#and you can't maintain the existing bridge either

[slutshamethesquirrels]

Behind The Cover - Chapter 7

previous

“We can't, I’m sorry.” Suguru tells the blonde man. It was best if he led these kind of transactions. His ability to remain stone faced and resolute often gained them more in the end.

It wasn't often that anyone got invited into the vampires’ den, not that it wasn't guest ready.

Below the mezzanine, the living room was unnecessarily comfortable. The couch was plush, it's gray surface more than ready to provide ample relief for any back problems one may find themselves plagued with, already carefully decorated with an assortment of throw pillows and knitted blankets. Matching recliners framed it on either side, all pointed to a large mounted TV on the back wall above the fireplace that only ever came on when Yuuji could convince Megumi that it would be better to exist in the common spaces instead of locked away from the world. The coffee table was the centerpiece of the area, a large slab of raw wood coated in resin, its metal legs cradled by the plush of an off-white shag carpet designed to shelter weary feet from the hardwood.

And yet, Nanami Kento didn't seem to be relaxed at all, not that he ever did anyway. He stood off to the side, refusing to let his guard down. He was all tense shoulders, strained muscles and a locked jaw. But Suguru could imagine it was hard to relax when you were seated in a circle of predators.

Suguru wondered if he didn't know, if he was just a normal ignorant man, if his interior design would be enough to fool him. Or would he still pick up on the sterile air? Would he notice that all the house plants were artificial, that the random coffee mug or magazine one could find discarded on the end tables had never actually been used? Was Suguru's staging convincing enough for the average eye?

He couldn't justify why he played this game, there was no winner. In fact, there were no other players. Only one human had ever been allowed past the faux bookshelf upstairs, and that was Nanami Kento himself. Not a friend, but a colleague. A business prospect.

“I was afraid that would be the case.” A sigh from the disheveled blonde as he pulls his glasses from his face and uses the palm of his hand to kneed at the bridge of his nose. He looks like he hasn't slept very well, dark circles bleeding across the soft skin just below his eyes “Do you at least have some idea of how we can stop this? Or at least slow it?”.

Yes. But Suguru didn't need him to catch that information.

The “job” on the table today was different from the others they usually took. Typically, with the level of trust the crew had earned with Kento over the years, he no longer found the need to actually stop by. It was a rinse and repeat cycle of expertly encrypted E-Mails that would be delivered automatically. Sometimes, they'd get shorter lists weekly. Occasionally, longer ones monthly. Each one was a little different, but also all the same. Names, crimes, evidence files and pricing.

But those hits were all human, it was a glorified grocery list.

This?

When Kento had requested an actual meeting, they should've already known.

The news of Ryomen Sukuna's victims was spreading like wildfire. Hunts had become harder, security measures had doubled, and it seemed like the whole city was on high alert. Of course, Satoru and Suguru had debated back and forth on what was to be done about it, with Satoru in the corner of “mind our own damn business” and Suguru firmly on the side of taking action.

‘Action’ meaning a stern talking to, a harsh threat, or worse come to worst, a beat down. All four of the men had gone back and forth on whether or not it was worth potentially starting a turf war, but Suguru himself didn't think Sukuna's clan established enough to maintain solidarity.

He was a fledgling, as well as most of his cronies, only really having popped up in the last few years. He was rumored to be a hell of a fighter. Most undead knew who ran this city, though. Satoru and Suguru had never run into a problem with blatant disregard for their territory until now. He doubted that the gang would remain intact if enough of them were to have the fear of god beaten into them.

Even still, it felt like a risky move taking a hit that was one of their own, despite Nanami Kento having made a damn good case.

Sprawled across the coffee table are stacks of papers. Court cases, filings, evidence files for ongoing victims. Kento had made sure to exclude any names or photos of victims who still lived, not that any resident of this house cared in any capacity. It seemed Sukuna had been a violent predator long before he was undead, and that combined with his recent rendezvous was a perfect shit storm. Still, humans in the end were disposable. Important only as a food source. His crew would come first, always, and straight up murdering the head of another clan was only going to put them at risk.

The only good option was scouting vampire hunters, but they were more rare than vampires themselves, and god knows no undead being wanted them in this town.

“Unfortunately, no.” Suguru lies. Confidently, arrogantly, his arms folded tightly across his chest while his shoulders support his weight against the mantle of the fireplace.

For a moment, the only sound was Yuuji shuffling through the papers on the table from his seated position on the floor. His brows are knotted together, bottom lip occasionally pulling between his teeth as he scans over the information, obviously perturbed. Itadori was softer than the other three members of the group.

He didn't enjoy the thrill of the hunt, and considered it a necessity for survival more than anything. He never directly ate flesh, instead his victims would be found dead with a shattered seventh cervical vertebrae and a gash across any major arteries, usually wiped clean and respectfully redressed, laid back in their beds and covered morgue-style with their sheets. Instead of eating at the scene, he had an entire process of draining blood into containers.

The entire process took him forever and a half, and involved a shit ton of anti-coagulants. Suguru was fairly certain his household single handedly funded half of the Bayer corporation's profits. He was often barely beating the sun home. He’d often be seen around the house with a solid metal tumbler, the straw metal as well, like he didn't want to see what he was consuming. Satoru made fun of him for this, jokingly referred to it as “Yuuji’s sippy cup”, but Suguru had always had a soft spot for his unshakable goodness.

Megumi is perched on the arm of the couch behind him, slender legs stretched down to the carpet as verdant eyes scan back and forth, reading over Itadori’s shoulder.

The pair reminded Suguru a bit of Satoru and himself. Itadori, without Megumi, surely would've stepped out into daylight by now. And though Fushiguro was more poised, less obvious about it, Suguru was fairly certain it was the same the other way around. The sun and the moon, yin and yang, bitter and sweet.

“Stop” the word is barely audible as Megumi kicks into Yuuji’s side with a socked foot. The pink haired boy huffs, but obeys, tossing the papers down and cradling his face in his hands, elbows resting on the table.

“If it helps,” Satoru interjects, and Suguru hopes he doesn't have to knuckle box him for whatever he's about to say “We have been keeping tabs on this situation. Big guy's really fuckin’ up the vibe around here.”.

Could he be more unprofessional? He's strewn his tall ass out across the couch, one leg cocked up on the cushions and the other one extended off the edge. The entire time he’d been playing battleship on his phone, ocean eyes never moving from the screen, even when he did have something to say. Making sure Kento knows just how much his little meeting meant to him.

“What Satoru means,” Suguru corrects with an apologetic ghost of a smile “is that we agree something has to be done here. But we can't make the wrong move. We have to consider the risks, and jumping straight into elimination is going to stir the pot. No one wants that. Not us, not you.”.

Satoru chuckles dismissively “Elimination? Is that what we’re calling it these days- ah shit, they sunk my carrier!”.

Suguru and Nanami give him the same annoyed glare while Megumi makes a sound almost akin to laughter.

Nanami rolls his eyes and returns his full attention to Suguru:

“I understand, believe me I do. But we simply cannot waste time with this, and you four are our most trusted affiliates on this side. I fear if something isn't done soon, the city will resort to outsourcing for an executioner. No offense, but I don't want a den in this town if it isn't this one.”

“Awwwh, he likes us, Sugu-!”

“Shut it.” Suguru barks in Satoru’s general direction, and then allows his eyes to wander as he toils over the next move for a moment.

Satoru, as irritating as he may be, spread out on the couch.

Megumi, tracing ghostly circles in between Itadori's shoulder blades as he twists at the locks of his hair; a nervous habit Suguru had picked up on eons ago.

They were the closest he'd ever have to friends, to family. It was his job to upkeep them for as long as possible.

And then the papers scattered across the table. A photo catches his eye. The remnants of a young woman, gutted and dismembered, body pieces strewn across fresh grass in the early morning dew. Her severed head faces the camera, eternally fixed in an open mouthed scream of horror. Anguish fills her features, her hair is disheveled and knotted, torn away entirely in some places. One of her cheeks is completely gone, exposing bare teeth on the side. Suguru has an irritating thought; She looks like you.

Eventually, Kento is persuaded to buy them some time while they decide which move to make.

It's irritating, just another thing to stack on top of his plate. Not that his plate had been filled with anything but you. Pesky little creature, you were.

He hadn't attempted to reach out to you in weeks, cycling through the idea that you'd be better off far away from him and the fact that he had enough to keep him somewhat functioning, for now.

He’d spent an unhealthy amount of time indulging in his obsession. Notifications turned on for all your socials, he’d often wait until you went live to really indulge himself. If he could, his laptop was his preferred method of viewing, watching you as you showed off an animal, or did your makeup, or talked about your day, whatever. His free hand would press the shredded dress he’d taken from you to his face, inhaling your scent as his other stroked his cock.

How long had it been since he had such uncontrollable human desires?

He’d overwhelm himself with you, watching you smile at him through a second hand medium, hearing your honey sweet voice in his ears, inhaling the fucking masterpiece that was the remnants of your sweat and arousal. It was a lethal concoction.

In his head, you were there. He could almost feel you, warm and wet and pathetic, bouncing on his girth, trying desperately to earn his approval. He'd make you beg, wanted to hear you tell him how badly you needed him, wanted you to fall into him as you came. He wanted you to cry. Fuck, you were so pretty when you cried. He wanted to lap up the tears and the sweat. Wanted to eat you until you were a debauched excuse of a person beneath him.

Imagining biting into your soft flesh always triggered his release. And when he’d cum, he’d cum hard .

Tonight was no different. Or at least, he hadn't intended for it to be different.

A notification, around two or so. Strange hours. Typically, you tend not to post or go live past about eleven.

He excuses himself from the common area to head to his room, completely prepared to go through his usual routine, until he clicks the play button on the video.

You're sitting in that pink office chair, cross legged and looking unwell. There are prominent bags under your eyes, your hair is unstyled, your skin devoid of makeup. Someone less obsessive than himself maybe wouldn't have noticed, but you appeared to have lost weight. Instead of your normal skimpy attire, you're wearing flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt that swallows you whole, hiding your body from the world at large.

If he had a blood pressure, it would’ve bottomed out.

“Hey guys,”

Your voice is strained, and you raise a hand and wave sheepishly, almost like you're camera shy.

“I, uh, have never had to make a video like this so forgive me if I’m acting weird or anything. I’m kind of nervous.”

Your other hand scoops down in your lap and you produce a bearded dragon. Suguru's ashamed to admit he knows it's name immediately.

“That's why Jingles is here to keep me company. She's my emotional support lizard.”

The giggle that comes out of you at your own joke sounds forced and fake.

Suguru can feel his body winding up, pressure building in his chest like a powder keg. Something was wrong here.

“Anyway, due to, uh.. Unforeseen circumstances, I guess- I’m going through a lot of life changes right now. It's kind of a lot, but to keep it short and sweet I’m in the process of finding a new place to live, and dealing with some, uhm, pretty gnarly mental health stuff-”

You look away from the camera, your eyes trailing off somewhere to the left and absentmindedly you bring Jingles up to your shoulder, one hand using a finger to stroke her back as you continue to speak. He’d never seen you struggle to communicate through video before. Countless times he'd watched you charm the sock off of thousands through the camera. It made him sick.

“And, uhm, I guess there's no easy way to say this but uh, I'll be taking a break from social media for a while.”

Your lip juts out against your will and your gaze falls to the floor, hair covering your face from the camera momentarily. The video cuts, and it's obvious you've been crying, your cheeks now red and swollen. Jingles clings to the front of your tshirt.

“I’ve also been in the process of re-homing a lot of my animals-”

Immediately, you burst into tears, your hand flying to cover your face. Another jump cut.

“It's just not fair to them when I really can't provide them with the time and care they need right now. I want to take a moment to thank all the rescues that have helped me through this process-”

The rest of the video is you apologizing, thanking your supporters and friends, and reminding your followers to donate to the rescues that have assisted you. The last thing you do is take Jingle's clawed front foot and wave at the camera before the screen goes dark.

There is no caption on the video, just links to donate. He refreshes a few times and comments begin to flood in. Confusion, anger, chaos dominates the comment section, along with a lot of kind words about you and your contributions to people's daily lives. Annoyingly, some comment about your looks still, and he thinks that maybe he should’ve taken out people by the thousands back when he had the chance.

He's risking exposing himself, but he can't take it. He needs to know what's happening. Immediately.

Your POV:

The week after receiving the photo your life had melted into shambles.

You stopped going out altogether, afraid of running into him. Not that Ryomen would’ve ever been caught dead in the places you typically visited. He wasn't exactly a cafe, walking park, or bookstore kind of guy. Even still. You’d had food delivered, and your trashcan was surely located somewhere beneath the pile that surrounded it.

Dirty laundry overtook your floor, and for the first time since he went to prison you’d picked up smoking again. The only thing keeping you from doing it indoors was the health of your animals.

And maybe that's what hurt the worst. You knew you had to leave the city you’d come to know as home, but transportation of live animals wasn't cheap, and transportation of animals with specific heat and humidity requirements was insanely pricey. Even worse, you knew you'd have to go as far as humanly possible, so you were looking at air transportation versus ground. It made you sick, having to pick.

Each one was your baby, each one had a story and a name and hours upon hours of handling and taming. Each tank was designed and decorated by you. The amount of love you’d poured into them was immeasurable.

Nanami Kento had bought you your first reptile. A congratulatory gift for escaping Ryomen. It spurred a new light in you. Sukuna never liked the idea of you having pets, your attention and affection was not to be divided, and so despite your interest you’d refrained. Only one time did you try while you were with him.

It was a brazilian black tarantula, no bigger than the pad of your thumb at the time. You thought it’d be okay, seeing as they didn't like to be handled, and all you’d really have to do is feed it and provide it basic husbandry. Other than that, there'd be no skin off anyone's back, only a tank and a little guy sitting on a shelf to look pretty.

But when he'd come over to find it, he'd lost his mind. You think that maybe the lowest point of your life was watching him throw the starter terrarium against the wall, unable to move or speak as it shattered. Unable to move or speak as he looked you dead in the eyes and brought his boot down on the poor creature, squishing it against the tile. It didn't even have a name yet.

Trying to contain your sobs as you cleaned up the remnants of its body off the floor, you’d decided then that you had to get out, somehow. There was no world in which such an innocent creature deserved that fate, no world in which you shouldn't be able to cry aloud without facing some unknown horror.

So when he’d been locked away on an unrelated charge, when you were leaving the courthouse with your shoulders lighter than they’d been in years, when the lead prosecutor on the case had flagged you down and asked you to meet him by his car, you felt vindicated to tell him yes. Yes, you would walk with him to his car, because you could. You could make that choice.

He’d retrieved a thick envelope from the car, its contents containing a stack of adoption paperwork, and several receipts for a tank, food bowls, meal worms, a heat lamp, and so on. Nanami had told you that you were the proud owner of a baby bearded dragon, courtesy of himself and the rest of the prosecutorial council. The agreement was that you would care for it for the entirety of its lifespan, eight to ten years. And with the promise of caring for the reptile came the stipulation of staying the fuck away from Ryomen, because god knows he’d never allow it.

Nanami Kento was the first man who ever treated you with kindness, and you intended to keep your promise to him. Jingles would remain with you, and the two of you would never again allow Sukuna within a thousand feet of your lives.

Still, it didn't make it any easier.

Part of you wondered if it was fate, if Sukuna was predestined to rule your life forever.

Part of you wondered if you were overreacting, deconstructing yourself and your life over some dude who just happened to look like him.

Part of you knew what you saw, knew you weren't crazy, knew you were in danger if he ever found you. And not the sexy kind.

With a deep breath, you’d posted your goodbye video, immediately logging out of all your social media after. You didn't need the comments, couldn't handle it.

You’d taken to sleeping in the bathtub, feeling more secure in the windowless environment behind two extra locked doors.

So there you were, curled in a nest of pillows and blankets, begging yourself to sleep, when your phone rang.

At first, you ignore it, let it ring to completion and go silent, feeling relieved that there was no pressure to speak to anyone. You couldn't imagine who’d be calling at this hour anyway. Your friends already knew the details, and wouldn't be shocked by your semi-public mini-breakdown.

…The mother fucker rings again.

You jerk the device from the tub's edge, and you're surprised when you feel nothing at the name flashing across the screen. It was all too much, you were emotionally drained.

Suguru is calling…

You let it go to voicemail again, rolling back over and settling into the blankets. You're breathing deeper, your body getting heavy, when he calls again.

You snatch your phone again, answering and pressing it to your ear with a growl.

“It's the middle of the fuckin’ night. What could you possibly need?”

Silence, for a moment, and then:

“You just posted the most concerning video I’ve ever seen on instagram. I know you're awake.”

You scoff, irritated. Why the fuck did he have the voice of an incubus?

“Who gave you my instagram? Stalker.” you accuse, half teasing and half genuine.

“You told me all about your social media at the party, it wasn't hard to find.”

Touchè.

“Also, you didn't follow me back. I’m hurt.”

You think you can hear a drip of sarcasm in his tone, it makes you feel both angry and a little more alive.

“Suguru, what do you need? I’m kind of really busy-”

“At this hour? Doing what?” You can tell he doesn't believe you.

“Stuff!” You defend, and he laughs, and for some reason the sound brings a warmth to your chest and tears to your eyes.

“Okay, sure, well I’m so sorry to have interrupted your very important ‘stuff’ time, princess, but I was actually calling to check on you.”

You feel your bottom lip tremble against your will, a knot in your throat winding so tight you fear it may snap.

“Okay.” It's all you can force out.

“...So? Are you okay?”

You take a deep, shaky breath.

“What if the answer is ‘no’?”

“Then I can be there tomorrow night.”

The dam breaks, and tears flow freely down your face, accompanied by hiccups and puppy whimpers.

“Then no,” you choke “I-I’m not okay."

next

[im-the-j-in-anthony-j-crowley]

All of us against all of them

I feel like from the end of the first season we know what the third season will be about. And like Crowley, I bet my money it's all of them against all of us.

It only remains to define: who are they and who are us?

This publication is technically the second part of this one. And there are a few before where I explain a little more about my take on the series.

They is the easy option to define, they refer to heaven and hell as institutions. I feel that the greatest representation of them is obviously Metatron.

But I have trouble placing the underworld as part of them, and I feel that maybe that's where Crowley has been failing a bit.

Both Aziraphale and Crowley have accepted humanity as something in itself... deserving of respect. They see them almost as equals, I'd say the only problem they have against that is the fact of the difference in life. It's hard to see them 100% as equals if you're immortal and they only live an average of 60 years.

But neither of them have taken a good stance on hell, and I feel that's where the most interesting part to analyze is.

We know that everything in good omens is about gray scales. But we haven't seen that scale applied to heaven and hell. We've been seeing how Aziraphale and Crowley talk about it as just humans, and that the reason they're both able to see that grayscale is that they've been around humanity for a long time. They have placed that scale as something that should not be applied to angels and demons.

And I think that's a mistake

The first season is in a way, Aziraphale and Crowley appreciating how good humanity is...that humanity has a little bit of both sides, that they can decide. That they can create things.

Crowley mentioning all the things that humans created and are associated with hell.

The first season I would say is defined in accepting that humanity is both good and bad. And that you can choose

The second season is a bridge. What we see most in the second season is... togetherness. It's Aziraphale and Crowley getting to know each other even more and allowing themselves to be themselves in that space they created in humanity. Where they can pretend they're not angels and demons. But that illusion doesn't last, we see hell trying to control Crowley, because at the end of the day, Crowley is one of them. We don't see the same from heaven because heaven has a much bigger denial to traitors. They tend to want to wipe them out of existence.

And in the end, we end up with Aziraphale agreeing to go back to heaven. And I feel like this makes a lot of sense in the fact that Aziraphale has always been the one who maintains the idea that he and Crowley are an angel and a demon. He's never been able to let go of that

He's tried, but it's an extremely difficult thing to do. And I would say it is because the structure present in heaven (demons as inferiors) makes it much more difficult to accept. And I don't think this is Aziraphale's fault, and I don't think it's a bad thing either.

They are, in fact, an angel and a demon. And the solution Crowley offers of pretending they are not and running away is not a real solution. It doesn't solve the problem, you just avoid it

Aziraphale and Crowley in the second season learn that they can be together when heaven and hell leave them alone. But by the end of it, they must accept that heaven and hell exist. And that they are part of the system. Humanity is part of the system.

The system exists and they can't escape it.

I feel that the only way you could get to a better end, to a better system, is to redefine that system. And I think that requires more than just humanity against them.

Aziraphale and Crowley are not the only ones who are against the system. We've already seen Beelzebub and Gabriel. So what I'd like to be able to see is them noticing that they're not the only ones. That more angels and more demons show up willing to join them.

To say that only Aziraphale and Crowley would side with humanity is to say that effectively, the gray scale only exists in humans. And I refuse to believe that when we know that hell is having problems.

Us should be humanity, the demons who are tired of hell, and the angels who believe the system should be changed

We know these demons exist. And the angels... I have complete faith that Aziraphale is going to convince at least some of them

[d--t]

I almost added onto a post but you know what Imma be incoherent on my own post

I am once again asking you to consider physical infrastructure and why we need government, or at least an overseeing organization before you go off and make your anarchist-mutual-aid-utopia-commune.

We need government because there are people who think that this

is an acceptable way to hold up a house. What you’re looking at is two 2x4 beams supporting the floor joists for a two story section of house. The 2x4s are braced on a windowsill and a bit of broken foundation and are not secured in any way.

I should not have to explain that this is not how houses are supposed to be held up.

The building codes we have now were bought with a century or two of buildings falling down and killing people. It is actually important to observe building codes, and it is also important to have a body to oversee the building codes and send someone around to make sure that they’re being followed.

I am fully aware that the current implementations are biased could use a lot of improvement especially in the realm of doing things about reported problems. But step 1 is making sure that things are built well to start with. (With less capitalism, step 1 would be a lot easier and prevent disasters like grenfell.)

Without basic oversight, there are people out there who really think that this in an acceptable way to build a house.

Yeah.

(The other side of it is worse I just can’t get the picture off of my phone.)

(6/17/21 edit: got the pictures off of my phone)

I want fully automated luxury space communism as much as the next guy. But I also want building codes because people will cut every corner and pass it off as fine. They won’t do it maliciously: this person was building their own house, the people who shorted the cladding on grenfell were trying to stick to the construction schedule. Grenfell wouldn’t have been as bad if the tower had been up to code.

I’m just begging you all to realize that people are gonna people. They’re gonna do stupid shit that gets people killed for no reason other than “it’s probably gonna be fine”. We can learn from past mistakes but instead of everybody having to analyze every disaster for what went wrong every time we wanna put up a building, we can just have building codes, yanno? And an ideal government can make sure that everyone has to follow the same building codes.

[tamelee]

Why are Naruto fans so confused about what's canon and what's not? When I watched Naruto growing up people just knew that anything not written by Kishimoto wasn't canon. Suddenly after The Last and those terrible novels, all of which can't even stick to the most simple world building facts, they want to know whether external material is canon. How can you believe that The Last is canon when they erased Naruto's backstory just to make Hinata have a more important role in his life. Hinata was never bullied, the Hyuuga are seen as a prestigious clan how can the heiress (at the time) get bullied for her eyes. Naruto had an extremely lonely childhood, he was not friends with his classmates. When the rookies were introduced he didn't have a single nice thing to say about any of them and he called Hinata a weirdo. A jinchuuriki is not supposed to be able to fall for a genjustu and yet that's how he falls in love with her. By finding out everything she did for him and being guilted into it by other characters as well (why would Shikamaru and Sai even care... Sakura, maybe). Compare his expression during his confession for Hinata to his expression telling Sasuke that he's glad he met him under the bridge. Where did Naruto even go!? He was replaced by a depressed clone in this movie. They needed a reason for him to ignore her confession except it couldn't be the obvious one: he doesn't return her feelings, so he suddenly compares love to ramen and doesn't know what love is even though the sage of six paths specifically said that both Naruto and Sasuke know what love is and he told Zabuza that Haku loved him (let's ignore Naruto showing his love for Sasuke). And it would be a complete embarrassment to consider that SS fanfiction canon. Dinosaurs, kissing on top of Naruto's unconscious/dying body, Naruto getting a chakra sickness that has no mention in anything written by Kishi, Sasuke playing poker, watching cherry blossoms thinking of Sakura, saying that he knows Sakura's body, Sakura riding a motorbike to the moon, Sasuke getting jealous of another man being close to Sakura, Sakura knowing fire style justu, Sasuke knowing medical ninjutsu, a chakra ring that doesn't exist anywhere else except this novel and Sasuke wanting to keep their marriage a secret to protect Sakura (but in Gaiden Sakura plasters the crest everywhere), I'm not even going to mention all the cheesy lines about Sakura. But the author, Jun Esaka, only got into Naruto a year before writing this fic and you can tell she either didn't read the original source material or didn't understand it. She even said that the novel was just her interpretation

*nods* beautifully said Non.e ✨♡

But damn, the SS-fanfic Sasuke Retsuden novel is even worse than I thought. 

I indeed read something about Dinosaurs “bUt iT’s A nUdGe ToWarDs hiS plUshY!!” Yeah, still doesn’t make sense though? Also Sasuke would NEVER do something so disrespectful when Naruto is unconscious/dying.. instead:

And excuse me what? Chakra sickness? Naruto!?

This is how he started out:

Also meaning that this Kage Bunshin bullshit to “save Hinata” from the bullies in her made-up tragic past so she can have some sympathy time with kid!Naruto in ‘the Last’ is impossible. Read: Not Canon. 

Anyway-

Manga: “no matter how great the amount of chakra you summon and manipulate, if you can’t maintain your balance, whatever the technique, not only will the effectiveness of your maneuver be cut in half, but you could blunder so badly the spell may not be released at all.”

Naruto can’t make a perfect mini-him here at this age, no matter how small. 

And:

Chakra level isn't just about the amount, but how effective you are in maintaining your balance. Let alone Naruto's extreme finesse:

So.. chakra sickness? C’mon now, go away. (Not you Non.e) More like "I-don't-want-to-be-in-this-novel-sickness", "help-me-sickness" and "save-me-from-'boruto'-the-show-sickness". That's much more believable, no?

I find the fascination with the moon interesting though, Sakura goes all ‘E.T’ and Naruto brings Hinata on a date to the moon. And Sasuke, our moon, in the meantime is.. playing poker?

Well.. “In standard poker, each player bets according to the rank they believe their hand is worth as compared to the other players.” 

I ‘bet’ Sasuke and poker don’t go ‘hand in hand’ .

Hehhehe.

...

Get it? Since he's missing.. a hand.. ok.

Okay okay sorry. 

Well I agree with everything you say, thankyou for adding all this info 💕, I didn't want to look it up tbh ;__; I do want to add something.

"Suddenly after The Last and those terrible novels, all of which can't even stick to the most simple world building facts, they want to know whether external material is canon."

This is not surprising.

CENSORSHIP & MARKETING

Because yes, this is a shonen-battle manga, one where -the heroes fight the enemies with the power of friendship to gain some sort of victory in the end. A story that include arcs that follow the Royal Road of Manga that Weekly Shonen Jump is known for- except, ‘Naruto’ is more complicated than that if you look closely. 

Regardless.. Naruto’s (and Sasuke’s) romantic love interest shouldn’t matter in the first place, but years of ‘shipping’-wars online beg to differ. And for good reason.

The “you’re my special person”-aspect of the story is not all what it seems (at times it’s more meaningful) despite it being blatantly obvious who is special to whom and who isn’t so much.. or worse- not at all. 

You possibly won’t understand until much later on when Kishimoto’s previous idea’s he planted in your head start to make sense. 

Except these damage-control “don’t worry, Naruto likes girls”-fillers or any other type of marketing go against its own material at times, so why is it so confusing?

(Whoo NaruSaku~)

‘Naruto’ in complete manga-form is a SNS love-story. This is something I will stand by and so I will not call it simply my “opinion”. Their bond for each other is weaved through what it is: Shonen-battle, sure, but it’s a bond formed out of love nonetheless. An open end like they had together was in my eyes perfect- a promise for more, yet unnecessary. 

Not everyone is able to filter out what is canon or not (nor do they have to, Naruto is first and foremost a source of entertainment), but if you only saw the anime then I don’t blame anyone for not picking up on this love-story that I (for example) am so passionately preaching for. 

I’ve studied Marketing.. and their team is so good at what they do, it’s annoying. They control every sub-fandom/shipper category by spoon feeding them little tweets like little flocks of blue birds on Twitter juuuuuust enough to keep them happy so they’ll empty their pockets every chance they get. The fighting is what keeps them popular- B*ruto really isn’t that great. I’m not saying that out of spite, but without Naruto and Sasuke.. c’mon now. 

And that’s probably the only reason why they’re still alive as I’m writing this post now.

Marketing official: “Let’s give the SS-shippers an illustration on Christmas, who cares if it’s OOC? Oh, now they’re angry about something? Hm.. let’s do the Sasuke-Retsuden manga adaptation then. NH-shippers aren’t satisfied? Uh, we already made SS look more miserable here, at least they got two kids and stuff so automatically their ship looks more ‘happy’ then.. right? Sunflowers and shit. We can’t do too much actually.. Hinata’s our hero-worshipping hentai-bait you know? She needs to look innocent, especially in contrast to Sakura. Btw, can we make some sort of dick-in-the-booty-type of necklace match for Naruto and Sasuke? Bet the SNS-fans would love that, but make sure to add an Uchiha symbol for Sakura somewhere so it’s not too obvious. We can’t bias any side. Yeah, thanks.”

So no matter how much fans go at each others throats for the silliest shit, it’s the marketing team that keeps that hostility alive. 

If there was ever some sort of finality (no, marriage in this case isn’t it) then eventually it would’ve died down a long time ago. And I EXPLICITLY say marketing team (and their higher ups), because we should not include all the people who worked really hard to create our entertainment like the spoiled brats we are. Heh.

Whatever anyone believes to be canon (even though it truly is simple), it must be monetized in a way. Do you really think they care to pinpoint whether a tiny piece of information is truly in alignment with the main storyline if it means it's profitable otherwise? Trust me that they have a room of people ready to deal with either your approval or your homophobia and this has nothing to do with Kishimoto himself or the extent in which anyone else had any influence on the story. 

Since we’ll never know that.

They’re (unfortunately) more capable/smarter than you’d think.

Questioning what is canon or not is licking the spoon they give you. Accepting whatever they say is just dropping to your knees with your mouth wide open not caring about the open manga that Kishimoto left behind you.

Masochistic dimwits.

[dumbmusclehypnojockboy]

Jersey Bros by writer-ofstuff

"So, how did these two do?"

"What do you think? Failures. Just like the others have been."

"I don't know. I wouldn't say they were total failures." The lead scientist mused.

"Sir? What do you mean? The super soldier serum didn't work." His assistant said.

"Yes, while that is true, it does tells us we are on the right track to perfecting it." The scientist said. He types on the computer and brings up their two subject's readings to show his assistants what he means.

"Look at their readings. Their DNA is already changing due to the serum. Which means we are closer to our breakthrough. We just need to do some more adjustments to the formula to get it exactly what we want it to do." He explains.

His assistants nod their heads in understanding and then busy themselves with work that the lead scientist instructs them to begin.

"Sir, what should we do with these two?" One of the asked, gesturing towards the two men who lay asleep on the metal table in the next room.

"Toss them out on the beach. They are no longer of any use to me now." He says dismissively.

The assistant nods his head and calls up a few soldiers who stood guard outside to help take Dean Winchester and Derek Hale's sleeping forms out of the lab and into a truck. Driving them down to an isolated part of the beach just as the morning sign rises and leaves the two sleeping men on the sandy beach.

------

Derek awakes with start, sitting up and looking out at the ocean while the gentle waves wash up and down the sand shore. He rubs his hand through his hair, not caring he is getting small pieces of sand in it.

He feels like he is forgetting something, like the last few hours there is just a hole in his memory. Derek turns his attention to the man sleeping close by him. The werewolf rolls his eyes when he hears Dean starting to snore rather loudly. He has a hard to believing this guy his a feared and bad ass hunter when he is passed out with his ass up in the air and a little drool coming out of his mouth.

Derek doesn't quite remember why he and this hunter teamed up, that being part of the missing pieces in Derek's memories. Yet he still for some reason remembers meeting Dean.

Derek gets to his feet and walks the short distance between himself and the sleeping hunter and lightly kicks him with his foot. The action jars Dean away who quickly rolls over and hits up, sand falling off his face from where he had laid asleep.

"Wake up."

"Wha? I am up." Dean says in a sleepy voice. Rubbing his face clean of the drool and the sand that was still on his face.

"Derek? Why are we on a beach?" Dean asked.

The hunter had sounded just as confused as Derek felt. So Derek doubts asking Dean if he knew what was going on here would be of any help.

"Come on, let's get out of here." Derek says.

He offers his hand out for Dean to take to help the other man up. As soon as their hands make contact a strange feeling jolts through both men's hands. The two men are so startled they let go of their hands and Dean falls on his ass.

"Oops, sorry bro." Derek says.

He frowns when he thinks about why he just referred to Dean as bro. That wasn't a word that Derek would use yet it just slipped out when he spoke. Derek thought nothing of it, besides Stiles said bro all the time so it must have just slipped into his speech.

Thinking about Stiles, Derek started to wonder where the younger man was. He had an odd feeling that he had been looking for him and grew tense at the thought.

'Was Stiles endanger and he didn't remember it?' He thought for a moment. But then his mind felt a little dizzy and then he thought about how the younger man is just at home relaxing.

Derek glances at Dean who looks lost in thought as well. Derek wants to ask him what he is thinking about, but he refrains from it. Dean was a hunter so Derek didn't want to bother to get to know the other man.

Now that he thinks about it, why was he even with Dean? He asks the human and sees Dean's confused frown deepened as he pauses walking.

"Huh, I don't know either." Dean said.

This honestly should alarm both men, yet Derek felt himself feeling relaxed instead. He assumes Dean feels the same way since the other man doesn't make a move to get away from Derek by walking in the other direction.

As they continue to walk side by side down the sandy empty beach Derek's mind wonders. Thinking about how the pair ended up on the beach anyway. Surely there was a reason wasn't there? At the moment he couldn't think what the reason was. When he asked Dean the other man shrugged his shoulders and didn't say a word.

When Derek stole a glance at him he frowned when he noticed that Dean's hair looked lighter than before.

'Wasn't his hair brown?' He thought to himself while he looked at Dean's now bleach blond hair. The hair style even looked different. Looking a little longer and styled differently with hair products to give Dean a fluffy faux hawk style hair do.

The hairstyle even made Dean look younger to Derek. The older man now looks like he is around Derek's age instead of a man pushing into his late thirties.

This was really starting to confuse Derek, but the more he pondered what was going on here the more those thoughts left his mind and he got distracted by something else.

"Did you change your hair?"

Dean hears Derek ask and he turns his attention to the werewolf.

"Sorry, what?" Dean asked. He wasn't really paying attention to what Derek said. Busy in his thoughts about why he was on a beach with a werewolf.

"Your hair. It looks different." Derek said.

Dean touched his hair, feeling how it was a little stiff from the hair product he put in this morning after his shower. It felt like his usual style, telling Derek as such.

When Dean looks over at Derek it's his turn to be confused since Derek's facial hair looked different. He could have sworn Derek had a thick amount of stubble along his jaw and around his mouth. Yet now Derek's face was all clean shaven except for some scruff that covered his chin.

Dean had intended to ask Derek about it, but he then thinks against it. After all it would sound rather odd to ask Derek that. Since obviously Derek just had the chin scruff prior, Dean must have just been mistaken is all.

He started to second guess himself, wondering what if something was going on here with himself and Derek. Especially since he couldn't quite explain why the two were even together in the first place.

The two men reach the boardwalk and continue to walk side by side in silence. The pair were both lost in their own minds trying to make sense of what they were doing when Dean noticed a gym to their right.

He pauses and stands outside it, looking inside through the glass windows. When Derek notices he isn't by his side the werewolf pauses and turns around.

"You alright bro?" Derek asked.

His voice sounded off to him and he clears his throat and asks again.

Dean didn't answer him so Derek walked up to stand beside him. He peers through the window of the gym like Dean is doing.. For a moment nothing happened but then Derek starts to get flashes of memories in his head. He sees himself inside the gym, working out with Dean. The two chat like they are best friends while they spot one other while they work out.

The memories he recalls aren't really, he knows this, but at the same time they feel like they are real to Derek and he hates that.

"Come on bro, let's get goin yeah?" Derek asks. Again his voice sounds off to him, but he can't quite place why.

"In a bit dude, I need to see somethin." Dean replies.

Derek opens his mouth to say something, but before he could Dean confused walking into the gym without another word.

"Fuckin hell." Derek grunted.

He paced a little outside, debating on what he should do. Running his hand through his hair, as soon as his hand falls back to his side his hair shifts. The sides shaving down to a buzz style while the mid section of his hair style back as it lengthens.

He thinks about just leaving Dean. Clearly something strange is going on here and that is the reason they feel holes in their memories while also having these fragments of new memories.

"Fuck it." Derek grunts and follows Dean into the gym.

------

Dean can't explain the urge he felt to go into the gym. Like Derek he gained those similar memories of himself and the other man coming here. In those false memories it seemed like they were close friends despite the two men hardly knowing one another.

He told himself this was to get to the bottom of things. Instead though Dean just wanders through the main area of the gym. He only sees men in the gym, some guys alone working out while others are grouped up and chatting while jogging on the treadmill.

What makes it strange is how some of them address him by his name, as if they know Dean. Rather than question how they know him Dean just rolls with it, greeting them back. While he does and continues deeper into the gym. His body alters, muscles becoming more toned and defined. Gained from years of working put and maintaining this kind of physique rather than Dean having earned it through training.

The tattoo on his left pec that wards of possession starts to break apart. The ink traverses along Dean's chest under his shirt. Wisps of ink branch off to spread along Dean's arms while the rest form into different styles of tattoos.

More false memories bombard Dean's mind and the hunter clenches his head as he attempts to push those new thoughts out of his mind. He looks ahead of him Dean sees he is standing a few steps away from a large wall mirror. He can see his green eyes darken and for a brief moment he fears he is being possessed by a demon.

"Demon? Demon's don't exist," he then thinks.

His green eyes turn brown, his lips get a little fuller, nose wider and the bridge of it becomes slimmer. Dean grunts, watching his face change before his eyes and unable to do anything but throw his arms up and start to pose. Smirking at his biceps and admiring how large they are. Giving into the admiration of his own appearance finally pushes Dean over. His mind purging his own self from it finally as his new dimwitted and vain self takes over.

He lifts his shirt up to admire his hard earned abs and pecs next once he has had enough flexing. Only stopping to look around and wonder where his best bro is at.

📷

----------

Navigating through the gym was making Derek feel uneasy. What connection he had left to his werewolf abilities was telling him something wasn't right about this place. The men he walked by all seemed like the same type. Self absorbed meat heads who cared only about themselves and showing off.

Derek despised shallow men like this. So whenever any of them tried to stop and talk to him he would give them a glare and ignore them to continue his search for Dean.

The further Derek ventured into the gym the harder it was to recall past memories of his. Thoughts he would have would shift to random things.

'I'm totally bigger than that dude.'

'Jason's here? May need to see if he wants to fuck in the locker room again.'

'Mike's here too. Should talk to him about getting another tat.'

'Where the hell is Dean at? My bro needs to spot me.'

Derek tried to shove those thoughts away but it felt like the more he tried to, the more adamant they were to linger in his head.

He needed to find Dean and get out of here. When he reaches the back area of the gym he finds a tattooed dude posing in front of the mirror.

Derek thought of what a self absorbed guido the guy was. The type of guy you would hate on a trash reality show. He releases only to realize a moment later that this man was somehow Dean.

Astonished, Derek quickly approaches Dean, opening his mouth to ask what happened to him.

"Looking good bro." He says instead. Taken aback by his own words.

Dean turns to look at him and grins.

"You see yourself bro? You hitting the iron hard ya?" Dean replies.

Derek wants to deny it, but he can feel his body surging with muscle. He tries to repel the ongoing changes, but it proves to be useless. His pecs inflate to large and firm pectorals. While his biceps gained quite a bit of bulk to them. The rest of him gained a significant amount of solid muscle while Derek also felt himself growing a little taller.

His pale skin darkened with a tan gained from walking around shirtless and hitting the tanning bed when he could.

Derek tries even harder to repel these alterations happening to him. Not wanting to end up like some self absorbed dick like Dean had become. He assumes being a werewolf has given him an edge that made whatever caused this work slower on him.

He can feel himself being overweight by whatever this is, wincing when two diamond studs appear in his earlobes and his mind shatters a few moments later. Derek stood there in a daze while his old thoughts were overrun by a new persona.

Derek then blinks himself awake, a slow grin spreading on his face as he flexes for Dean.

"Fuck yeah bro. You know I gotta keep this bod in shape for the studs." Derek said with a heavy Jersey accent.

He stands beside Dean and the best bros make faces and pose for a picture. Uploading it to social media before the pair get back to their workout routine. Neither of them remembering anything of their past selves.

📷