#man this chapter hurts me

[alygator77]

ch 4 of mhm will be out by the end of this week 🤗

[egophiliac]

well, I can't say I expected the new chapter to feature Idia (metaphorically) going to (metaphorical) hell, getting a pep talk from his (metaphorical) Phantom brother which helps him finally move on once and for all from his brother's death, and (metaphorically) overblotting again to fight his way back out of (metaphorical) hell, only to have his darkest fear (non-metaphorically) come true when his mom goes through his computer and finds all his secret files. but I am glad it did!

also this is all a flashback for the purpose of explaining to our group what the heck is going on (whether or not any of it is getting through is another matter)

[oh-no-its-bird]

The Hatake Clan of the year 1798, 2 years before Konoha's founding

7 / 21 accounted for (I'll make the others, or possibly beg someone to share their own with me, as I go along)

Close ups:

+ Bonus designs as I think about political machinations :

"when I looked it up, the wiki says that Iron country actually has little to no shinobi, and instead use samurai?

So, like, incooperating that, thinking that they ultimately ditch it for fire bc in 1789, the new daimyo (who is only 15 and being puppeted by his mother, the previous Daimyo's concubine, who also comes from a big samurai family) basically tells all the existing shinobi clans in iron (of which there are very few and generally keep to themselves out in the wilds) that they need to either leave, stop being shinobi alltogether, or come sit at the foot of the throne like good boys and sign some fun funky new contracts with the new daimyo heavily restricting their every move

like 2 years later Konoha is founded and the Hatake, who were looking for a way to get out of their situation, took the opportunity and ran"

Anyways I haven't slept in almost 24 hours, like holy shit, but I need everyone to look at his face tho:

He can do no wrong

[hani-hidaya]

never has there ever been a ship that goes through this cycle like asaden does

[gossippool]

someone beat me over the head so i can finish this chapter

[ddenji]

okay i think this is about to be an unpopular opinion but…. these two are like 2 sides of the same coin to me. beyond the shared public safety allegiance, they both violate denji's autonomy (yoshida stripping him to his underwear, tying him up, and threating his family in chapter 132 vs fumiko assaulting him in the movie theater in chapter 136) and work against his own best interest for the sake of the government. however, while they both take action in trying to force denji to do what they want, fumiko takes a more directly active role in the space of the fanatic who can't see/ doesnt care about the human behind her idol, whereas yoshida takes the more passive role of the government drone who wont act to protect the human if it means going against orders. in previous chapters, fumiko actively runs away from denji, leaving him to fight for himself, while yoshida passively tells denji that he isnt allowed to protect himself, putting him in harms way in his own right (and there is still the underlying threat of violence there if he tries to protect himself). even in the panels from this chapter, we see fumiko being active about her disregard for denji's well being by asking for little pieces of him, where yoshida is more passive in his disregard of the plan to dismember denji with a simple "yeah" answer. i know that they also have their differences, but i just think that they share intentional similarities (that other characters, particularly in the chainsaw man church, also share!!) that overall lead to denji getting hurt.

[mazojo]

Haru the mother you are !!

[sanji-screenshots]

trembling.png

[thebirdandhersong]

i personally think there was no need to make remarks about age

[teatimecort]

I felt someone whose determination is even stronger than the regret he carries.

[feyd-meowtha]

A Pain That I'm Used To Ch 13: Haunted House

When Paul awoke the dawn was grey, highlighted in blues and yellows where the rising sun hit the frost. At some point while he had been asleep the fire had burned out and the embers twinkled in the hearth, playful and inviting. Paul spared a look at Feyd who was lying with his eyes closed. Something about the stress in his shoulders made Paul suspect that he wasn’t actually asleep but he couldn’t be sure so he didn’t disturb him, thinking it best to let him rest. Coaxing the fire back to life was a quick task and soon they were once again toasty warm, the thin layer of ice that had formed on the windows thawed and dripped in miniature waterfalls onto the window-sills making rhythmic pattering sound.

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

I knew Micah wasn’t a great guy but I was a fool to think he had any redeeming traits.

[whumblr]

Agonising

I come in peace, I come bearing gifts. This is not the Bad Place. This is what happens to Zayne while Jay is on his way in the trunk of a car :) Follow-up to chapter Antagonising.

Home is where the hurt is: Part 1

-

So. This was it.

No way Emery was going to let a betrayal like this slide. And as soon as the bag was ripped from his head, when his eyes adjusted to the bit of light there was and he instantly recognised the warehouse, their old hideout, yeah, he knew he was going to die here.

With a grunt Zayne landed hard on his knees. Hands tightened around his shoulders, pressing him back down when he struggled to try and get back on one knee. He wasn’t going to just let this happen but even he had to admit defeat against two of Emery’s bodyguards who had the high ground. These weren’t owned pawns; they were paid and had their own motivation for helping Emery out. Money. Fear can only get you so far. A pawn controlled by fear would only gladly step aside to let a bullet pass right into a hated boss. Zayne knew he would. It's why Emery used him as a weapon instead of a shield. But when the paycheck stops along with your boss’ heartbeat… that’s a different matter.

His jacket was ripped away from him and leather cuffs were replaced by the bite of metal around his wrists.

He couldn’t suppress a shudder when the cold swept over his bare arms, when it stabbed right through his flimsy t-shirt. He glared up, teeth grit, hoping his boiling fury would serve to keep him warm. And to keep him from giving up.

“The only thing you have going for you right now, Zayne, is that I know this wasn’t your idea.” Emery slowly advanced on him now that he was safely contained on his knees, having cowardly kept a few steps back, slinking in the shadows to let his pawns fight Zayne to his knees, too afraid he would snap towards him. “So consider this your one and only chance to start talking.”

Zayne scoffed and turned away but a gloved hand snagged in his hair and pulled him back, forced him to look up.

Emery’s face of thunder told Zayne that not in a million years the guy could have seen this coming. So once the wince of pain had retreated, Zayne merely scoffed again, this time with a gloating smile.

“You should start preparing your exit instead of bothering with me.”

The hand in his hair slid away and he braced himself. Emery couldn’t throw a punch to save his life, hell, couldn’t make a dent in a pack of butter if he tried. So unsurprisingly, the gloved hand instead simply made a gesture to the man standing behind him.

And something akin to a brick to the face made his head snap to the side.

He couldn’t contain a grunt of pain, couldn’t fight off the haze that nearly paralyzed him for a few seconds. Then he shook it off and sat upright again, as if nothing had happened.

“Is it really that strange I want to see you go down?” he snarled.

“No. But your talk of your reporter looking into things and suddenly you want me to go on record to admit to plans of murder? Not that hard to see the full picture.” Emery’s face twisted into the condescending smile Zayne knew so well. “Not to mention you don’t have the brains to come up with such a plan yourself. You were even too stupid to bring it to a success.”

Before Zayne could growl out a reply, a bare hand curled in his hair again, pulled him up. Another fist blasted full in his stomach, followed up with a backhand to the face.

He doubled over, coughing, wheezing. Squeezing his eyes shut against the pain for the brief moment that he could conceal his face while leaning down.

His breath came in shallow shudders, pain and something he didn’t want to acknowledge making it hard to regain a steady rhythm. But he pulled himself up as far as he was allowed on his knees, straightening up and baring his torso as if he dared them to go for another.

Emery just watched, looking down on him, unmoved by the violence.

“So tell me, exactly, why I shouldn’t bother with you. Hm?”

“They know everything. Police will come looking for you soon.”

“Please.” A casual wave of his hand and Emery shook his head. “Don’t tell me you actually went along with your reporter’s fantasies?”

A cry of pain slipped free when a fist caught him right smack in the face. He felt his nose give, felt it break. Blood gushed down over his lips, dripped onto his knees. His chin drooped, making a red stain where it rested against his chest. Yet again, he forced himself back up.

And he spat out a glob of blood right in front of Emery’s polished shoes.

Didn’t matter that he missed. His nose was going to give him plenty of material to try again.

He hadn’t noticed one of the men had circled him and the kick from behind came out of nowhere.

His hands automatically moved, trying to catch himself. But he only managed to scrape the skin of his wrists as he yanked them against the unyielding metal. He barely managed not to smash his broken nose against the floor. Blood still spilled over his chin, staining the grey dust with red. Increased the splatter as he coughed hard when a kick to his side connected.

It became harder and harder to fight his way back to a kneeling position. A position that allowed him to hold on to the few fragments of pride he still had. He sure as hell wasn’t going to slump down on his knees in defeat. Doubled over in pain. Looking down. He wasn’t! Even if it hurt to breathe, hurt to strain his muscles, he was gonna get back up damnit!

Unexpectedly, and very unwelcome, the man behind him helped with that. Zayne felt something poke against his back, touch over the inside of his arm. He glanced back. Noticed the guy behind him standing on one leg. And before he could even think about taking advantage of that, an immense pressure tugged against his wrists.

 The handcuffs dug into his skin as the man stepped onto the chain and pressed down.

Zayne hissed, hid a cry of pain into a choked off grunt. He could already feel the blood drip down his wrists and he had no choice but to follow as he was leveraged up, shoulders ready to pop if he kept resisting. His back arched, his chest tilted up, his torso now even more vulnerable than before and—

He retched hard when a fist buried into his stomach again. Crushed against ribs. Into his side. A knee rested against his back, slowly moving down and it felt like his wrists were getting torn off. A hand slid under his chin, fingers bruised his jaw as the man behind kept him from slumping over. And only let go when he finally cried out after several more blows to his ribs.

He nearly collapsed right then and there. Going by how painful it was to even breathe right now, he was pretty sure something broke. The coughing really didn’t help either.

Something cold pressed under his chin and he went still. He followed up as the gun tilted his head until he looked into the dead cold eyes of his former boss.

“Mercy?” Emery asked, tipping the gun so the muzzle pressed into the underside of his chin.

“Fuck no,” Zayne growled.

The gun pulled away and something almost like a smile crossed Emery’s lips. “Good.”

A sudden bright light lit up the room and Zayne squinted, turning his head. Unwise. He didn’t see the fist coming this time and it nearly blew him right to the ground. It took all his core muscles to stay upright.

When he peeked a glance, he realised it came from the headlights of an approaching car, shining right through the entrance, engulfing Emery in light. His silhouette stood out against the beam, unmoving, the gun by his side, his coat merely rustling in the wind.

Then it died and he heard two doors slam shut. Heard some commotion, followed by eerie silence.

Two men marched in, dragging in a third caught in the middle of them. There was no resistance. The blond man in the middle didn’t move. He was draped over their arms letting them carry him, hands tied behind his back, head lolling, feet dragging. They dropped him without a care and he collapsed like a doll with its strings cut. And he didn’t move.

Zayne caught the whispered “no” that was about to emerge from his throat, but then the figure twitched to life. Jay groaned softly, rubbing his forehead against the concrete. And Zayne felt himself exhale, flooded with relief. He was still alive.

But… he wasn’t supposed to be here.

“If you don’t want to tell…” Emery sneered, “maybe he will.”

That actually made him laugh. And it earned him another punch. Didn’t need it; his ribs already punished him for that snort. “Yeah… good luck with that,” he said, revealing a bloodied grin.

Emery ignored him. Walked over to Jay who flinched back. Said something Zayne couldn’t hear. With him standing over the barely moving man, Zayne found himself leaning forward, wanting to snarl at him to leave him al—

A well-timed punch across the mouth shut him up. Another followed. Stay put, they said. Don’t move. Don’t interfere.

The whole left side of his face was pins and needles by now, battered and bruised. Would be nice if they’d stop slowly pulverizing his left cheekbone to dust and he found himself wishing they’d mix things up a little, with a backhanded slap or something.

“It doesn’t matter that he’s here,” he tried – a total lie – when Emery returned and loomed over him. “You can kill us both, but you’re still going down.” Jay’s words echoed in his mind.

“Well, you won’t be there to see it,” Emery said, still eerily calm. “Even if I were to keep you alive you wouldn’t.” He took a step back so they could both look at Jay, who by now was in full-blown panic mode. “Shame you didn’t kill him when I told you to. Now he gets to kill you instead.”

“Wha—"

“While it would be my pleasure to drive a bullet into your skull myself...” He twisted the gun in his hand, pressed it into the hand of one of his men, and considered Jay. “I think I’ll allow your victim to do the honours.”

Then his gaze shot back to Zayne, studying his trembling form, the swelling on his face, the pain in his eyes, and the fury that despite all of the former still blazed brightly.

“But maybe… a little payback is in order first.”

-

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[unma]

Saw the Epilogue for Liar Satsuki just now and yeah no, I was coping when I thought it'd make things better. I still can't believe Akira and Satsuki didn't end up together. After EVERYTHING these two have been through together. Komachi is not even slightly as relevant for most of the manga, and you can say what you want about both their abilities tying them together thematically and what not, but frankly the entire manga set it up such that Akira x Satsuki was the obvious choice.

[gossippool]

just rewatched one of my favourite breaking bad episodes and got an epiphany for a poolverine week fic omg

[transmasccofee]

the implications of this bit are still wrecking me sososo bad