enjoy :) roughly 5k words

--

Chapter One

Jack bangs his head against the wall. 106. He lazily lifts his neck and drops it again. 107. He decided he was on his way to beat his all time high of 318 a while ago. He only stopped then because he blacked out for a second, and he figured that repeatedly smashing his head into the wall wasn’t the smartest thing to do.

But he can’t find it in himself to care what the smartest thing to do is when he is this bored out of his mind.

108.

Not like ‘there’s nothing on TV’ bored. Bored like Jack only has eight books in his cell anyway, and never mind the fact that he’s already read them all so much he’s got them memorized, but also the lightbulb has been flickering and if it goes out then he’ll be in darkness for months on end so he might as well just sit in darkness now by choice. So that’s what Jack’s doing. He took a nap. Again. And now he’s sitting in darkness and banging the back of his head against the wall because this is better than letting his mind wander.

109.

Jack can never let his mind wander. When it does he always ends up crying so hard he throws up, or plotting how he can potentially end his own life.

110.

If he lets his mind wander he might think of his mom. He might think that he’s got no idea how old she is now and she’s spent too many Christmases alone. He’ll think about how terrified he was when he was grabbed and thrown into the trunk of a car. How he never even thought about that happening to him so he had no idea what to do except lash out and kick his attacker.

He’s still got the scar on the side of his head from the man’s rings.

111.

Jack will think about the times he’s tried to keep track of the days on the wall next to his bed, but gave up when he stopped being aware of when it was day or night. He had a little breakdown that day, when he realized that he’d been there so long he didn’t know how long anymore.

112.

He’ll think about the part of his ear that was cut off for no reason. The way he limps every time he walks and keels over every time he breathes too hard. He’ll think about the fingers he’s lo—

113. 114. 115. 116.

Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up!

Jack had a TV once. One of those big box TVs with the VHS player attached that he hadn’t seen since he was in elementary school. He played the few tapes he had basically 24/7. They weren’t good movies, he saw Joe Dirt so many times he dreamt about him, but it was something. Human voices to occupy his time. Voices besides his painful memories and… Mr. Reeder.

117.

Mr. Reeder isn’t the man who first took Jack. Once, in a bout of quiet contemplation much like this one, Jack let himself realize that he was in fact a victim of human trafficking. In his mind, trafficking was only for sex slavery or organ harvesting. But he was kidnapped, and then sold. For money. It’s not like he’s got Google on hand, but Jack’s pretty sure that’s the definition.

118.

No, Jack’s actually got no idea who first threw him in the car. He was walking home from a friend’s house. Not even a friend, just someone to hang out with so he wouldn’t be bored. 

Fifteen year old Jack had no idea what boredom was.

It was dark. He had earbuds in. He was alone. He was an idiot.

He never heard the car pull up beside him. Someone grabbed his shoulder and he turned around to ask them what the hell, but by the time he understood what was going on he was already in the man’s arms, hand over his mouth and phone tossed to the street. Jack had kicked out, managing to hit his attacker in the shin, but it didn’t stop him. He was thrown into the trunk of the car, and before he could even catch his breath to call for help, he was knocked out.

The whole ordeal probably didn’t take more than two minutes, if that. No time for anyone to hear a scuffle and come looking.

Jack woke up later to his arms and legs tied up, duct tape around his head, and the feeling of blood on his face.

119.

He doesn’t like to think about the early days. The constant fear and exhaustion that took hold of him. That still does if he’s being honest. He likes to think he’s more resigned now. Apathetic, if you will.

It makes stomaching his own existence a little easier.

120.

He lifts his head off the wall once again, but pauses before he can get to 121. Out of pure necessity, Jack is a very good listener. So despite being a floor down and many walls away, he can always hear Mr. Reeder’s car pulling into the driveway. No matter how many times he hears  it, Jack can never stop the way his body tenses, the way his heart rate picks up. He swallows and stares up at the ceiling, waiting for more.

It’s been a few days. Mr. Reeder would leave to go to work every day, and sometimes he’d go somewhere for a night or two, but this has been the longest yet. Jack had woken up and went to sleep eight different times (half were naps, he knew, but even still it was at least four days). He’s running out of food. Even if he didn’t see Mr. Reeder every day, he at least knew he was home.

He despises that he thinks of this place as his home.

The door upstairs slams and Jack can’t repress a flinch. He stares up into the darkness, eyes following the sound of heavy footsteps across the floor. The footsteps stop. Jack holds his breath to listen, the only unwelcome sound that of his own heavy heart.

A slamming door is not good. Stomping across the living room is not good. What kind of mood is he going to be in?

Jack gasps and flinches again at the sound of Mr. Reeder yelling, a wordless, angry shout, and then something crashes to the ground above him. Another shout and crash. Another. And another.

Mr. Reeder’s throwing things. So it’s safe to say he’s in, what Jack would call, a not good mood.

He tries his best to tune out the sounds above and focus on himself. He needs to calm down before Mr. Reeder gets here, or it’s going to be worse. Freaking out beforehand helps no one, and he ends up being in pain anyway so what’s the point. 

Jack closes his eyes (he can’t see anyway) and takes long, deep breaths. In through his nose, out through his mouth. His ribs flare painfully with each inhale, but Jack welcomes it. It grounds him. Lets him know he still exists, in this painful body and dark basement. He still exists.

Unfortunately.

Jack makes himself keep breathing as the footsteps get closer and closer, making their way down the stairs and stopping just outside his door.

It never gets easier. The suspense of waiting for his captor, it just never does. Even if his mind knows it’s going to be the same old same old, his body is terrified. It’s tired of being hurt, of being hungry, of being weary and bored.

Sometimes he’s so bored he’s actually relieved, not nervous, when Mr. Reeder comes. Oddly enough, this was not one of those times.

The keys jingle. A lock clicks. And Mr. Reeder pushes open the door. 

Jack squints against the light from the basement filtering in from the cracked door. He lets out his last inhale and stares down at the heavy boots in front of him. He’s always wondered how much of the mud caking them is actually his own blood.

Mr. Reeder just stands there for a moment, watching his captive. He’s silhouetted against the light so Jack can’t see his expression. Jack waits for him to say something, anything. He doesn’t.

Jack clears his throat. “Mr. Reeder?”

“Shut the hell up.”

Jack nods, looking at the ground. His heart pounds in his ears.

Mr. Reeder’s hand shoots out suddenly, gripping Jack by the hair and hauling him up out of his room. Jack hisses in pain, hands clawing at the fist tangled in his hair.

Jack kicks at the ground, trying his best to get his feet under himself enough to relieve the pressure on his head. His bad leg howls in protest at the sudden actions, but he does his best to push through. As he begins to be dragged up the stairs, Jack grits his teeth to stop from crying out, knee painfully banging against each. Individual. Step.

Each step, Jack is able to brace the pain a little more and become more aware of what exactly is happening.

He’s going upstairs. He hasn’t been upstairs since he first got here. The current circumstances are much different than those last time, so why the hell is Mr. Reeder bringing him upstairs?

He begins to fight.

Jack has been doing this a long time. Longer than he actually knows, but he’s positive it’s years. He’s an adult probably old enough to drink. That’s a long time to become a professional at getting your ass kicked. And being a professional victim, Jack knows that the less you struggle, the easier it is. Easier to deal with the pain, to get it over with, and stomach his own cowardice… Or resourcefulness. He’s a survivor, that much he knows.

So he only fights back when he’s really scared.

And he has reason to be. When Jack was just a brand new greenie kidnappee, demanding to be let back upstairs, Mr. Reeder had leaned down, close to his face, so close that Jack had to lean away from the smell of the peppermint nicotine pouch in his mouth.

“The only way you are ever going back up those stairs,” he said lowly, coldly, “is if I want to see your brains on the wall in natural lighting.”

It was the first time that Jack had thought I might not make it out of here alive. It took him a much longer time to accept it.

Apparently he hasn’t accepted it at all, Jack thinks as he wrenches his head out of Mr. Reeder’s grasp and dives to crawl away from him. It was never going to work but he needs to try.

Jack Thatcher was NOT taken away from his mother for years just to be shot in the head by some isolated lunatic. At least, he wasn’t going to without a fight.

Mr. Reeder grabs him easily, yanking him back by his bad leg, stretching it out. Jack can feel poorly healed bones in his knee scraping together, pinching the long disused muscles around them. He let out a shout before Mr. Reeder pulls him by his waist instead, hauling him into a room, slamming the door shut and sitting in front of it, trapping Jack inside.

With nowhere else to go, Jack pushes himself into the corner farthest from his captor, arms protectively shielding his right knee. His chest heaves and he can feel the stupid tightness starting in his throat that happens before he cries. He hates crying in front of Mr. Reeder, but it is continuously unavoidable.

Mr. Reeder sits in front of the door, catching his breath as well. He runs a hand through greasy hair, staring at the ceiling. He sighs heavily, like his life is the one here not worth living.

Tragic.

With his captor temporarily distracted, Jack takes stock of his surroundings. A mattress with no sheets is pushed against the corner opposite himself, some dirty clothes thrown at it’s end. A cracked mirror is attached to a dresser, dust slightly distorting the image of the ceiling. Behind Jack is a window half boarded up, letting a sliver of light into the room, washing over his captor. It looks like it’s golden hour outside.

Jack’s struck with the thought that this is the first time he’s seen the sun since he went down those stairs. Really, since he was thrown into that car as a teenager. He always had a blindfold on, or he was transported at night. The most fundamental, most simple and basic thing a human has access to, Jack hasn’t for years. Still just out of reach.

His attention is brought back to Mr. Reeder when he sighs again. He warily looks up at Jack. “You’re lucky you know.” Jack doesn’t move. He’s heard the ‘you should be glad I’m not worse’ speech before. “You have no idea what you’ve missed. No idea … what you’ve been spared. What I’ve spared you from.”

Jack only watches apprehensively. His body is tight, poised like he’s ready to try to run again. Where, with Mr. Reeder blocking the door? 

“I didn’t mean to spare you from it,” he goes on. “Heaven knows that wasn’t my intention. I think you could have benefited from being in the middle of it all.” He chuckles and Jack shrinks away even more. “Oh the look on your face would’ve been everything … Oh well. It’s just about over anyway.”

It’s nonsense. Total nonsense. Mr. Reeder is certifiably insane, no doubt about it. He’s gone on long manic monologues before, Jack’s heard just about everything. 

He’s never seen Mr. Reeder pull a gun from his waistband though.

He can’t help the sharp intake of breath, the sudden urge to run! Run now! Go! He’s got no idea what to do with it so he just stands up, so quickly it doesn’t even hurt, and backs even further into the corner. Mr. Reeder always threatened that he had a gun but Jack had never had proof until right now.

Mr. Reeder looks at him from under his brows. “Sit down Jack.”

All he can do is shake his head, breaths coming out fast and shallow. The floor is liquid beneath his feet, his body shakes where it stands.

The gun clicks and points right at Jack. “Sit. Down.”

He slides down the wall, hands up. His throat bobs with a swallow, just to do something with his mouth other than sob. Tears fall steadily down his cheeks and his lower lip trembles.

Mr. Reeder, satisfied with Jack’s cooperation, relaxes his grip on the gun, hefting it like he’s simply judging the weight.

“There wasn’t much time,” he says. Jack shifts his focus from the gun to his captor, staring with wide eyes and frayed nerves. “I was trying to think about what to do with you but … I mean, there just wasn’t much time. I’m not sure I would’ve done anything even if there was. You’ve said it yourself Jack, who wants to die alone?”

His eyes meet Jack’s for the first time and Jack can see … tears. Welling in them. It only terrifies him more. “Mr. Reeder …”

“Shh. Shh sh sh.” He shakes his head, working his jaw. “Do you believe in God, Jack?”

Jack swallows. “I don’t know,” he whispers, voice catching on the words. “I used to.”

“What about heaven and hell? Think those exist?”

Jack can feel the panic claw up his throat, making him want to sob and scream. “I hope so.”

“Hmm … I wonder if hell will be any worse than earth.”

This is it then, Jack thinks. He’s going to take us both out, as a sick end to his sick life. He’s bored of me and now it’s over, it’s all over.

“Mr. Reeder please,” Jack begs, tears blurring his vision, “please don’t. Don’t do it.”

He furrows his brows, and looks down at the gun. He shakes his head. “See you in hell, Jack.”

Jack hears the sound of the gun before he can process what his eyes just saw. He flinches back violently, closing his eyes and clapping his hands over his ears. Everything is quiet for a long while and Jack wonders if he saw wrong, if he’s dead right now. The ringing sets in a moment later, and, with a sinking heart, he opens his eyes.

Mr. Reeder sits, slack jawed, against the door. The gun lies limply in his lap. Blank eyes stare right at Jack. 

And the orange light from the window illuminates the blood and brain matter splattered across the door.

Jack can’t help the scream that escapes from his lips. It tears at his throat, breaking in and out of sound. He screams so loudly and long he runs out of breath, and then suddenly keels over and retches on the ground, coughing against the vile acid in his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, gasping for breath. 

What the hell. What the hell what the hell what the hell! It’s all he can think, around and around again and again.

He opens his eyes and glances back up at Mr. Reeder for just a moment before looking away again.

Jack is still alive. He’s still alive, he’s alive. Mr. Reeder is dead. Not just dead—he killed himself. He just took Jack into a room and shot himself in the head! He talked about killing Jack all the time to see him squirm but he never once acted like he was going down with him! He didn’t even try to kill Jack…

Jack sits, eyes closed and breathing heavily, mind running in circles, for much longer than he cares to admit before one thought breaks through the horror and revulsion.

I can leave. 

He's upstairs. He’s not locked in. The man in control of him is dead. He can get up and walk away. He can leave, there’s nothing stopping him.

Except the dead body in front of the door.

Jack stares up at the ceiling and lets his head fall back against the wall behind him. He does it again, and again. 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 …

He’s to 51 when he finally feels calm enough to do what he needs to. Jack uses the wall to hoist himself up, right leg slightly bent to keep pressure off of it. It hurts like a mother because of the recent abuse. Mr. Reeder usually leaves the leg alone now, saying having a full cripple would be too much work.

Well.

He used to say that anyway.

The corner of Jack’s mouth slightly rises in a half smile. He limps forward, keeping his eyes averted. His hands shake when he reaches for the door handle and pulls, but it doesn’t budge. Mr. Reeder is too heavy. He’s going to have to move him.

“Don’t think about it,” he mutters. “Don’t think about it, don’t think about it.” He holds his breath—that makes it easier he thinks—reaches down, grabs the body’s shoulder, and pulls. Mr. Reeder doesn’t do much but slump over, forehead touching the ground.

The wound on the back of his head gapes. Jack covers his mouth when he realizes the white and pink stuff is Mr. Reeder’s brain and skull. 

Mr. Reeder was just a man. He wasn’t a god or a monster. He was just a man who made Jack’s life hell. A man who wanted power and got it, albeit only over one person. A man with no feelings, no empathy.

 And now he’s just a body. A body that can’t hurt Jack anymore.

 Jack opens the door and steps into the hallway.

It is so … eerily quiet. The basement was quiet most of the time, sure, but it’s supposed to be quiet. It’s a basement. It makes sense. This is a house. A normal house. There’s carpet and cupboards and a thermostat on the wall. It isn’t supposed to be silent, but something in Jack can’t bear to disturb it. He tiptoes down the hallway and pauses at the end of it, peering into the living room.

It is trashed. The TV is shattered, glass strewn on the carpet. The couch and chair are upended, one of the legs broken in two.

That was what Mr. Reeder was doing? Ruining his house before he offed himself? Who does that?

“Psychos, Jack,” he says aloud. “Psychos.”

Something on the other side of the room catches his eye. 

A landline.

Jack watches where he’s going, carefully avoiding the glass and splintered wood, rushing to the phone. He holds it to his ear and dials 911 with shaking hands, listening closely.

He waits, five, ten, thirty seconds. He hangs up and dials again. There’s not even a dial tone. Jack smashes the phone against the wall and lets it hang.

“Dammit!” The sound is hollowly absorbed against the walls. Everything echoes so much down in his cell that it’s slightly off-putting. But he needs to think.

 Mr. Reeder probably has a cell phone, but Jack is not going back in that room. A shudder runs through him even thinking about it.

He cautiously walks through the kitchen, stepping over the overturned kitchen table and chairs, to a back door. The musty smell of a garage washes over him, and he rushes for the car. It’s a junker from the 90s, paint and rust aging it. His hands shake reaching for the doorhandle, pulling it open with a piercing squeak from the door hinges. The keys are still in the ignition, thank the freakin’ heavens. The engine sputters when Jack turns them. He tries again, stepping on the gas.

The car doesn’t move. His eyes track along the dash and he just manages to spot the LOW FUEL flashing light next to the arrow sitting past the E before he smashes his head against the steering wheel. How did Mr. Reeder even get home?! Did he ride in on fumes? It’s a miracle he got in the freakin’ garage!

Jack sighs, putting his head in his hands. He has no choice. He has to go looking for someone.

Mr. Reeder’s house is a solid five miles away from anyone and anything, Jack knows. Mr. Reeder has made it very clear over the years that no one would ever hear his screaming, and no one would ever know where he is.

He had no idea that he would somehow be even more alone only a couple years later.

The only car Jack ever heard coming down the road was Mr. Reeder’s own. No one passed or drove through, so he is most likely going to have to make the whole five mile hike to get help.

He looks doubtfully down at himself. A roughly twenty year old man wearing dirty sweatpants and a shirt with holes torn along the hem, not to mention the blood stains. No shoes. A detrimental limp, only eight fingers, one and a half ears, scars galore … He’s certainly a sight to behold.

At least no one will doubt his legitimacy. But it is going to be a, for lack of a better word, sucky walk.

His heart aches a bit as he thinks that a five mile walk would’ve been no issue for him before. 

“Knock it off,” he says aloud. “That doesn’t help anything.”

First, Jack needs shoes. Looking near the front door he sees a small collection of shoes, old and dirt covered. He picks out a pair of brown New Balances that surely used to be white and slips them on. No socks and shoes a size too big will leave him wicked blisters but he can’t find it in himself to care at the moment. 

It’s hot in the house, and Jack assumes it is outside too, but he takes a jacket hanging from a hook anyway. It feels the tiniest bit blasphemous in a way to wear the clothes of a dead man. But what’s he gonna do? He’s dead and he sucked when he was alive.

Lastly, he finds a water bottle in the kitchen and fills it—twice because he drank all of it in one go the first time.

Jack is psyching himself up for the walk when he realizes he left something downstairs in the basement. In his cell. He groans, making his way to the staircase. The lights are still on, illuminating the plain wooden boards. It doesn’t feel right. It’s such a nightmare of a place, it should be shrouded in darkness like in a horror movie. It looks like a normal unfinished basement from the top of the stairs.

“The sooner you go the sooner you can leave forever. Just go.” So with one hand tightly wrapped around the banister, Jack descends back into hell.

It’s jarring, how different the basement is from what a regular person would expect. The raw wood of the last step is stained brown and burgundy from Jack’s own blood. Hooks hang from the ceiling with chains, ropes are wrapped around a dining table chair. A collection of freak stuff like handcuffs, whips, and stun guns are tossed on a table, dropped recklessly by Mr. Reeder after they had served their purpose. His cell is just a room in the corner with a small bathroom attached.

Jack doesn’t give the makeshift dungeon a glance, eyes trained on the floor. He beelines for the cot pushed in the corner, on which he was sitting bored out of his mind only a few minutes ago. It already feels like forever.

He reaches under the thin mattress and into a small tear he’d made. Inside, among the weird mattress stuffing, is a small piece of paper. He grips it protectively, slipping it into his jacket pocket.

He runs up the stairs faster than he cares to admit, stopping to catch his breath at the top.

Jack childishly flips the basement off one last time.

The front door is white, with brass hardware. It has no window. There are scuff marks on the bottom, and dirty finger prints on the paint near the handle. Jack takes a deep breath and notices this all again.

He knows he’s stalling. He even knows why he’s stalling. It’s like … when you’re reading a book that is breaking your heart but it still hurts to finish it and leave it in the past. Like when Jack’s dad died and all he wanted to do was leave the funeral, but when it was time to go home he couldn’t. His grandma had to basically carry him out of the cemetery, and as soon as they stepped outside Jack knew something had ended, despite how young he was. 

But that’s stupid. That’s stupid here, it’s dumb. He was tortured here. He was starved and beat and filmed and dehumanized in every way possible. What the hell would he be missing?

Stability. Knowing what each day entailed. Anonymity. When you step out that door, everyone will know. Mom will know. Strangers will know. Everyone will know your pain.

It’s petrifying, having to share your pain. Most people won’t be gentle with it.

Something compels Jack to take one last look at the living room, and a calendar on the wall catches his eye. Nothing about the photograph of the beautiful landscape in a foreign country. It’s the date that makes Jack finally turn the handle. 

Orange light washes over him. He closes his eyes and turns his head up to the rays. It soaks into his skin, warming a part of him that had long gone cold. It’s invigorating, life giving. Jack has never felt anything like it before.

It’s been six years since he’s seen the sun.

—

Five miles is really freakin’ long when you’re severely malnourished and have a bum leg, Jack figures out pretty quickly. He frequently needs to stop and breathe, leaning against trees lining the long road away from Mr. Reeder’s.

Every sound has him looking down the road, ready to flag down a car and ask to be taken to the police station.

What was he even going to say?

Hi, I don’t know if you know me but I’m Jack Thatcher, I was kidnapped a whopping six years ago and held by a lunatic in his basement and tortured—he’d probably leave that part out—can I borrow your phone to call my mom?

The more he thinks about it the more he’s embarrassed to admit to someone he was kidnapped. No one else he knows was kidnapped. He wasn’t even good enough to be held for ransom, just sold off like cattle.

Jack stops in the road and takes another drink, holding the rapidly warming water bottle to his brow. The sun is beating on Jack in a way he didn’t expect, since it seems to be sunset. It’s not getting any cooler though. It’s been hot this whole time. Mr. Reeder’s basement was always relatively cold, the chill seeping deep into his bones in what he assumed were the winter months, making him shake til his limbs hurt.

Walking in the shade of the trees would probably be a better idea, but Jack needs to stay on the road where cars will see him.

 It is enticing though, the idea of shade. He’s entirely unused to this type of heat. The last time would have been—well just about six years ago…

[tenebriskukris]

Oshi No Ko Chapter 156 - My Thoughts/Analysis

This manga certainly has some incredible pacing. Incredibly horrible, I mean. Spoilers for Oshi No Ko Chapter 156 below. 

Mem-Cho and Frill? Sure, I’ll bite. Let’s see what these two are up to. Surely there aren’t any hanging plot threads that were established in the last chapter as pressing matters. Cutting away to these two better have some relevance to the greater plot or I’m going to riot. 

Mem’s popular enough to have media people stalking her? That’s somewhat of a surprise. I was expecting something like this to happen after Kana got caught with Shima a few arcs ago. After figuring out that the new B-Komachi was vulnerable to media attention I’m surprised that something like this was only happening now. 

This talk about celebrity culture and such is so hamfisted it’s kind of amazing that the manga gets away with it. It doesn’t have the writing chops to justify just slamming that info out on a plate as often as it has. I understand it has to do this to convey some of the more technical aspects of the industry to the average viewer but the way the manga does it in this chapter so far lacks more than a bit of finesse. You’ve basically set up Frill in this chapter to be the mouthpiece of this industry infodump without giving thought to the prior scene. 

The world is becoming an increasingly difficult place to protect the private lives and peace of celebrities. It’s one of the downsides of fame, if you ask me. When a person reaches a certain amount of popularity there’ll always be people who want to find that new scoop and dig up some more info. In a way, it’s surprising that Mem is only focusing on her secret getting leaked to the public now instead of a few dozen chapters ago when B-Komachi was getting more and more popular. But that’s the fate of side characters in this manga, I suppose.

But…my age though. Of course, Mem is smarter than Kana in this aspect. A scandal that Kana tripped into is worse than Mem lying about her age all this time. It’s arguably even expected in the industry from what Miyako had mentioned to Mem before all the way back in the start of the manga. She’d certainly lose fans by doing that but it wouldn’t be as dealbreaking as Kana stumbling onto a potentially career ending situation.

This kind of suspicion is what spoils your heart the most. That’s just how being a public figure and content creator is these days. Mem is fortunate that most of her friend group were her friends first and then her coworkers second. Personal grievances and chasing fame and stepping into controversy can break these kinds of relationships faster than sending a hasty tweet on a social networking site. 

But Miyako always protects me with all her might. Miyako best mom as usual. It would be a lot nicer if we were to actually see Miyako protect Ruby from people rather than infodump it to us but at this point the manga is more than content to speedrun through important bits of the story to get to the ending.

So isn’t it wrong of you to apologize to us? Ruby, I think the words you’re looking for are “We should be the ones apologizing to you for putting you in this situation”. Funny to see that both twins’ communication skills need a little bit of work. There isn’t anyone to blame for this situation—both Ichigo Productions as well as Mem herself were completely fine with employing Mem despite knowing her age was higher than what she portrayed herself as. This was a secret that couldn’t be kept under wraps forever. It’s just fortunate that Mem has now carved out a decent fanbase for herself before her secret was threatened. 

Huh, we’re being thrown straight to Mem admitting that she’s older than she looks on a livestream. Might’ve been worth exploring this plot point a few dozen chapters back instead of throwing it at the reader during the final arc. As with so many plot points in this manga, it lacks a hell of a lot of setup for a much greater return.

A self proclaimed college girl? Wonder if she’s actually going to try to attempt to get into college or is this just another facade. It’s funny because Mem herself also poked fun at Kana and herself a few arcs ago for not being able to go to college in the first place. With the Japanese college workload I’m not sure it’d be possible to continue being both an idol and a student but if there are high schools that cater to up and coming stars then I suppose it wouldn’t be out of the realm of possibility.

Oh Mem, being defensive of her age. Never change. 

Offense is a good defense. Not sure how accurate this is to real life, but the ebbs of the Japanese entertainment industry likely differ in some respects from how it’s done in other countries, so I can’t comment with any degree of certainty on how this situation would actually work in real life.

That was a very cute chapter. Short and sweet. Any time we get to see these side characters shine is a treat. They were very sorely underused during this whole bloody series, in my opinion. We barely got any insight on so many of the side characters that showed up for the movie arc who were basically there to deliver short one liners and look pretty. Giving them screentime at the last arc of the series definitely isn’t the way to go—especially with what happened in the last few chapters.

Of course, I’ve been avoiding the elephant in the room for most of this chapter. We just got finished with a massive revelation in the last chapter with Hikaru and Nino and now we’re cutting away to a Mem chapter??? Objectively this chapter was about on par with the average Oshi No Ko chapter—in which there’s nothing wrong with it but a couple of nagging details that could’ve made a so-so chapter look alot better—but the timing of this chapter is just blargh.

This chapter could’ve been so easily placed before the timeskip that was mentioned a few chapters back. It would’ve kept the pace of the movie arc that was already starting to wrap up and give the reader a better sense that time was passing before we were thrown towards that massive flashback. As it stands now this chapter is symptomatic of one of the manga’s main issues. It’s inability to keep both its pacing and atmosphere steady.

After the revelations that were sprung on the reader last chapter, there are plenty of plot points that were needed to be touched on. Aqua and Ruby talking about current events and dealing with the DVDs—surely that has to be relevant enough to be shown on screen. Aqua and Akane both independently pegging Nino as Hikaru’s accomplice. Hell, even Hikaru himself dealing with Ai’s last wishes and the aftermath of the movie. As nice as it was to see the side characters get some spotlight, now is absolutely not the time to be touching on them after what we got in the last chapter. 

We deal with some of the most emotionally draining chapters of the series and then set up what is essentially a side character as the new villain of the series—and the next chapter after that is what is basically almost filler? It kills the atmosphere and the pacing of the chapters before it in a way that feels too much like driving a vehicle into a gutter. Again, this chapter would’ve been completely fine if it was placed before we got the Hikaru-Aqua confrontation and before the movie timeskip.

The counterargument here is that this chapter is meant to serve as a break after all the excitement that was present during the last chapter. Which is a fairly weak argument all things considered, since it is the final arc of the series. By this time most if not all of the lingering plot threads should’ve been tied up and all that remains are a couple of key reveals that determine what happens when the pieces all fall. If there are any reveals left to unveil, then they should’ve been sufficiently hinted at beforehand. What is needed in a final arc to set these characters onto a predictable but narratively satisfying joyride to the finale and keep that ride going without breaking stride. This chapter fails miserably at that.

Wrapping up the plot points of these side characters isn’t worth disjointing the pacing from the main plot. As much as I love to see Mem waddle about in this half baked world, it definitely wasn’t worth this distraction from the main event when we’re so close to the finish line. 

[paintedkinzy-88]

I wrote this for you:

"HGRRRRAAAAH!!!"

"MWEEEEHEHEHE!"

Magic flew through to air a bone and axe collided, two figures colliding in battle with wide grins in their faces. Alphys let out a bark of laughter as Sans managed to slip her guard, giving the tiniest of scratches on her scaled arm with a dull bone, blue wings fluttering in victory. Kid was getting good, although he still hesitated in his attacks. Sans was tough as hell when motivated to be, she'd be the first to admit it, but the kid I'd just too... soft. A low Stat monster with the tendency of being far too kind and naive for his own good qould never make it in the guard.

Which is what made this day so difficult. Alphys doesn't know why, but Papyrus had suddenly changed, seemingly overnight. Where before the taller skeleton used to keep a socket on Sans as if HE were the elder of the two and only really left the guy alone when he was with Alphys, nowadays the two skeletons were seen apart more and more often. On top of that, Sans himself was acting pretty weird!

He's been off with "friends" more often, friends she'd never even met and knows nothing about! She asked Undyne if she knew what friends Sans was visiting, out of concern for the guy of course. But even with her security and servaillance network, Alphys has only ever seen Sans hanging out with the kids in Snowdin or with that weird dog-cat thing whenever he wasn't with his brother or Alphys herself. Nine of which match the descriptions or times that Sans was supposedly hanging out with them.

Not only that, but Sans has started holding back in training.

It's not noticeable to anyone else, but Alphys is a born and bred warrior to the core! She didn't make Captain of the Royal Guard by just throwing her weight around, temper aside, she knows fighting and how to think during a fight. She knows it very well, and she can tell when someone isn't fighting to their full potential or is holding out on her. Sans never really met his full potential before, kid had the potential to be tough as hell, but he was never really aware of that before.

The Sans she is fighting now is fighting with the air of someone who KNOWS they're capable of so much more and is actively trying to appear weaker. As if he wants to keep things at the standstill, like his brother. And that sort of thing just pisses her off!

"Enough!" Alphys barked, grinding her fangs together. Sans blinked before retracting the bone attack he'd summoned, panting. Fake panting at that!

"Wowie! What a workout, Alphys! You sure worked me harder than usual, is that why we're ending things earlier?"

Alphys had barely put more effort than usual into their usual spars, trying to gauge if she was just crazy or not.

"Sans, what's goin' on!?" The lizard grunted, twitching her wings irritably, feathers bristling.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"What I mean, Sans, is that there's something up with you!" Alphys growled, "You've been acting WEIRD!"

Sans' eyesockets widened, the lights dimming a bit in a mix of shock, fear, guilt, and confusion. That confirmed it for Alphys, Sans was hiding something!

"I-I don't know what you mean! I'm me, the Magnificent San-"

"I KNOW you're hiding something, Sans!" Alphys interrupted him, reaching over to poke his sternum with a sharp claw, "You've been holding back on me, are off to who knows where with who knows where most days, and nobody knows where you go or what you're doing until you show up the next day acting like nothing happened! Do you think I'm stupid!?"

"I-I'm not, I don't think you're-"

"Then why is there a burn mark on your armor? And don't say it was cooking, I know the difference between a magic burn and a passionate cooking session!"

Sans froze, eyesight following Alphys' to his shoulder where, hidden under his scarf, the edges of a blaster burn peaked out.

"O-oh..." Sans squeaked out, wings drooping until they were parallel to the ground, "That's... um..."

Alphys gave him a cold glare before letting out a sigh, her own feathers drooping a bit as she pinched the bridge of her snout,

"I don't mean to be so hard on you. You're like, my best friend. But Sans, if you're getting into fights... if what you and your mystery friends are doing is dangerous... I need to know!"

AHHHHAHHDBDJSNNVDHNS?????

Am eying this so hard right now???

Like this is so well written omg! I love that it’s in Alphys’ perspective, too! We get all these little details like Paps suddenly being less protective “seemingly overnight,” and Sans just trying his best to keep up a facade of semi-incompetence. Just fhsjfbjsbfj I love it so much omg—

[gatergirl79]

Off My Chest: My Tommy Fears.

Just so we're clear going forward. I am not against Buck and Tommy. In fact from what I've seen so far they have a fun potential. I'm not against Buck having his big bi awakening and running with it. I'm totally happy for him continuing his pattern of terrible relationships. With men now too. Lol. This is not a "purity" issue for me. Let Buck Fuck. But I can't help but have fears surrounding the excitement in the fandom specifically surrounding Tommy.

I worry that the show will see everyone's excitement over Buck and Tommy and take that as a green light for not doing Buddie at all. No endgame, nothing. I fear they'll see us accepting Tommy as them FINALLY finding an alternative to Eddie that the audience will accept. We all know they've been throwing girls at our boys for years like spaghetti in the hopes one will stick, and I fear that Tommy is just that. They've finally accepted no woman will be good enough for the fandom and they figured let's try a guy, and bam, everyone goes wild and its all Tommy this, Tuck that.... And I don't think they understand that the fandom is nuanced, that we can love Tommy, that we can enjoy whatever this Tuck business has in store for us, but ultimately we're Buddie till we die and we won't accept any other endgame, because they're not on the ground amongst the fandom.

Is this an irrational fear, yeah probably. Am I not giving the show enough credit, probably. But it's happened before (NO NOT SUPERNATURAL. Not every fans disillusionment is rooted in destiel.)

Now, that all being said, if people do "jump ship" because of Tommy, they should not get hate for it. But they have to understand that it will frustrate and anger those of us who are holding out hope for a Buddie happy ever after. Some people are lifers.

Now in a few weeks this could all be revealed to be unfounded, and a storm in a tea cup. Tommy and Buck may not happen, they might only have one date. Hell, Buddie could surprise me and go canon in Vegas, and all of this will be a meaningless rant. (Which honestly most of my rants are.) But I just wanted to put my thoughts out there, if only just to get them off my chest.

[psychewritesbs]

Hello, Gege's unpredictability aside (cause they might decide to just up and kill Megumi or Sukuna next chapter🥹) given the recent developments in jjk regarding Sukuna and Megumi, I'm curious as to what you think of the old theory that Sukuna might be grooming Megumi to be the next king of curses?

Cause tbh I can kinda see it but at the same time not. Sukuna's too elusive for me, and I'm confused whether it's just my interpretation clouding my judgment but in the earliest parts of the manga, Sukuna and Megumi's dynamic (though interactions happened sparingly) gives me a pseudo mentor/mentee vibe. And we see Megumi taking Sukuna's words as advice and even improves on his technique because of it. I find it esp. interesting that during Megumi's first deployment of Chimera Shadow Garden, despite the flashback to Gojo's training, it wasn't until he remembers Sukuna's words during their fight at the detention center that Megumi decided not to use Mahoraga. In a way, he kinda responds more to Sukuna's observations than Gojo's. So yeah I can see it.

But then we get to the current stuff in the manga and it seems that Sukuna's fixation with Megumi is a lot simpler than what I had in mind. Megumi had potential as a vessel but he is not a cage like Yuji, Megumi's 10 shadows is a good counter to Gojo and then there's Mahoraga. So maybe it's as simple as that.

But then there's Sukuna. He still remains a mystery to me. Idk how to perceive him. Gege, despite writing Sukuna with the typical one-note villain traits, it's flashbacks like Yorozu's that offers the possibility of there being something more to this 4-armed godly figure than what is initially presented to us. And I'm stuck between dismissing it as Yorozu's own wishful thinking or entertaining it as an intentional narrative hint from Gege. Cause if this turned out to be some sort of vague misdirect just to milk a reader's curiosity and tendency to look for meaning in everything then I'm up for another disappointment. This wouldn't be the first time Gege made an emotional or narrative build up towards something only to throw it to the side and proceed with the story as if nothing happened.

I guess, in the end, this theory relies heavily on whether or not we've seen all of Sukuna. But nonetheless I'm still interested on your thoughts cause I need someone to overthink things with 😅.

HOLA anon!

Well... regarding your comment about Gege's unpredictability and the possibility of him deciding to "just up and kill Megumi or Sukuna next chapter🥹"... considering you sent your ask before chapter 236 dropped, I gotta say your concern aged quite well 😂.

Anyways.

To be honest, I didn't know that such a theory existed! It makes so much sense that it does. I thought the theories regarding Sukuna and Megumi mostly revolved around Megumi getting eaten, which we all saw how that went.

But a theory about Sukuna grooming Megumi, as you say, does and doesn't make sense it actually pains me to say that it reminds me of Orochimaru/Sasuke. It is actually something I had speculated in private conversation with moots myself.

Let's taco'bout it and overthink the hell out of it further under the cut.

Why it doesn't make sense that Sukuna is grooming Megumi as the next King of Curses

I think Sukuna is far too selfish for that.

Not only that. The mindset that Heian sorcerers have around power is specifically based on their desire to come alive in the face of death. Like in Dragon Ball Z, Heian sorcerers take great joy and honor in battling stronger opponents.

Based on what we do know about Heian sorcerers and their desire to battle to the death, it would make more sense to think that Sukuna is grooming Megumi as a worthy opponent. Therefore, you could say it would be in Sukuna's best interest for Megumi to get stronger. This is actually what I mean when I say Sukuna is too selfish.

From my perspective, I don't necessarily think that Sukuna is selfish in the sense that he wouldn't want to hand over his title, but rather that Sukuna would want to fight someone who can challenge him and make him smile like only Sukuna can smile when he's enjoying himself in battle.

In other words, Sukuna would want to fight Megumi to death.

I also think at this point it's safe to say Sukuna's interest in Megumi was primarily 10s, more specifically because he saw an opening to take it by force.

As for Megumi, I wonder if more than seeing Sukuna as a mentor-like figure, he took his words (and Gojo's) as validation that his sense of self was limiting what he thought he could accomplish--the pinnacle of sorcery, Domain Expansion.

The way I see it, if this calamity, the King of Curses himself, told you that you have wasted your potential, it is sure to make you think twice about how you see yourself and what you can accomplish.

And here's the kicker...

So why does it make sense that Sukuna is grooming Megumi?

I wonder whether your intuition isn't picking up on one possible outcome for Megumi's fate.

I personally hope that Sukuna taking 10s from Megumi will backfire on him as it has likely given Megumi the opportunity to learn how to master the technique considering Sukuna is doing with it what Megumi had yet to accomplish.

In other words, Megumi is learning from Sukuna. It's not a formal mentor/mentee dynamic in the strictest sense of the word, but there may be an exchange of valuable learning happening regardless.

The thing is that Megumi and Sukuna share an inner domain, so we can assume Megumi is watching everything from inside the domain since Sukuna specifically killed Tsumiki with the express purpose of having Megumi witness her death at his own hands.

Anyways, that's my hc and specific hope for Megumi, as well as my interpretation to your question.

Sukuna, the one-note villain

I think we're in for a treat regarding his character. That's how I see it anyways since I am a Sukuna simp.

Also, part of the issue with Sukuna is that Gege has kept his symbolism and his philosophy rather tightly guarded. He only reveals bits and pieces about him, but it's always enough to make me want more.

I also have to admit I love that Yorozu's words just keep reverberating, so I'll probably write more about it for chapter 236.

Here's to us getting a payoff on "ultimate strength and the loneliness that it brings".

Thanks for reaching out overthinking-anon!