#just one of those scenes i think about a lot

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hey um, what if the Overblot boys told each other their backstories?

Mmm… Well firstly, I think it would take a lot of effort to arrive at a point where all of the OB boys would even feel comfortable being that emotionally intimate with the others. Many of the OB boys are highly guarded and resistant to putting themselves in compromising positions. For example, I can easily see Azul being paranoid that the others would use his background as blackmail; he would not risk having his own vulnerabilities becoming public knowledge. Would Leona really be okay with being sentimental in front of various people he dislikes, especially Malleus and Vil? Would Idia feel safe unpacking his trauma and grief in front of his peers? Etc, etc, etc.

Secondly, I think that even if the OB boys were hypothetically at the point where they were okay sharing their backstories with the others, it wouldn’t change much about their immediate circumstances?? The OB boys generally don’t strike me as particularly… empathetic? At least not automatically empathetic. It’s something they would need to put effort into and actively work on. I imagine that they’d otherwise just pull a Zuko-style “That’s rough, buddy” or potentially even say something tactless that rubs their peers the wrong way (for example, not fully understanding the situation or even downplaying one another’s trauma). Riddle (someone with very little to no experience with social media and entertainment mediums) might not get how being a celebrity influences Vil’s life, Leona might insult Malleus (someone whom he has a bone to pick with), everyone might still be upset with Malleus for what he did to them in book 7. etc. Each OB boy only has their own experiences as the lens through which they see and interact with the world, and it’s not that easy for just anyone to put themselves in the shoes of another person.

Hearing a (for lack of a better term) traumadump doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll connect with it or understand just how grueling it was for the person who experienced said trauma. It would usually take a significant amount of time and reflection (ideally facilitated by a licensed mediator or professional) to digest those stories in group therapy and to make sure that everyone actually understands one another. A surface-level story retelling alone in most cases isn’t (again, for lack of a better term) “enough”, especially with how self-centered, emotionally immature, and different many of the OB boys are.

Think of empathy like a skill or a muscle. It isn’t innate. You need to develop it and train it, and not putting it to use can lead to atrophy. And given how arrogant and independent your usual NRC student is… yeah, it’s definitely going to be something for them all to work on.

If you want to think of it another way, it’s like how different players will react differently to reading the OB boys’s backstories. Someone who experienced bullying similar to Azul could more easily empathize with him while also not fully “getting” the full scope of other stories they hear. Maybe they can’t understand why Riddle still cares about the mother who mistreated him. Maybe they don’t see why Jamil sacrifices so much for his family. It doesn’t make the player a bad person for not understanding all the stories, it simply means they have a limited perspective. The same is true of the TWST characters; they, too, have incomplete points of views.

Maybe knowing their backstories in advance would change some scenes in small ways (such as book 6, when they split up and then butt heads with each other). They’d know where the other boys were coming from, and how that informs how they act in present day. However, I maintain that I think not much would change from the original. In a stressful situation like book 6, they could easily slip up and say something insensitive/make assumptions about their behavior based on their background/overlook or not even consider their background in the first place since they’re so focused on the current task. For example, Azul, feeling insulted that Riddle is underestimating him, could make a snide remark that just because his mother was a control freak doesn’t mean Riddle also has to be. Jamil could still see Leona as a spoiled prince because, despite being treated like an outcast, he still grew up in immense privilege as royalty. They can so easily fixate on their own interpretations of events that it colors how they perceive others, rather than how they can relate to others no matter how similar or dissimilar their experiences were.

In other ways, I think the OB boys sharing their backstories with one another stifles potentially meaningful development. Character growth in TWST isn’t a sprint, it’s a marathon, and we’re here for the long haul. What does depositing all the backstories in their laps achieve for the OB boys? It artificially puts them in a situation to “better know” their peers rather than let it happen organically or allowing them to grow closer through their own efforts. Let’s look at the Deuce-Epel beach scene from book 5. Do you think it would have been as impactful of a scene if Epel explained his life in the countryside and how he got his traditional views on gender norms to Deuce? Personally, I don’t think so. The scene we currently have has them bonding and connecting through a shared activity (shouting at the sea), then having a heart-to-heart without a heavy backstory exposition. It’s through that, not explicit backstory sharing, that the two form an attachment and become genuine friends.

Those are all my thoughts!! ^^

[catnipster69]

The evolution of an answer.

Austin Con August 18, 2024 J2 Meet & Greet (leaked audio) (x):

Question: In season 5, Dark Side of the Moon, when they’re in heaven, it’s implied that Sam and Dean are soulmates, that Ash tells them that there are special cases that share a heaven. Was that talked about in the filming of the episode and your reactions, and do you think that Sam and Dean are soulmates?

Jared: That was only 15 years ago—[to Jensen, who looked confused] …When we shot the heaven sequence— Jensen: [to Jared] No, I remember that. I just don’t remember that soulmate thing. Jared: Yeah, I think it makes sense. [after clarification about the scene] Ah, OK. Jensen: So it’s implied. There are a lot of things implied in the show. Jared: I’d guess if you asked every person here what the definition of what a soulmate is, you’d probably get 30 different answers, so I think it’s pretty obvious that what Sam and Dean did together, they couldn’t have done solo. And they were better together, working together as a team, and we saw them often at odds with each other, and then when they were on the same page, they were essentially unstoppable other than that damn rebar that one time, that one time. Jensen: Their souls were bound. Their souls were bound together. Jared: I guess the real answer to the question is the final scene of the series. Like yeah, they’re in heaven together; maybe that’s Dean’s, maybe Sam has his own and Dean is there as well, but something to explore next season. Jensen: It also brings up the question of is there only one soulmate? Or do you find multiple soulmates? Jared: Yeah, Sure. Jensen: You know? Does your soul reach out to—you find a connection with that kind of gravity in multiple people, and I think that maybe you do, maybe those are the people you spend the afterlife with, those mates that you found. Jared: I like that. Jensen: I don’t know, I just came up with that. Write that down.

DC Con September 22, 2024 Main Panel (x):

Question: In the season 5 episode Dark Side of the Moon, Sam and Dean found out that they were soulmates, and it was never really addressed after that. So what did they think when they found that out?

(x)

[bamfkeeper]

Reunion.

RQ: 'I was hoping for some hurt/comfort 🙏🏽. I was never really satisfied with Kurt and Amanda's reunion after he came back to life(aside from the fact that that ship gives me a major ick for ibv reasons). It was so anticlimactic! You would think a woman who knew him all his life would she'd a few tears. I was wondering what your take on a reunion scene with Kurt would be? Like the reader was a member of the X-Men and saw Bastion kill Kurt. Because of her grief she leaves the team unable to cope from the loss. And then after years of being without him he just shows up at her apartment just like he did with Amanda.' - @gildedjerk

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader

Warnings: Major character death | Descriptions of injuries | Mourning & grief | Happy ending ofc

A/N: Wooo I had a lot of fun with this one. Angst and comfort, yum. Anyway I did try to give a realistic response to him coming back from the dead. I was stuck between two reactions but I think this one is good. I hope you enjoy! Unedited hehe WC: 3.0k

It had only been a week. A week since your heart became slow, dull, and empty.

The mansion took a hit. The team broken into pieces.

It was unusually quiet around the manor. Normally, the sound of padding footsteps and excited laughter and voices filled the halls, but now...it was silent. You weren't' the only one that lost something, but by all hell, you deserved to grieve.

You hadn't left the bedroom you shared for days, your body curled tightly on the bed, clutching his suit against your chest as if it were a lifeline. Tears flowed endlessly, soaking the pillow beneath your head. The salty streams seemed inexhaustible, leaving your eyes red and swollen, leaving you with a constant headache you ignored. You were likely severely dehydrated from the constant outpouring of grief, but in your state of mourning, those concerns held no importance to you. All you desired was to be left alone with your sorrow, to process the loss in solitude.

His suit bore a large, jagged hole, Kurt's dried blood stained the fabric, a sight that simultaneously pained you and kept you connected to him. You couldn't bring yourself to wash it, fearing that doing so would erase the last tangible traces of his presence. The suit still carried his distinct scent, a bittersweet comfort that you clung to desperately. No amount of spraying with cologne could ever bring back his natural musk that he had, and you would rather die than get rid of it.

Embedded within the flexible fabric were tufts of his fur, some parts adhering more stubbornly than others. As you ran your fingers over these patches, you recalled with a mixture of fondness and anguish his playful complaints about how the suit would cause him to shed. Those light-hearted moments now seemed like echoes from a distant, happier time, making the overwhelming ache of his absence feel much worse.

The team struggled to regroup, attempting to rally support and formulate a plan of action in the aftermath of the blatant slaughter they endured. However, you found yourself emotionally paralyzed, unable to contribute to their efforts. The weight of loss and despair settled heavily upon your shoulders, making even the simplest tasks seem insurmountable. In a daze, you rose from your seat, your movements mechanical and detached from conscious thought. You were on autopilot, nothing else mattered, you couldn’t even think.

You began to pack your belongings, carelessly tossing clothes into a small bag without regard for order or neatness. Your fingers then ghosted over the familiar fabric of his suit, the last tangible remnant of Kurt's presence in your life. With reverence, you gently lifted the garment, cradling it against your chest as if it were a fragile, living thing. This suit, once a symbol of his strength and selfless heroism, now served as a poignant reminder of all you had lost. As you held it close, memories of Kurt flooded your mind, intensifying the ache of his absence and solidifying your decision to depart.

You had no tears left. Not right now.

You took your bag and you left.

The nightmares were relentless, haunting your sleep with disturbing frequency. Night after night, your subconscious mind replayed the horrific scene of Kurt's demise, each detail etched with painful clarity like you were reliving that exact moment over and over again. The vivid imagery of Bastion's merciless act - the brutal impalement - refused to fade. You could still see, with sickening precision, the crimson spray erupting from Kurt's azure lips, staining his chest in a macabre pattern, the life essence dripping down his skin and mocking you. The memory of his lithe form, once so full of life and grace, suddenly tensing and then crumpling lifelessly to the ground as Bastion withdrew his weapon, was seared into your mind.

The physical sensations were equally intense. You distinctly recalled the disorienting waves of heat and cold that washed over you, and the violent tremors that wracked your body as adrenaline surged through your system in rage fueled torrents. The emotional trauma was blatant, manifesting in physical symptoms that left you feeling drained and vulnerable, pathetically and frantically scrambling to get to his side in the middle of the battlefield.

The image of your final moments with Kurt were the worst of it all, your eternal Hell that never ceased. Holding his rapidly cooling body in your arms, you watched helplessly as the light in his beautiful, golden eyes gradually dimmed. Even in his last breaths, Kurt's selflessness shone through, as he valiantly attempted to offer you solace and comfort, despite his own dire circumstances.

Your grief and suffering was a wound that never healed. Each night proved that it would only reopen from the desperate scab it tried to become.

As the years passed, your close friends from the mansion persistently attempted to maintain contact with you, but you deliberately distanced yourself from them. The desire to communicate with them had completely faded, and you found yourself wanting to sever all ties with the X-Men.

Your sole focus became an attempt to carve out an existence devoid of the tumultuous chaos that had been an inherent part of life within that unconventional, misfit family. You couldn’t stand any more pain, the loss you took had been severe, thinking about any of your old friends losing their lives was too much to bear.

You retreated into a life of solitude, taking on a mundane and unremarkable job that offered little stimulation or fulfillment. It wasn't so much living as it was merely existing - a bare-bones survival that felt hollow but required.

Yet, in your current state of mind, this was all you felt capable of managing. The weight of your grief remained a constant companion, refusing to lift even as time marched relentlessly forward. The passage of years did little to alleviate the profound sense of loss that had taken root in your heart, leaving you trapped in a perpetual state of mourning that colored every aspect of your isolated existence.

You tried therapy, for a while.

It didn’t help much.

You were constantly bombarded with well-intentioned but ultimately unhelpful advice. People would tell you to move on, as if it were a simple switch you could flip.

They'd say he was in a better place now, as though that somehow lessened your pain.

They'd remind you that years had passed, implying that your grief should have an expiration date.

But none of these platitudes actually provided any comfort or solace. In fact, being told to move on was perhaps the most infuriating of all. It felt dismissive, insensitive, and completely disconnected from the depth of your loss.

The suggestion to move on ignited a spark of anger within you. How could anyone possibly understand the magnitude of what you'd been through? You couldn't even share the full story with them, the pervasive discrimination and prejudice against mutants still ran deep in society, and you weren't ready to expose that part of yourself.

But regardless of the details you had to keep hidden, the fact remained that you had lost the person who brought light and love into your world. It was as if the sun had been extinguished, leaving you in perpetual darkness. The audacity of someone demanding that you simply move on from such a profound loss was both hurtful and enraging. How dare they trivialize your grief and dictate the timeline of your healing? Your pain was yours to process, and no one had the right to tell you when or how to do it.

You came back from a rather dreary work day, annoyed and angry with the world. It felt so unfair. You wondered if Kurt would be disappointed in the sheer amount of hatred that you allowed to consume you. Did it matter?

As you closed your door, you trudged through your barren apartment, your footsteps echoing in the emptiness. You hadn’t bothered to decorate, it was just you, and when you were home all you did was sleep. No reason to waste money on furniture.

Suddenly, a familiar scent wafted through the air - brimstone. That sharp, smoky odor that had haunted your senses for years now made its presence known once again. The acrid smell tickled your nostrils, bringing with it a flood of memories you'd rather forget. At first, you dismissed it as another phantom smell, a lingering remnant of Kurt that your mind conjured up in moments of solitude. After all, these olfactory ghosts had been your constant companions over the years, taunting and mocking you with their ephemeral nature.

You continued your way through the apartment, your mind wrestling with the reality of the scent. The logical part of your brain insisted it was just another trick of your senses, a cruel joke played by your subconscious. Yet, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered that something was different this time. The smell seemed more tangible, more real than the fleeting wisps of memory you were accustomed to. Still, you pushed the thought aside, convincing yourself it was nothing out of the ordinary.

You were just tired. It had been a long day.

As you rounded the frame of the door, preparing to step into the next room, an inexplicable chill ran down your spine. In that instant, you felt everything around you freeze up. The air grew thick and heavy, as if time itself had come to a standstill. Your muscles tensed, your breath caught in your throat as you looked at the familiar figure laying on your couch.

Kurt smiled at you, his familiar figure rising from his seat. His arms extended in a welcoming gesture, a warmth radiating from his presence that you hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. "Liebling...I've missed you so much," he murmured, his voice carrying the same tender inflection you remembered.

Every detail about him was overwhelmingly authentic - from the timbre of his voice to the subtle cologne mixed with that harsh brimstone that always clung to his clothes. Your senses were inundated with evidence of his reality; he wasn't just there, he was undeniably real.

A maelstrom of emotions surged through you, leaving you utterly bewildered.

What the Hell is happening?

The thought ricocheted through your mind, unable to find purchase in the face of this impossibility.

You found yourself frozen, incapable of formulating a coherent response. The shock of the moment had completely blindsided you, leaving you reeling as if you'd been struck. It was as though you were face to face with an apparition, a specter from your past that had inexplicably materialized before your eyes.

But this was no ethereal vision - this was tangible, corporeal.

The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on you; if this was indeed some sort of phantasm, it certainly had a sick sense of humor.

Your lips parted as you let out a soft, trembling sound, his name barely a whisper escaping through the opening. Your eyes, wide with disbelief, were glued on him, taking in every detail of his familiar yet seemingly impossible presence. His demeanor faltered slightly as he noticed your lack of enthusiasm at his sudden appearance, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Ah, liebe...I...understand this might be quite shocking to you..." He mumbled out shyly, his voice a mixture of hope and apprehension as he slowly walked towards you, each step careful and measured. "But, I am back. I am truly here, alive and breathing. Can you see that?"

You remained rooted to the spot, unable to bring yourself to move a single muscle. The overwhelming tsunami of emotions that crashed over you felt like it was too much for your body and mind to handle. A wave of nausea washed over you, making you feel as though you were teetering on the edge of consciousness, your stomach churning violently. The sheer impossibility of the situation threatened to overwhelm you completely.

You couldn't fathom how he could be here, standing in your apartment, flesh and blood, after years of believing he was dead. The grief you had painstakingly lived with, the torturous reminders that mocked you every day - it all came crashing down around you in an instant, leaving you reeling in a maelstrom.

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, sensing the overwhelming shock that had gripped you. He anticipated a joyous reaction, but instead, a heart-wrenching, soul-shattering sob escaped your lips, echoing through the air and piercing the silence between you.

Taken aback, Kurt's body tensed, his eyes widening with a mixture of concern and confusion. This unexpected outburst was far from the jubilant reunion he had envisioned in his mind. The stark contrast between his hopeful expectations and the raw, emotional reality before him left him momentarily stunned.

You had always been strong and level-headed with your emotions, but seeing you like this made him realize his absence and sudden appearance again had clearly done some psychological damage. "L-liebling," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with uncertainty and worry.

Hesitantly, Kurt extended his hands towards you, offering comfort and desperate support. However, the fear of exacerbating your distress held him back from actually making contact. His fingers hovered in the air between you, trembling slightly as he grappled with the desire to console you and the apprehension of potentially making matters worse.

Kurt bridged the gap between you with a single, desperate motion, not wanting to watch you sob any longer. His arms enveloped you, strong yet gentle, pulling you against his chest. You felt the solid warmth of his body, a sensation you had been deprived of for what felt like an eternity.

As he held you close, Kurt became your anchor to reality, proof that this wasn't just another cruel dream. His familiar scent washed over you, a mix of brimstone and something uniquely him, further cementing his presence. "I'm here, liebe... I'm here," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Es tut mir Leid... I never intended to be absent for so long, but... the circumstances of my return are a mystery even to me. Perhaps this is a divine gift, a second chance from Gott…a miracle. Ja?"

His words were soft, barely above a whisper, yet they resonated deeply within you. "I cannot imagine the anguish you've endured in my absence," he continued, his accent more pronounced in his emotional state. As he spoke, his hand moved in soothing circles on your back, a gesture so achingly familiar it threatened to unravel you completely.

In the safety of his embrace, years of bottled-up emotions finally found their release. The dam broke, and you allowed yourself to experience the full depth of your agony, your body shaking with the force of your long-suppressed grief. Kurt held you through it all, a steady presence as you wept the tumultuous sea of your emotions, whispering words of comfort and love in a mixture of English and German.

You don't know how long you cried for.

You felt your body gradually succumbing to exhaustion, your strength ebbing away with each passing moment. What seemed like mere minutes to your grief-stricken mind had, in reality, stretched into over an hour of uncontrollable sobbing. Throughout this emotional display, Kurt remained steadfast, his arms encircling you in an unwavering embrace, not daring to let you go. He bore witness to your anguish, listening intently to every heart-wrenching wail that escaped your lips, each cry a testament to the depth of your sorrow and mourning. He felt so horrible, seeing just how much you loved him and how the grief had overtaken your being.

Kurt did everything in his power to provide solace. He held you close, gently squeezing you with his arms, whispering soft reassurances, each gesture carefully crafted to soothe you.

"I'm here now," he murmured, his voice a balm to your frayed nerves. "I'm not leaving. I promise..." His indigo lips grazed your sensitive temple while he whispered gentle nothings against your skin. The contact was feather-light, yet profoundly comforting. He peppered your clammy skin with tender kisses, unable to hold back on his affections.

The sudden nature of Kurt's reappearance left you reeling. After enduring the agonizing belief that he was gone forever, his unexpected return stirred up a complex cocktail of emotions - happiness, relief, anger. A part of you yearned for the joyous reunion he seemed to expect, but another part bristled at the simplicity of such an notion.

How could he materialize out of thin air, after all the grief and pain you had endured, and anticipate an uncomplicated, happy welcome? You supposed that is his specialty…appearing suddenly in a rapid purple cloud with that happy smile exposing his fangs.

Kurt wanted that happy reunion. He wanted you jumping in his arms and that loving, passionate kiss he dreamt of and missed since his departure from this plane of existence.

But you couldn't give him that. Not now.

For now, you needed his comforting presence more than anything else. Recognizing your emotional state, he gently lowered himself onto the couch, cradling you in his arms. His embrace was firm yet tender, providing a sanctuary where you could finally release everything that had been weighing heavily on your heart. As he held you close, you continued to sob and cry into his chest, each tear carrying with it a fragment of the pain and stress you had been harboring for so long.

Time seemed to stand still as you remained in his protective embrace, your sobs gradually subsiding as exhaustion began to overtake you. He made no move to interrupt this cathartic process, understanding that sometimes silence speaks louder than words. His steady heartbeat and warm presence served as a lullaby, slowly lulling you into a state of tranquility you hadn't experienced in years.

The conversation you needed to have could wait.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you found yourself drifting into a deep, peaceful slumber - a luxury that had eluded you for far too long. His presence alone had snuffed out the vicious plague that infected your mind, the nightmares that were forced upon you over and over of his gruesome death were destroyed.

For the first time in years, you actually slept.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight & @/strangergraphics

Cover image from Nightcrawler #1 (2014)

[sunflowerdigs]

What if it's not Tommy's Baggage?

So i've seen a lot of speculation that the baggage that will get between Buck and Tommy is going to be Tommy's baggage with Gerrard. But think that may be a misdirection - I think it may be Buck's mustachioed baggage that intrudes into their relationship instead.

If the show wanted to make Tommy's hazing of Hen and Chim the central issue, it would have spent 8x01 reminding the audience of just how brutal Gerrard was back then in order to drive home why Tommy siding with him then isn't something Buck can overlook. Gerrard's racism and misogyny would be on more overt display and Tommy would likely be more wishy-washy about him. Instead, the show has emphasized Gerrard's authoritarianism (and diminished his actual bite as a villain) in order to set him up as a better enemy for Buck (and yes, we should talk about whether that's a good move or if it diminishes what Hen and Chim went through - just not in this meta). The point of Tommy is Buck's growth and Buck breaking up with someone who betrayed his friends is very similar to what happened with Taylor. The show may think of it as retreading old ground.

So, maybe instead we're about to dig into what happened in 7x04 and who Buck was really jealous of. The first few moments of the birthday scene tonight were a misdirection - the viewer was meant to think that Buck and Tommy were doing something together, only for Eddie to literally come to sit between them because the entire scene was actually all about him (and Buck and Christopher). And that's kind of the story of Buck and Tommy's elationship (it's almost a direct parallel to the first Buck and Tommy scene in 7x04 - Buck and Tommy were getting along after the tour and then, boom, in came Eddie).

The show may frame the baggage more around Buck's fear of abandonment and fear that he doesn't deserve the love he wants. Coming on the heels of his attacking Gerrard because he denigrated him verbally, that would make sense. But ever since 7x04, those issues have been tied to Eddie - they're why Buck couldn't face up to his feelings about him. So, I suspect Eddie will come into their fight somehow (I think that's also why, in the US Weekly interview, Oliver didn't mention Eddie as someone he would be leaning on during the dispute with Tommy. Heck, I think that's why Oliver talked about Buck leaning on other people rather than how he and Tommy specifically might work out a disagreement - because this disagreement isn't one that can be worked out. If Tommy isn't it, he isn't it (neat parallel to Eddie and Ana's relationship there)).

[hiiikiko]

001: ‘She’s in a band’

TW: Light smut, Ellie being a jerk tbh. (Not proofread bc I took my meds and I’m feeling lazy :P)

Moving to Seattle wasn’t your first choice, I mean, you were perfectly happy in Arizona. You had friends, family, and most importantly, a band but some drama happened and you wanted to get away from it all. Your first choice was going to California but you had no money, no stable job, and no place to crash so, you reluctantly went to Seattle. At least you’d be closer to the music scene and you haven’t seen your favourite cousin in awhile..

Gazing out the window as the amtrak came to a halt you see Jesse sitting on a bench, legs obnoxiously sprawled out and a toothpick hanging on his lips.

“Can take the boy outta the country but can’t take the country outta the boy,” you chuckle as you gather your luggage and make your way off the bus

“Hey, y/n/n,” Jesse drawls, grabbing your luggage with ease and slinging his arm around you.

“Ugh, get off me you reek of axe and cigarettes,” you tease with a smile playing on your lips as Jesse ruffles your hair and throws your things into the back of his truck.

Jesse’s place was a lot nicer than you though, I guess being a welder does pay off. It was a little messy and could use a homey touch but it was rather nice but you would never admit that to him. Your room was nice too, a little small, but had a great view and even had access to the balcony. The room was bare, plain white walls with a red brick wall on one side, a bed and one singular lamp sitting in the middle of the room.

You settle in while Jesse rifles through your things and rants about his current situationship, “She’s just insane like who asks for your credit score on the first date? Don’t get me wrong, my credit score is so good that it would make ANY girls parties drop.”

You scrunch your nose and throw a hoodie at him as he continues “Hey, I’m just say—“ he begins before hes abruptly interrupted by a call, “Yeah?.. right now?… Alright, alright, alright… on my way, doll.”

“Hmmm, I wonder who that could be,” sarcasm practically oozes off your words.

“It’s Dina,” Jesse winks as he rushes to put his boots on, “Don’t expect me to come back tonight,” he winks.

“Oh, come on,” you trail after him, “It’s my first night! Can’t you stay? We can, like, get dinner and maybe go to a bar?”

‘Nah, I’d rather get laid than hang out with my dorky little cousin,” He says, the door cutting off his voice.

Asshole.

And that’s how you find yourself all alone, sitting at a bar and cheering on the local bands when two girls sit next to you. The girl with short hair remarks, “Those guys were so ass, ‘The Serpahites?’ What the fuck kinda name is that,” her friend laugh at her joke.

“Sounds like a cult,” you mutter under your breath, not meaning for them to hear you but the girl with auburn hair laughs, “Ah, sorry, didn’t mean to eavesdrop—“ you begin but are quickly interrupted by the girl resting a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay, dude,” a soft smile on her lips.

Fuck, she’s so cute. The way the dim bar lights dance over her facial features and the way her short hair falls softly over her green eyes. She was wearing a flannel but you could tell she had one hell of a body.

“Sorry,” you say again.

“It’s all good,” she smirks, crap, did she notice the way you were staring?

As you’re debating on whether or not you should call it a night or get on your knees and start apologizing profusely for ever thinking lewd thoughts in the presence of an angel, she gets up, grabbing her friends hand and heads into the back.

Crap, I should’ve asked for her number..

Just as you take another sip from the fruity drink you ordered, you hear the announcer introduce another band called “the Infected.” Sounds pretty cool, you think as you get up from your seat and make your way into the crowd of people.

Must be a popular band.

The curtains are pulled back to reveal the girl you met at the bar earlier, she’s taken off her flannel and is now wearing a form fitting black tank top, low rise jeans, and a pair of worn converse, on her shoulder rests a beautiful black guitar littered with stickers of stars and planets, cute. Along side her is a girl with piercings, long black hair, looks like the lead singer, and oh. my. god. IS THAT JESSE?? He’s no longer wearing a flannel but a plain black tee, denim jeans, and of course, his boots, he’s on drums.

“Jesse!” you cheer as his head whips around and shoots daggers at you, you’ll never let him live this down.

The band plays a wonderful set and gets a lot of cheers from the crowd. Some fans, mostly girls, approach the band afterwards to gush over them, the girl with the auburn hair seems to have the most fans.

You make your way towards the stage to find Jesse, hoping to tease him about what you just witnessed.

“He’s in the back changing,” a voice rasps from behind. “Ah, I see,” turning around, you see the bassist towering over you.

“Heyyy, I know you, we met at the bar, yeah?” She says while looking you up and down.

“Yeah, at the bar,” you manage to get out.

“You’re Jesse’s cousin? Huh, didn’t know you were coming out tonight, if I had known, I would’ve put on a better show,” she smirks as a light blush sweeps over your face. How could such a small comment illicit this small reaction from you? Maybe it was the way she said it, her voice raspy from singing on backup.

“That show was really great, I enjoyed it a lot. Seems like y’all are popular,” you glance over at a small crowd of girls shooting glares in your direction for talking to their bassist.

The auburnette chuckles and glances back, winking at the girls, “Yeah, we got a few.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at the faux humility, unfortunately, she catches this.

“What was that?” She laughs, studying your face.

“I can tell already, you’re such a cliche, right? I bet you sleep with all your little fangirls, give them the night of their lives then leave them in the dust, right? Just so you can feed your ego and make yourself feel better for whatever attachment issues you got going on.”

She looks awestricken. You knew her type all too well, I mean you were in a band and you’ve encountered A LOT of band mates are like that. Hell, even rock’s beloved dad, Dave Grohl, did something similar.

“Touché,” she smirks and leans up against the stage, her green eyes hungrily taking you in, “You’re interesting, let me buy you a drink.”

About half an hour later, you’re in the back of her van, panting with her lips on your neck and her knee pressing up against your aching cunt. She’s whispering sweet things into your ear which causes your hips to involuntarily buck up against her hand.

“So fuckin’ needy f’me, aren’t ya?” She mumbles against your neck, “All that talk just for you to melt into my touch,” you can feel her smirking against your neck.

“Shut up,” you say, barely getting it out through desperate whimpers and pants.

The next morning, you wake up in her apartment, alone and half naked, only wearing your panties and a shirt you didn’t recognize. You groan as you stumble out of bed, this hangover might actually be the death of you. You make your way over to the kitchen for some water only to find a sticky note next to some tylenol and water, it reads ‘Don’t forget to lock the door on your way out.’

What the actual fuck. Not even a good morning or at least a hi?

You crumple up the note, leaving it on the counter to hopefully get the message across.

“Typical bassist,” you mutter before leaving.

Later that evening, you facetime your friend, Lila.

“So… she basically told you to get out? What the fuck! You should’ve totally wrecked everything, stolen her shampoos, bleach wash her clothes, pour glitter all ov—“

Laughing you say, “Okay, okay, Lils, I get it but seriously? Glitter is going a little too far.”

“Not far enough, I’d say,” she mutters, “So…. was it good, at least?

“Good? It was total ecstasy but I mean, that’s to be expected.”

Lila cocks her head to the side, obviously confused, “Wha?”

“She’s in a band, meaning, she obviously has a lot of experience.”

“SHE’S IN A BAND???????” Lila’s eyes are practically bulging out of her head, “Wait, nah, girl, this is all on you. Rule number one, never sleep with a girl in a band, they will totally ruin your life. They’re good at giving head because they have to hide how evil they are somehow.”

You groan, “Ugh, I know., I know!” but your mind goes back to last night, the sight of her between your legs, the feeling of her hot breath against your ear, the sight of her on top with your legs draped over her shoulders, the way—

Fuck.

(A/n: This is my first fic since I was like 16 so be nice lol next one will be better, I promise, I just really suck at writing intros)

[werewolfsister]

PSA: COMIC DRAMA

I've been slowly receiving critical, entitled, and passive-aggressive messages about the way I've been writing my comic! I wanted to address this behavior.

That being said, the majority of my readers have been nothing but positive! And when they spot a problem, they're kind about it. I really appreciate this; thank you to those who choose to be civil.

I'm making this post to address some issues, complaints, and questions I've seen. Let's take a look & see what we can discuss!

READ MORE UNDER THE CUT!

🦈-> I want you to use my character in your comic, but you're not using them! Sometimes, a character doesn't quite fit my vision for the comic-- even when they're designs that I love! I really do try to use as many people's characters as possible. I think it adds to the world & makes the comic feel more full of life! But I can't accommodate everyone's desires.

🐟->You're using my character in your comic, but you're not giving them enough screen time! Similar to the above issue, sometimes I don't think focusing on a particular character for any longer will serve the story well. Ultimately, I have final say on what happens in the comic. My advice is, if you feel your character isn't appearing enough, make your own content! Draw, write, craft, etc like I mention farther down below!

🐠->You said you were going to use my diplomat/character(s), but you only drew them in 1-2 panels. Why aren't you using them more? Similar to the points above! I was never planning on going into a TON of depth with the diplomats-- the comic focus also drastically changed, as I mention below.

🐡->You're using characters in the story that I don't like! Ahh that is too bad, but! In that case, you can always take a break from the comic & come back later to check if the characters are no longer being used, or maybe stop reading the comic altogether. However! If you have concerns with how the character is portrayed because of legitimate sexual/violence/illicit/illegal issues, then that's another issue entirely and you should let me know.

🪼->I thought this story was about rescuing Kenne, but now she's not even in the comic! I don't like the way this story is going! This is a big issue some people are having and I completely understand. There's been a lot of things going on behind the scenes that I haven't explained, which must be generating a lot of confusion. Originally, @kenneduck and I were collaborating closely on this comic. Recently, the dynamic shifted, and we're now working on the comic separately. @kenneduck is now responsible for the part of the story that heavily features her characters, i.e. Princess Kenne's perspective of the rescue, her rescue effort, and what's happening in the Domain of the Luminous trench. I am now working on a different angle of the story-- the diplomatic efforts of Zora's Domain in their attempt to negotiate for Princess Kenne's return. So, the story is still the same... the focuses have just changed and split!

🦑->You reblogged my fan art and/or linked it in your comic directory-- does that make my content canon? Oooh, this is actually kind of a tough one! Normally, if something is in the comic directory, I consider it to be canon to the story. So, if you've drawn something, and I add it to my directory for a comic chapter, I'll consider it to have happened in real time. THERE'S AN EXCEPTION! And it may be confusing, so I'm genuinely sorry! If you have drawn something where you are heavily modifying someone else's character--this means cosmetic changes, giving the character children/spouses/family, killing the character, altering their personality-- WITHOUT THEIR PERMISSION, then I cannot accept that as canon. It's still fantastic that you drew/wrote/created something and I will probably put it in the MISCELLANEOUS section of the comic directory. I'VE MADE MISTAKES ON THIS! So, I've since updated the directory. And, sorry for all confusion on this issue! If you've made something & intended it to be canon, let's talk about it!

🐳->I want to collaborate with you on your comic, can I do that? That's awesome! Maybe in the future, but right now I'm not taking on any more partners. Maybe you can make your own separate additions, with your character(s) like I mention below!

🐙>I want to make fan art, can I do that? You absolutely can. Go for it. This was originally meant to be a very interactive comic, so draw/write/create away!!!

🦀->I want to draw my character(s) doing something in the world of your comic, can I do that? You absolutely can. Go for it! Like I mentioned above, however, I may or may not deem it canon to the events of the comic. But even if I don't, I'll add it to the MISCELLANEOUS section of my comic directory! ...as long as you don't alterate someone's character without permission! If you've made something & intended it to be canon, let's talk about it!

🐬->I want to make a character based on a Domain you created/idea you drew/etc., can I do that? Of course! Go for it. I love seeing what people make!

I know this is a lot of text, but it's better to be comprehensive! Please, keep in mind, I'm just one hobby artist making a comic for fun, with the spirit of interactivity and collaboration in mind. But it's impossible to keep that spirit going when people feel entitled and demand things of me that I am not obligated to give.

I queue out my pages several weeks in advance with the help of the people I'm working with, so what you see in the comic is the product of a lot of thought and work. You're getting something for free here, y'all. It ain't so serious!!!!

Anyways, thanks for reading this! And for reading the comic! Peace out ✌️

[melonteee]

ok im anon about nami. firstly, im actually really sorry for spoiling you. i did not know about how you only read them while streaming them and i only saw streaming posts about anime episodes. it was not my intention, im sorry!! secondly, i understand everyone's arguments about similar instances pre-timeskips, nami opening up more and who wouldn't be scared of bugs, etc. i didnt mean to make it sound rude esp about sakura, it was just an emotional response bc i love nami sm. yes girls can be silly but its just one of those "vibes/feelings" grievances that when put to words doesnt make sense. yes nami previously ran away scared just like now but its just the way she does it now since timeskip feels so weird? like it felt almost comically stereotypical the way her face was and her being on the floor like that? i cant explain it well, yes nami would cry and run but the way she would is so different. "waah save me" doesnt feel like nami even an opened up one. and its not about a woman not being able to be scared, im not asking her to solo giant bugs. this is just one instance, ive felt weird about her post-timeskip, she feels more hollow. i want more genius navigation nami, in general, than "weak person of the group that always needs help" nami which is why i loved that scene in fishman island of her being complimented. i think this is more of a agree to disagree cause i cant shake the feeling. anyways sorry to everyone again!

sorry anon I didn't mean to be rude I was just frustrated since I quite publicly read the officials when they come out (livestreams and such) but yes I'd say it's an agree to disagree situation.

As someone who read through/watched all of One Piece in the span of 3 months (with no nostalgia for the original ig) I didn't notice a decline in Nami's character at all - all it feels like is she's just gotten more comfortable with the Strawhats. I seem to be one of the rare few who likes her ts version more than her pre-ts version and it's because, as I've said, she feels happier and more comfortable with her crew WHILE still navigating the seas AND being the witch that she is - as we saw with her laughtale discovery and her navigation at the beginning of Egghead.

I think it's a shame to think a character developing into a warmer person through the love they're receiving means they've become lesser of a character, while I'm not saying you do that anon, this exact same thing happens to Robin in the ts as well. Design aside (and yes I totally understand that issue) Robin's ts character is a lot softer and a lot sweeter because she's HAPPIER! Watching/reading One Piece from start to finish all in one go is how you can truly feel the joy in these character's hearts becoming something more imo

[bengiyo]

Happy of the End: A Dour Show That Pulled Its Punches at the End

I've been trying to sort how I feel about this show, and I don't think I like the extended epilogue. In so many ways, I kinda wish the show had ended at the train station goodbye.

Part of this is how the show crossed over into torture porn a lot. I don't think we gained much from the extended looks at the horrors Haoren survived, and I think it would have been better to not show us too much before revealing his scars to Chihiro. I also don't think the Haoren on Chihiro rape scene led to interesting emotional payoff for a show that wanted such a happy ending. I also wish we hadn't gone so far with the Maya stuff; I think the van threat was enough to prompt Haoren to murder Maya.

The fact that Chihiro is still hanging out with the guy who sold them out to Maya and relying on help from the former sugar daddy (that we know was a client of Maya's) just doesn't sit right with me either. I don't really feel like Chihiro is in a new space in his life, nor do I believe in his success if these are still his primary relationships.

Finally, I didn't like Haoren visually regressing by returning to his old look to go see Chihiro. It really undermined his choice to separate them for Chihiro's own good at the end. It felt like another separation that amounted to little, especially since the show had Maya eliminate himself.

I do tend to like these kinds of bleak stories from Japanese storytellers. I'm a fan of Eternal Yesterday, and I really love Drive My Car (2021), Under the Open Sky (2020), and Shoplifters (2018). I wish we'd ended at the separation by the train, and if we had to have a final scene after that we'd just gotten the very last shot where Haoren returns in his old clothes to the spot of their first and only picture as we got it.

Final Verdict: 7, Beware the Extreme Trigger Warnings. I liked some of the ideas about two traumatized people connecting with each other. However, much of the horrors of this story felt like too much for my tastes, and lacked real payoff for those extensive grotesqueries to feel relevant. I think everyone in the cast gives some really great performances in every scene (romantic, horrific, or otherwise), and it was genuinely a visually pleasing show despite all the grime and trash. It's a complicated piece for me, but not one to which I will return.

[nyx-thedragon]

Newsies thoughts part 3

so I just finished watching Newsies 1992 for the fourth time, and noted down a bunch of things I noticed or thoughts I had. I didn't do this the third time I watched bc that one was with my brother and I wanted to focus on the movie and talking and joking with him lol.

anyway, I noted down a lot of things, so prepare for a long post. (these are in order of when I thought of them, and I'm typing them from my notes app so enjoy my train of thought/how my brain thinks)

1- shoutout to Mr Kloppman for taking care of the boys

2- what's the story behind the lady that comes in singing about her son in "Carrying the Banner"? she fucking slays, but I'm very confused about it

3- they're literally just a bunch of teenage boys who've been dealt an awful hand in life but try their best to keep everyone's morale up and stay positive (me realizing how sad the reality of the newsboys is)

4- all the older newsies taking care of and helping the little ones I love them so bad

5- you can tell how close the newsies are with each other I love it. family for real

6- why does Les carry a wooden sword almost the whole movie?

7- "this is my brother David. he's older" "oh, no kiddin'"

8- love love love how all the newsies just adopt David and Les into the group immediately

9- Pulitzer needs a magnifying glass to read the big-ass headline lmao

10- Seitz lowkey seems to kinda be on the newsies' side

11- why does the crowd boo when the old guy is holding up the "round 58" sign? (during the scene where there's a boxing match going on)

12- Les and Davey immediately follow Jack in running from Snyder even though they've never been in trouble with the law

13- Davey stops Les from putting his head in the horse mask thing (?) (when they're in Medda's theatre)

14- Jack just staring at Davey while Medda coos over Les

15- genuinely Jack did not need to pull Davey by his tie. he could've grabbed his shoulder, but no. had to pick the gayest option

16- Davey inviting Jack to his house after just meeting him literally like not even 12 hours ago. and then inviting him to stay the night?? down bad behavior for real. and he seems so nervous to introduce him to his parents too ??

17- Sarah Jacobs please give me a chance please please please

18- ngl the scenes with Jack and Sarah are a little bit like,,,cringe?? idk they just don't feel right idk if they have enough chemistry for Sarah to realistically be Jack's love interest

19- bro just casually steals a horse and no one goes after him ??? (during Santa Fe)

20- the stupid fucking calculation thing Pulitzer does with his arms omg it's so funny for no reason

21- Kid Blink either doesn't see or just doesn't care that one of the Delanceys is mocking him

22- Jack puts his hand like right next to Davey's face and then slowly moves it away lol (when Jack is asking Davey what he should say to the other newsies when first planning the strike)

23- Davey staring longingly at Jack while he's up writing "strike" on the board

24- "i need some of those...what do you call 'em?" "whatever you want!" (from a random newsie in the crowd, love whoever that was)

25- Spot Conlon hears Davey say one sentence and is like 'yeah this guy never shuts up once you get him going, i can tell' (hence "walking mouth")

26- who is the newsie that just appears behind Jack while they're in Brooklyn talking to Spot??

27- Mush and Davey friendship i love you so

28- where does Race get a harmonica from for "Seize The Day"?

29- love all the littles standing on the statue pedestal during "Seize The Day"

30- Jack and Davey jump up on the statue pedestal and start kicking each other. playing footsie, boys?

oh dear lord i did not realize i noted down this much holy shit

31- Davey immediately looking for Les when the cops show up

32- the Refuge needs better security at the gate cuz how did newsies sneak in TWICE

33- they had time to choreograph a whole dance routine bro (the little seize the day reprise thing)

34- "everyone remain calm" "let's soak 'em for Crutchie!"

35- Davey gets pulled away by someone in the crowd while trying to help Jack (during the big scene when they get ambushed by the police at the distribution place)

36- why are half of the Brooklyn guys grown ass men?? and they're intimidated enough by Spot Conlon to let him be the leader? man i love Spot Conlon he's so cool

37- Spot and Kid Blink lowkey friendship love it

38- Dutchy being horizontal for the picture

39- the workers at the restaurant just watching the chaos of "King of New York"

40- i hate Snyder's face. it makes me uncomfy

41- Sarah Jacobs, how is your hair perfect right after waking up tell me your secrets

42- if they wanted the Jack and Sarah love interest story to actually work better, they should've fit more scenes of them talking

43- nah cuz actually wdym Jack's "real" name is Francis?? he doesn't look like a Francis at all (this is just me being baffled that he could be named Francis, of all things)

44- who is letting Kid Blink hang off the fucking balcony bro he is nawt gonna land on his feet

45- Race and Blink being Medda's #1 hype men <3

oh my fucking god i'm so sorry this is so long i apologize profusely. if you've made it this far, go get a little treat for yourself

46- Jack and Davey are so grabby with each other when Davey is warning Jack about Snyder

47- Medda i love you !!! (tried to fight off the police to defend Race. "he's just a child")

48- how are the newsies losing the fight against the police? there's like a thousand of them and not as many of the police (or at least it seems there's a lot less police)

49- Denton trying to get to Jack when he's captured by the police

50- Race trying to gamble with the judge, he's so unserious

51- the look Jack gives Davey when Snyder starts telling the truth about Jack (his real name, his dad not being out West)

52- i keep accidentally mixing up Specs and Dutchy lol. probably cuz they both wear glasses (i feel so bad for this omg i'm so sorry Specs and Dutchy)

53- no yeah, security at the gate of the Refuge is awful. 6 boys snuck in at once !!

54- why did Pulitzer tell Jack to shut up and listen THREE TIMES when he wasn't even talking ???

55- Davey was just standing in the courtyard outside Pulitzer's, how did no one see him?? he wasn't even hiding, dude

56- Mush shows up to get the "Newsies Banner" papers twice - once by himself and again with Kid Blink

57- "can you read? read that" (Race making sure the kids will be able to read the paper love him for that)

58- Race and Les's little friendship moment is cute ("when the distribution bell starts ringin', will we hear it?" "nah")

59- Race's reaction to Roosevelt is funny. "Roosevelt!?" (bro is shocked)

60- Denton hanging out with Les while Davey gets his papes

61- Race cheering when Jack kisses Sarah. "Jackie boy!"

whew oh dear lord I am so so so sorry for this being so fucking long. I didn't even realize I had noted down so many things I feel bad for making folks have to read this whole thing if they want to see all my thoughts. maybe I should split this in half and have two posts instead of this long one?? idk let me know what you think. also, if I got the names wrong for any newsies, please let me know I'm still learning lol.

uh yeah, this post is over now. stay hydrated, get some rest, and stay cool

[buffyfan145]

Episode 2.7 of "Rings of Power" was great!!! 😀 This is the most it's ever felt like the movies to me with the battles and those scenes were so well done. So much happened in this episode too and at least 2 leaks actually did happen, one of which I wasn't mad about like I thought I would be. LOL Rest of my thoughts under the cut for spoilers but can't believe the season is almost over next week and then the 2 year wait for season 3 begins.

I feel so bad for Celebrimbor. We all know his death is coming and just seeing him realize what's really happening and that Annatar is Sauron was heartbreaking and knowing he won't survive this. His scene with Galadriel made me emotional too and next week is going to be tough to watch. But I did love that Celebrimbor also told Sauron that he's lying to himself about so many things too, as Sauron is justifying everything he's doing. And as a Haladriel shipper you can see too that Sauron's also lying to himself about his feelings for Galadriel, which will likely come into play next week when he reunites with her.

But I did laugh though at that moment Celebrimbor and Galadriel heard Sauron screaming in the tower as that foreshadowed him being in the tower in the LOTR movies. LOL

That brings me to the first leak confirmed and that it was that about half the cast is getting killed off. That came out before the season started and made sense in a way but still really sad to see it happen. We've lost Bronwyn, Walridge, Valandil, Mirdania, Rian, that other elf in Elrond's party, Damrod, a bunch of other elves and orcs, and we know at least Celebrimbor will next week with possibly Adar too (which the orcs turning against him seems to set this up too). I didn't include Arondir yet as I feel he might not actually be dead yet and might be saved since we saw Nenya and know that Galadriel gets it back. And I doubt Tom Bombadil will be back either, so that's a lot of the cast that we probably won't see in s3 besides the ones getting killed off.

Then to leak 2 was the Elrond and Galadriel kiss was real. However, it didn't bother me as much as I thought as seeing it on screen you see it was non-romantic and to just pass her that pin and trick Adar and the orcs. Like a lot of other fans have pointed out to those upset this pretending to kiss things happens a lot in the mystery/crime genres and one fan pointed out it happened in the Bond movies which I totally forgot about. LOL It's nothing to worry about and I get people saying it's weird since Elrond will marry Galadriel's daughter, and Galadriel is already in a love triangle with Sauron and Celeborn, but really it was just to help her. Morfydd even said in the bts vid that played after the episode that it was just to give her a way to escape and that's all it was. If anything I've actually seen more of the purists upset about it than the Haladriel shippers, which when the leak first came out it was the opposite, so seeing it on screen vs reading about it shows the difference.

But back to Elrond I loved his scenes in the battles and with Durin IV. He's getting closer to his books/movies version and Robert did great in those scenes. Also loved Gil Galad showed up to help, and hopefully the dwarves will too once they stop the balrog that Sauron helped unleash.

So overall I was really happy with this episode and it setting up the finale. The trailer for next week was great too and I can't wait to see what happen with Haladriel with their fight and afterwards, especially since Galadriel has the 9 rings and gets Nenya back and we know Sauron will somehow get the 9 and him choosing the 9 will be a s3 storyline. I still think something major happens between them, as we all saw their head director Charlotte saying we'll see that Sauron really loves her by the end, and I'm leaning towards he saves/heals her from a wound and she either lets him go with the rings or she goes with him. Then them including Isildur and Estrid kissing in the trailer too I didn't expect. LOL Also, The Stranger meeting The Dark Wizard and knowing we're finally going to get The Stranger's name and I'm still certain he's Gandalf. And there's more Numenor too, so lots more to come in the finale.

[stu-dyingstudent]

Sakura is the youngest of team 7

Let’s talk about a hot topic rn in regards to Sakura… the age order of the rookies. Tbh, I don’t think it’s a big deal but I’m tired seeing misinformation going around.

It’s been the common belief for many years that Sakura is the oldest member of team 7 because of the thought that the Naruto universe follows the American school system for age. However, if we use the Japanese school system then she would be the youngest of her entire graduating class.

What is used by many to back that Sakura is older is the information derived from the databook 4 character files. In those entries it follows that Shino is the oldest and Hinata is the youngest of the rookies. Sakura is said to be 17 during the war and Naruto (as we all know) turned 17 at the end of the war. This would indicate a following of the American school system for the ages.

However, databook 1 goes against this information. In this databook, it takes place in the middle of the chunin exams. For the character files it states that all of the rookies graduated at the age of 12 and that all of them are still 12 while under examination for promotion to chunin. Why does this matter? The only way for this to be possible is if it follows the Japanese school system and let me explain why.

In chapter 11 of the Naruto manga, kakashi states that “it’s springtime” during the Land of Waves arc. This whole arc lasts about a month and they enter into the chunin exam almost immediately after returning. In Japan, spring is from March to May and graduation takes place from mid to late March. Furthermore, the Japanese school system works where children with birthdays from April to March of the following year are placed in the same class. This lines up perfectly with the information here as if they graduate in late March then all of the rookies would be 12 when becoming genin and for the exam.

Now, you might say “well why should we trust one databook over the other?” Well, if you look at databook 3 it still follows that all of the rookies graduated at the age of 12, which follows what was said in the first databook. The entire timeline of Naruto is very difficult to follow without looking to extreme detail (which I don’t have time or care for). However, the wave arc being in spring is an easy find and sets up the storyline for it to follow the Japanese school system/year.

Even with all of this being said, I have seen plenty of people argue that “Naruto doesn’t take place in Japan and therefore doesn’t follow their school year.” Now let me ask, why would Kishimoto, a Japanese man who has used lots of Japanese history and folklore in his series and even said much of the scenery was based on Okayama (which is in Japan), not use the Japanese school year? Why would he use the American system instead? It makes no sense. The only logical conclusion is that Naruto follows the Japanese system and that databook 4 ages were a mistake.

Kishimoto himself has never officially come out to state the age order and there are no direct references of it in the manga. The only thing absolutely certain is that Sasuke is older than Naruto, which we all know and doesn’t help at all. Now, there is one scene in chapter 18 that could give us a clue that Sakura is the youngest, but it’s all perspective imo. Kakashi calls Sakura “our young lady,” which although doesn’t confirm anything, it does indicate or imply that she is the youngest of the team. Otherwise there would be no reason for kakashi to point that out instead of just calling her “our lady.”

Anyway, what I saw rekindle this debate was the apology that Shueisha released regarding some official Naruto merchandise that came out back in 2023. In this apology they admitted to getting the ages of Sakura and Gaara during the war arc wrong and changed the info cards of the characters from 17 to 16. In addition, Sakura's character description (for the war) in one of the Naruto videogames (Borutage) also places her at the age of 16 during this arc. Many fans say that these technically aren't "official" sources to confirm her age, but aside from the databooks, which contradict themselves, these are the only other sources of her age in the war. It's also something to consider that Shueisha went out of their way to make a public apology on the matter and corrected themselves. The databooks have plenty of mistakes, so if they apologized for one mistake then they would have to do it for all. Meaning, it's best if they don't.

Also, I have seen some fans say that this illustration was released by shonen jump, but I haven’t found any proof of that being the case. Nonetheless, I will still place it below as it provides a visual for the birth order and you can use your own discretion if you think it’s official.

Anyway, that's my two cents on the matter of age order. Cheers!

[livesworthlivingau]

Behind the Vale Chapter 28

ISAT/Two Hats Spoilers below! CW: Outbursts, Mentions of stabbing/killing.

This chapter is pretty much the same scene as the end of the previous Sif chapter, just from Vale's perspective, also a tiny addition at the end.

"Before I explain this, it's not their fault, please don't blame them, they were going through a lot and I didn't notice how it was affecting them and I told their secret an-" [Stardust starts to explain frantically before Nille grabs them by the shoulders to help calm him down.]

"Hey, easy, just start at the beginning okay?" [She tries to comfort him, to which he nods and take a deep breath.]

"... When I first looped back all those years, I was... frozen? I was panicking, stuck in my head, I thought it must be a dream or something, there's no way this was really happening, right?... And then I heard their voice... and all of that just went away." [You blink a couple times, glancing up at them to make eye contact... He never told you that. That just hearing your voice made everything okay in such a terrifying situation...]

"I ran to find them right after, as fast as I could, and... I was just so happy to see them, I didn't think about how they were feeling... forced to be back, I'd been through so much and they were just left behind... and then I dragged them along back here to force them into a family they didn't want any part in."

"Stardust... That's..." [You interrupt. He's trying to make it out as his fault. You're unsure if Stardust is that delusional that they truly believe it, or if they're just trying to take as much blame off you as he can.]

"It's true Vale, and I'm sorry. I really don't blame you for what happened." [You look away again, no matter what they truly believed, you weren't going to be able to convince them to stop at this rate. Nille still looks very confused, waiting for the story to continue.]

"So things seemed fine for a little while, but then Odile noticed I was doing a little too well, and I told her about everything... including their secret, which they made me promise not to tell." [You brace yourself... You knew the truth would be coming soon.]

"Vale found out what I did, they were already on the verge of snapping and that pushed them over the edge, so... they had to go back, before I dragged them to the party... They had to make us all loop back..." [You grip the fabric of your sleeves tightly as you hug yourself. You can't stand to look at either of them, you just want this over with, you just want to be exiled already, you just want this all done...]

"Frin, tell me what happened, please."

"Vale... They..." [Oh blind it all, He can't say it either.]

"I STABBED HIM! I SHOVED HIS OWN DAGGER INTO HIS HEART AND FORCED HIM BACK, OKAY?! I'M A MONSTER AND A MURDERER!!!" [They both jump back at your sudden screaming, Nille even pulls away from you like the monster you were.]

"N-No! You're not, Vale, you knew I'd be fine! You knew I'd loop!"

"And what if you didn't?!?! What if it all ended right there?!? How could I do such a thing?! How could I take that risk?! How could I hurt you like that?!" [You were absolutely manic, a crazed look in your eyes as you gripped your hair painfully tight. Before you could manage to scream again, you suddenly felt those strong, calloused hands around your face, holding you in place to ground you.]

"Hey hey hey! Vale, Calm down please." [You stopped... You felt your tears flowing down your face. You stare back into Nille's eyes, confused, unsure why they weren't looking at you like the monster you truly were.]

"You made a mistake... a big one, sure, but a mistake none the less. Frin's okay now, right?"

"B-But... I killed them... H-how could anyone forgive me for that?..."

"Well, Frin did, and that's the most important person to do so I'd say... It's a lot to take in alright, still not really sure how I feel about it right now... but I'm not just gonna hate you for it, especially after everything." [You still don't understand. You try to figure out why she might be lying to you, or how she could accept this, or what sort of wild trick this might be... Could she truly forgive us for that?... She hasn't known him for long, maybe that's why... She'll learn to resent us eventually.]

"I doubt you want to go back in there tonight. Maybe you should stay at the Inn for tonight, cool off a little..." [You pull away from her slightly, wiping your tears.]

"Y-Yes... that sounds like it's for the best..." [Her hand gently grabs your arm before you can leave, squeezing it a little.]

"This doesn't give you permission to run away though! Remember... you made a promise." [She reminds you with a light smile, letting you slip free of her grip.]

"... Right... I promise." [You still can barely stand to look at either of them, Stardust just standing a few steps back to let you both have your moment.]

"We'll see you tomorrow, Vale?..." [He asks, almost pleading even. You nod to them before turning away and heading for the Inn. You can still feel them both staring as you do so, as if making sure you don't just head into the woods instead.]

-------------------------------------------------

[You collapse onto the bed on your little room at the Inn. You look down at the bottle of sleeping medicine they so kindly offered you at the front desk when you'd asked. You take a look at the recommended dosage and pour out one extra, popping it into your mouth and dry swallowing it. You lie back and stare at the ceiling for a moment, letting your eyes slowly drift shut and begging for sleep to claim you that night.]

[rrosamariaa]

I've been thinking a lot about a remus/sirius Ministry of Magic office AU..

Often I see ppl talking about what would Sirius work with if there wasn't a war going on and he could just live his life in peace and one of my favorite headcanons is that he would be an 'Unspeakable'. Those are the ppl that work in the department of mysteries, that by itself is one of coolest things in the wizarding world, according to me. The department of mysteries is responsible for confidential studies of death, love, time etc (A lot of crazy things that honestly no one should have to mess with but obvs they do anyways...) It's high-level security place, no one besides the researchers are allowed in those chambers. No one even knows who are those researchers and what they do, actually.

Buut, its sirius we are talking about and the guy is a genius but also can be pretty reckless and, in this specific scenario, I think he would be a borderline "crazy scientist" so. He fucks up down the line. I don't know what he does, exactly, but it's something that put his and others researchers' lives at risk. Bc of that, he is sent to work in a waaay more mundane department: Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. It's a cool department!! Remember that first poa scene where harry turns aunt marge into a balloon etc? well those are the guys who they call to fix that. They even have a Obliviators division, responsible for changing Muggles' memory in case they are exposed to accidental magic. Those guys are full of themselves and annoying as hell, btw.

and I see Sirius being sent there, after The Accident. It's cool in theory, but most of the time it's puuuure paperwork and it bores sirius to no end.

well, guess who works there as well. Our guy, Remus j. lupin.

Remus isn't one to do field work so he mostly works in the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee division (god I love those long ass names). Basically he comes up with stuff to excuse magic happening in the muggle world etc. like when peter killed a bunch of muggles and the muggle paper said it was a "big gas explosion". Pure paperwork. Boring as hell.

Anyway, Sirius turns up there out of nowhere and he is the office sweetheart. It fucking boggles remus mind, like. Sirius always goes to the office parties and seems to be friends with everyone but no one knows anything about this guy. He just gets there, a almost 30 yo with a bunch of obscure work experience and no one knows what he did before that, who his family is, where he is from and how the hell does he knows the stuff that he knows.

Sirius is great at field work, he mostly works directly in the Obliviators division and remus is really great with the paperwork stuff sooo they get paired up a lot. At first, they are a bit annoyed by each other (my fav wolfstar flavor). It's funny because they actually agree with almost everything but they just approach things veeery differently and so they are bickering all the damn time. And Sirius is a Certified Little Shit™ and is constantly doing things that drives remus a bit crazy. Once they had a case of a water fountain exploding bc two wizards were fighting in a public park and instead of obliviating the muggles into believing it was only a piping problem or whatever, he went out of his way to turn it into a sort of elaborate flash mob that went viral on tiktok. Remus spent the night awake documenting everything. He wanted to strangle sirius that day.

between late nights working and lots of crazy field work (thanks to sirius) those two end up getting closer and closer. Remus still thinks Sirius is a bit insane, but now in a I-want-you-to-fuck-me-into-this-desk type way. Sirius, on the other hand, doesn't let go of his previous research. I think that back then he would, specifically, study and experiment a lot with Love, in special familial love (yep.) The thing about those confidential dept. of mysteries' experiments is that they can be pretty... unethical. And that's the break point of their story: Remus finding out about Sirius research and finally wondering at what lengths did sirius went to understand something as complicated as Love and what the fuck he did to get banished from the department back then, and worse: if he ever used remus in those experiments. and even more worse: The fact that remus doesn't stop loving him even if he did.

A last fun fact is that they, at one point, would have an inside joke about that "MIB: man in black" movie, they watched it together one late night and sirius kept referencing it when he went to obliviate muggles and remus thought it was the funniest silliest thing ever

[animasolaoriginal]

A B A N D O N E D 🥀 1/3

A new-in-town urban explorer stumbles upon a (not so) well hidden secret in an abandoned building, turning his life upside down when he takes more than pictures and leaves more than footprints.

Normal dude meets broken girl turned sex toy

WARNINGS: Urban exploration. Implied past rape. Implied past caning. Wounds and injuries. Objectification. Submissive character. Strangers to lovers. Angst. Hurt/comfort. Fluff. Eventual smut*. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 7.6k

A/N: This is a spin-off to my original story INFATUATED, set in the same universe. There's no need to have read INFATUATED, just know that there's a man we refer to as Sir who took in (kidnapped) a girl we refer to as Darling to make her his personal little plaything (but then proceeds to develop “feelings” for her), and this is the story of one of the unfortunate girls before her. A "study" on what a normal dude may think about an abandoned sub. Remember: this is fiction! A product of my own sick little mind, a fantasy. Our guy here may have some opinions later that may or may not stem from my own view on things (just some rants about certain kinks, and if those insult you, please forgive me, I don't mean any kink shaming. Everyone is valid around here – except Sir who might not get the best reviews in this story). By the way, the protagonist may have a name here, but it's only mentioned a few times, so you can still imagine any character here if you want to!

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Glass crunches beneath his boots as he makes his way through the abandoned building. It's eerily quiet, just the wind howling through the broken windows and holes in the walls. The occasional rustle when debris or dry leaves move under the breeze. Nature's completely reclaimed this old house that used to be an apartment building with a bunch of tiny shops on the ground floor. Too off the beaten path, the shops became obsolete when a large mall opened only a few blocks away.

He's also in a very bad neighborhood, and nobody seemed to care about this particular building for a long time. Overgrown and broken, glass panes a good target practice for your usual teenage delinquent or bored child, doors ripped off their hinges by age and decay and maybe some random angry dude who needed a place to vent. Furniture long gone, either taken along or stolen later, things that couldn't be moved too easily (like sinks or toilet bowls) smashed into tiny pieces.

Normally he prefers places stuck in time, where tragedy struck and nobody's been back in decades, with faded photos on the walls or on dusty shelves, the smell of slowly rotting armchairs and a hint of mold in the air. Those make the best pictures. Little time capsules, evidence of older times, in the midst of a blooming bustling city. This building, however, looked more promising from the outside.

He raises his camera and takes a shot of a broken window where thick vines of ivy crawl around the frame and up the wall, the light of the setting sun giving the scene a soft glow. He changes the angle a few times, then moves on, up the stairs, looks through open doors into old apartments, mostly empty, walls vandalized with crude, unreadable graffiti, carpets full of dirt and a (not so) healthy layer of mold.

What strikes him as a little unusual is that the hallways look as if used fairly often, leaves and dust bunnies line the sides, but there's a path between the debris, leading further up the building. Not too unusual, these kinds of buildings usually attract a lot of shady people or bored teenagers, some to meet for illegal business deals, other to party hard in a place Mom and Dad cannot find them.

Maybe it's used for all kinds of things as he notices a growing abundance of empty soda cans, broken alcohol bottles and other garbage lying around (the most striking sight was a trail of discarded condoms and empty lube bottles). His destination is the roof, maybe he can at least snap some pictures of the sunset and the city around him from this place, for all he got now are shots of broken windows, nature reclaiming the urban space and your typical down-the-hallway shot. He even found the one-single-chair-in-the-middle-of-an-empty-room motif.

Of course he's not the first urbexer to walk through here, it's been abandoned for a long time, probably old news for the locals, but this is his first time here, in the city too, and he wanted to see as many abandoned things as possible. He heard from others that this house had good bones, meaning stable stairs and floors, no risk of breaking through and landing in the moldy basement with a pipe through your torso. He is looking for adventure, the thrill of being alone in a lost place, inhaling the intoxicating scent of debris and decay, he is not looking to pay a horrendous hospital bill because he's been too careless.

He takes the last section of the winding staircase, stepping onto the upper most floor, the roof access visible at the end of the corridor. There he hesitates. Unlike the floors below him, there's something different here. It's not as dirty, and the most prominent thing: all the doors are intact and closed. It almost looks like an actual floor of a still lived-in apartment building where you would find the same amount of dust and grime on the floors and walls.

Raising his camera, he takes a few shots, cursing when he realizes it's too dark to get it lined up best. The only light source is a badly boarded-up window at the end of the hallway, a tiny skylight above him and the glow creeping up over the staircase from the lower levels. Why is this window boarded up? What's happening up here that nobody wants to have witnesses for? There are other buildings around this one, still functional, mostly, probably for seedy reasons as well, but there's still the chance of people noticing what's going on here.

The closed doors irritate him. Everything else about this building was ripped out and broken and vandalized, nothing left in its former state. He came in through a bent-out-of-shape shutter gate, most of the former shops have so many holes it's fairly easy to get access to the rest of the house. And nobody seems to care about people walking about. There's an old No Trespassing sign near the boarded-up front door, but that's about it.

Though it doesn't surprise him in this kind of neighborhood. He might be new in this city, but he knows a crime haven when he sees one. Everything looks old and run down, shops are only fronts for other businesses, grim looking people stand around, gangs linger in groups in neglected parks or on the curb corners. He also saw some prostitutes walking the streets, looking as worn and shabby as the clothes they were wearing. Most normal people would avoid going deeper into the belly of the beast, but he likes the more dangerous places, and frankly, he fits right in.

Tall and bulky, he could pass as one of those bouncers standing in front of shady clubs, but he looks also young enough to be confused with a fresh gang member or mafia initiate or whatever. At least he thinks so because he's gotten no curious stares as he entered the neighborhood. Though he was glad nobody talked to him, his accent would have given him away for sure.

He feels his heart beating faster when he approaches one of the closed doors, the hairs on his arms rising in anticipation. It's a thrill to find something unusual in a place you've already pushed aside and declared boring. His hand grabs the door handle, twists it... and nothing happens. Locked. A locked door in an abandoned building. How curious. He tries the other ones, the same thing occurs. When he reaches the last door, he almost jumps back when the knob turns and the door opens with a click and then a creepy squeak.

One open room on a floor full of locked doors. His breath quickens, but he forces himself to remain calm. He doesn't even know what he's expecting, but it certainly wasn't this. The room is almost bare (but not as empty as the rooms he's seen before), aged wallpaper peels from the walls, the windows are covered by thick curtains, old and rugged looking, there's a couch in one corner, covered in blankets that have seen better days too. But the most unnerving sight is the bed in the middle of the room.

It's literally in the middle of the room, a sturdy looking metal frame he could walk around if he wanted to. But for now he only stares. There are handcuffs chained to the headboard, ropes tied to the low bed posts. And then there are the stains on the old mattress, lighter and darker ones, some are definitely blood. Old and dried, though one looks a little fresher, on the lower part of the bed. He's mesmerized, disgusted but mesmerized, almost forgets the weight around his neck before a shiver crashes through him.

It's an automated gesture to raise his camera and take pictures of what he sees. Pics or it didn't happen. It's a strange sight, but he isn't sure he wants to share this scene on his official page. He's known for showing off decaying architecture and nature reclaiming its place in the world full of stone and people. To share a potential sex dungeon might not be the way to go. But he still has his side blog. He has to share this, work through the experience, hoping somebody knows something about this.

Though he hasn't even seen everything. Slowly he takes a step into the room. There's a table behind the door, a longer one, fit for a person to lie on, and the leather belts attached to it suggest the same. Fuck. Is this really one of those freaky sex rooms?

He doesn't want to imagine what goes on in here, but he can't completely ignore that he has seen similar settings in various porn clips. Echoes of crying girls crash through his mind, creepily leering men in ski masks standing around the bed, the table, the couch, cocks in hand, others holding paddles, canes, vibrators, ready to torment whoever is unfortunate enough to be strapped to the structures.

He wants to believe there's consent involved, a scene being played out, discussed beforehand, those girls willingly trapped with a bunch of horny men, but sometimes it's hard to imagine that anyone would want to go through that on their own free will. He swallows, only now noticing the stench of the room. Sweat and sex, various bodily fluids all around, with a metallic undertone. Blood.

Shivering he can't help himself, he takes more pictures, walks around the room as if treading on thin ice, careful not to disturb the scene. He's also hyper aware of the noises around him now, the low buzz of the city beyond, voices passing by the building, birds landing on the roof above him, pigeons cooing, crows cawing, seagulls screaming. He tells himself he'd hear if somebody came back to clean up the scene he's witnessing right now. He could flee to the roof, hide it out, maybe find a way down from there.

Goosebumps attack his bare forearms when he rounds the bed and notices a pile of blankets on the floor. But it's the hair poking out of it that makes his heart stop. No. He freezes on the spot, staring down, camera heavy in his hand. He's heard stories of other urban explorers encountering unsettling things, the more harmless one coming into contact with a squatter, either awake or passed out in some corner, and the most disturbing one... stepping onto a crime scene, finding blood, bones... or dead bodies.

Yet instead of panicking, with the urge to run as quickly as he can, he finds himself staring with an obscene fascination. His eyes trail the blanket, noticing how it's wrapped around whatever is curled up inside it, and he bends down a little, crouching beside it, the smell overwhelmingly strong down here. His stomach protests, but his curiosity is too obnoxious to ignore. Shifting his camera into his other hand, he reaches out, carefully, knowing he should probably wear gloves, but he also doesn't care. He has to know.

His fingers grip the edge of the blanket, and he pulls, gently, his eyes widening as the scene unfolds in front of him – together with the body of a girl unfurling from its curled-up position. He will never share his first impression with anyone, because it's primal, an instinct, the thought of a man whose cock has a mind of its own: she's pretty.

Also naked, covered in grime and other substances, pale skin adorned with angry red welts and purple bruises, something pink caked between her thighs. She's on her side, legs scissored open, arms bound behind her back. Her thick dark hair is braided into two pigtails, and one of them seems to be cut off as the hair frays out and lies around her head like a dark halo. Tears and sweat allowed a thick layer of dust and dirt to cake to her face. Eyes closed, long dark lashes clumped, full lips swollen and raw looking, slightly parted.

Before he continues taking in every detail of her, he has the urge to bring his finger to her nose, and the relief when he feels the slightest bit of air movement against his skin lets him exhale loudly as well. She is not dead. And there's the problem. She looks like she should be, like it would be the better fate. The sight scares him as much as it fuels his morbid fascination, which may explain why he's still frozen on the spot, staring at her instead of calling the police or an ambulance or doing anything to help her. He can't take his eyes off her.

Her slender neck is covered in dark bruises as if someone has tried to strangle her, probably thought they succeeded too. Why else would she lie on the floor here? Left behind after whoever assaulted her was done? And assaulted she was. Sexually, physically. The welts on her body look horrible, thin red lines all over her small breasts, her stomach, her hips, her thighs, on her ass as well from what he can tell. She was caned, the poor thing. He hates watching those kinds of porn videos. He can see the appeal of spanking, the hand on ass contact, but hitting someone with a rigid cane doesn't seem very pleasurable, it's only about inflicting pain and having evidence of it days later.

A sadistic move, and sadists were definitely at work here. There are more bruises on her thighs, probably from strong hands holding her down and open while various cocks forced themselves into her holes. He feels his cheeks warming up when he takes a closer look at her pussy. Apart from layers upon layers of what he assumes to be cum and other fluids, there are welts and bruises on there too, on the soft skin of her inner thighs, on her puffy outer lips (that look stretched as if held back and open by clamps or whatever these bastards used), but most are on the strangely swollen clit. Ugh. Genital torture, a genre he really hates. Spanking a woman's clit is just downright sick and barbaric.

The more he looks at her, the worse he feels. Not just for what she had to go through, but knowing he can't really help her. How should he? Call the police and wait for other horny men to find her? He never trusted the cops, and in a neighborhood like this he is certain there won't be a good guy among them. Calling an ambulance may be an option, if he does it anonymously and flees the scene quickly, but that leaves him wondering if anyone ever found her. And again, in an area like this, the people who did this may still be around watching the place, stopping help before it can get anywhere, maybe even finishing the job, killing her.

And if he stays and wait, he will be in danger of those people seeing him, and as he now knows too much, even took pictures of the evidence, what's stopping them from killing him too? And even if they don't find him, he fears the damn hospital bill might be his end. Yes, strange priorities, but his brain is buzzing and he feels sick and nauseous the longer he stays in this horrible room, staring down at the poor girl.

She looks younger than him, maybe a few years, maybe a lot, the pigtails give the illusion she might still be a teenager, but her body looks too developed for that. A thin face with high cheekbones, no baby fat, soft albeit small breasts, a narrow waist, plump hips, thighs just rounded enough to create that amazing thigh gap he likes so much. The initial thought is still there, and his cock agrees, she is beautiful, despite the state she is in.

And maybe that's why he forms an idea in his head: why not take her with him? Away from this place, into safety, then assess what help he can get her. She can't stay here, that's for sure. A better man would face the danger of being discovered by her abusers, to make sure she'll get the care she needs, no matter how expensive and uncomfortable it may get. A better man wouldn't crouch beside her limp body and stare and drool.

But he's not. He's a runaway, dropped out of college to party, then got too old and paranoid to return. Too distracted by the world around him. Traveling on a budget, with just enough money to feed himself once a day, couch surfing, loitering, pissing his life away one day at a time. It's only been during the last years that he's gotten a bit more stable, making a name for himself as a photographer, selling prints and doing commissions, and by coming into this city he's hoped to make it even bigger.

Renting an old loft he hopes to transform into a photo studio one day, he's trying to settle down. He still has barely any money, lives off those stupid strangers willing to pay for his pictures even though they're not even that special. He always hopes for the occasional exceptional find, something he could sell to newspapers, but even those prefer to steal their pictures off other people's Instagram instead of paying for a more professional shot. Tough times.

As he crouches next to the unconscious girl, the hand holding his camera twitches. It's an instinct to raise it, bring it in front of his eyes, look through the finder and press his thumb down to take a picture of her. He feels sick for it, but also... not. She's part of this little sex dungeon, the main attraction, actually, and it's an inborn need to burn her image into a bunch of pixels. Pics or it didn't happen. He considers sharing her story with whatever newspaper may want it, but then his name would be attached to the evidence, he could be linked to this scene, and what's stopping any corrupt cop to call him guilty for this? Or the bad guys to come and erase any kind of evidence? Him and her included?

She can't stay here. He can't keep staring at her. Something has to happen.

Before he puts his camera into his backpack, he can't help but take a few more pictures of her, of her wounds and injuries, of the evidence caked to her skin, the blood trailing down her inner thigh. Maybe justice will come one day, but he'll need pictures of the crime scene to make it happen. He also snaps a few shots of her face, peaceful in slumber, of her soft curves, those tiny feet with the ankles covered in rope burn. Those he does in several angles, maybe he has a future in selling feet pics. And it's not his fault the market exists.

The world is a sick place, and he's just trudging along.

Eventually he stores his camera in his backpack, then moves the blanket back around the girl. His hand finds her cheek, and it's warm to the touch, she's certainly still alive, and probably in pain, so he doesn't want to disturb the few quiet moments this cruel world has given her. He wraps her up and scoops her into his arms, a barely there weight, poor thing looks and feels malnourished on top of being treated so horribly.

Lifting her up, he realizes the light has turned from the soft sunset glow into the harsher, darker tones of the street lamps coming to life. Time to go. Maybe her abusers will return soon. He carries her out of the room, she's warm and soft in his arms, head resting against his shoulder, hair and one half of her face peeking out of the blanket cocoon. She's tiny, in comparison and in general, and knowing her fate he feels even worse for her.

His heart clenches by the time he's descended all those stairs, and when he reaches his point of entry, he hesitates. It's one thing to slip into a building during the day, nobody cares about a man with a camera creeping around old houses much, at least not in this kind of area, but knowing this place is frequently used for terrible little sex adventures, he feels uneasy now. The night is fast approaching, and he knows these kinds of things probably happen when the shadows fall.

Looking around, he decides to find another exit, preferably one leading around the back, and luck is on his side when he finds a broken window looking into a backyard filled with black trash bags. With the girl still in his arms, he climbs through, but slips on something at the last second. Curling his back, trying not to harm her further, he feels his backpack scraping over the rough wall, hoping it didn't damage his camera. It's one of his few prized possessions, but thinking about it, maybe he should reconsider his priorities.

He's carrying a life in his arms, a life he intends to save, so a broken camera, a replaceable thing, really isn't that big of a deal. He can always salvage the SD card inside anyway. No harm done. Rolling his shoulders, he shifts her against his chest, then continues through the dark alley. He's parked the hunk of metal he calls his car a few blocks away, at the edge of the neighborhood, hoping he'll still have all tires when he returns.

And indeed they are all there, as full and dirty as he's left them. The old truck was the last thing he could afford after renting out the loft, so even if he's bound to this city, relying on random strangers to finance his life, he has a means to get away if he has to. For now, he's pulling the passenger door open and carefully puts down the bundle of limbs and hair and blankets, and when he does, she suddenly stirs.

He freezes, staring at her as her eyelids flutter open. A soft groan escapes her, but when her wide eyes, beautiful dark irises, glazed and a little dull, but beautiful nonetheless, meet his, she stiffens too, lips parted, and he expects a scream, a distress call, anything, but she doesn't issue a single peep, just looks at him, almost calm, probably just glad she's still alive or thinking she died and woke up in a weird realm between the worlds where it's normal to wake up in unfamiliar places, facing unfamiliar people.

He still feels the need to calm her. “Hey, it's alright. No need to be afraid, I'm not here to harm you. I want to help you, okay? Do you understand?”

She blinks, her lips trembling, but then she utters a barely audible “Yes, sir”, and he feels his heart jumping a little. To his own shame, his cock does the same. He clears his throat, nods to her, then closes the door with a thud and rounds the car, putting his backpack into the covered truck bed. Her eyes are following him when he slips behind the wheel, despite her slouched position on the seat. She's eerily quiet, not at all concerned about a strange man packing her into his car.

He watches her as he pulls the seat belt over her small frame, then buckles himself in. “You'll be alright,” he says softly, giving her the hint of a smile, and she continues staring at him. She must be in shock, no other way to explain this behavior, probably fighting the pain coursing through her, the soreness and burning, the stickiness between her thighs, the memory of the whole ordeal. He can't blame her. It must have been absolute hell.

He starts the car, glad it does so on the first try, and maneuvers it back into the nightly city traffic until they reach the old warehouse at the edge of it. It's the cheapest he could find, between two concerning neighborhoods, but those are still better than the one he found her in. At least he has running water and electricity, and a bed. Hmm. One bed. He'll give it to her for now, trying to squeeze his big body onto the small couch. It'll work.

She's still only staring at him when he unbuckles her and picks her up, though her breaths are a bit more labored. Maybe the shock is fading, letting through the pain more and more. He hums soothingly to her, tells her it'll be alright, knowing the more he'll repeat that, the more she'll believe it. It's his life motto too, fake it till you make it. She's that pliant body in his arms as he carries her to the old elevator, hoping it'll last another day.

When he reaches his apartment door, he shifts her in his hold, and she winces, a horribly pathetic little sound he hopes never to hear again. “Sorry,” he mutters as he fumbles for his key and unlocks the door. “You'll feel better soon, I promise.”

Her warm breath hits his neck as she presses her face closer against him, a strangely submissive gesture, a naive hope to trust a stranger. He takes her straight to the bathroom, where he sets her on the closed toilet lid and slowly unravels the blanket from around her. She's sitting perfectly still, the only movement coming from her almost curious eyes as she watches his every move. She winces when he brushes against the welts on her skin, chest rising and falling a little faster, but that's about all the motion he gets from her.

When the blanket falls away, she's that naked thing covered in sweat and cum and blood, and it occurs to him what a strange situation this is. For him to just take her away, without informing anyone, authority or not, and for her to just accept it like this. She's awake, maybe a little dazed, but conscious enough that a normal girl would stir more, talk more, fuss and strain against his touches, maybe even try to flee or do anything to ensure her own safety.

But she is just sitting there, arms folded behind her back, watching him. She doesn't seem real. Like a robot. A brainless toy... And it occurs to him, that might just be what she is, what she has been. A body to use, handed around between vulgar men, an object to utilize in their sick fantasies turned reality. Of course he's no stranger to the news, especially the darker ones, those about trafficking and forced sex work, even if those stories barely make it past the usual political drama. It's another one of those morbid fascinations he can't seem to break.

He might just be as sick as those actually partaking in these illegal little sex gatherings, he's watched those videos, even though he's handled them like any other porn he's come across. As fake, a scene played out, a fantasy made as real as movie magic can make it, but to find this girl in this room, discarded and abandoned like a broken doll, left behind after everyone else was done and satisfied in their twisted, primal needs, shows him that those were not scenes, not fake, but brutal reality. It makes him angry.

“Can you stand?” he asks her quietly, tilting his head as he towers over her, and she nods, looking up at him, before straining her bruised body when she tries to move. His hands find her elbows, and she flinches, but lets him pull her onto her feet. “Oh fuck, your arms, I forgot,” he presses out, and quickly leans back to grab a pair of scissors off the counter behind him, then carefully moves around her to cut through the ropes holding her wrists and forearms together. When he's done, he lets her go, and she sways, arms flailing a little, her hands twitching as if she wants to hold onto him. He guides her into the shower, then steps back. She turns around immediately, eyes wide. “Do you need help?”

She bites her swollen lip. “Please,” she croaks, and the hoarse sound of her voice breaks his heart (but also thickens his cock). He nods, swallows hard, trying to fight the strange warmth pooling in his stomach, before he toes off his boots, strips off his hoodie and jeans, then steps behind her in just his boxers. He wants to show her he's not a predator, but he also doesn't want to get his only good pair of jeans wet and dirty. One day he'll be able to afford another one.

He grabs the shower head and turns the knobs on the wall, waiting for the water to heat up. She's shivering, her frail little body so tiny in front of him, one hand rubbing up and down the other arm, a mindless gesture, trying to ease her nerves probably. Her eyes, however, stay on him and his every move, very attentive, almost eager. It should feel a little bit more bizarre to share a shower with a girl he's just met (or rather found), but it's as if he's running on instincts, feeling the need to help her, make her feel better, ease her pain.

The steam fills his nostrils, and when he puts the water jet to her shoulder, she winces, flinches away, lets out a little whine, but ultimately returns under the spray and lets him clean the grime and sweat and other substances off her skin. He's careful not to put too much pressure on her bruises and the welts, and is glad they didn't break her skin, even though they look horrible, shining in a bright red as if the blood is pulsing just beneath her pale skin.

When he lowers the shower head to point it between her thighs, he hesitates, looks at her, but all she does is take a little side step and spreads her legs a bit more to allow him to do so. So fucking obedient, it's almost scary. The grime on her inner thighs is so persistent that he has to move his hand over her skin before he realizes he should probably use a wash cloth. Stepping back, he leans around the open door and grabs a small towel, wets it and then proceeds to rub the dirt (and cum and other things he doesn't want to think more about) off her thighs. She whines quietly when he moves the soft cloth over her folds, and he holds his breath, trying to be as gentle as he can be.

When he touches her clit though, she shudders and gasps, legs trembling, and her hand is on his arm then, holding on tightly, with a strength he wouldn't have expected from her. He watches how her eyes roll back, how her lips part and a little moan escapes her, and he just freezes, wash cloth pressed to her sensitive nub, unintentionally drawing a strange little orgasm out of her. Was she trained to be this sensitive, so responsive? To come on touch alone? He didn't even rub that hard.

He takes the cloth away slowly, and she calms down a little, breathing just a bit harder, but when her eyes meet his, she furrows her brows, bites her lip, mumbles a croaked “Sorry” as she lowers her head. He frowns at that, tilting his head.

“Nothing to apologize for,” he says quietly. “I... uh, didn't mean to do that either...”

Is she one of those poor girls who was bound to their master's (or whatever the man called himself who had her) will, to only do as he told her, to come on command, and to feel bad if she does so without permission? What a horrible fate... He would never ask her to hold her orgasm, he would want to see that reaction over and over again, allowing her all the pleasure she can get. Not that he'll ever want to do anything to her, but... in theory, of course.

He keeps cleaning her then, lets the warm water soak her bruised skin, and she just stands there, chin tilted up, eyes closed, wet hair cascading down her back, hanging over her shoulders, one side shorter than the other (how cruel to take away something from her, even as benign as part of her braid, but it's definitely crueler to treat her like a soulless body, and he's glad she's not missing any fingers or limbs instead).

Considering, her state could be worse. She's standing on her own, breathing just fine, she's probably very sore and aching, but the pain will fade and she could have a normal life after this, more or less, not counting the psychological trauma that seems to still hold her hostage. Well, it's not ideal, and maybe death would have been a relief after the torment, but she's young, she can work through this, it's possible. And maybe he can help her cope...

Looking at her petite frame, he feels his stomach tensing. It's wrong to feel like this, he knows it, he shouldn't even allow the smallest little thought into that direction, but he is just a man after all, standing with a naked young woman in his shower, and it's blatantly obvious what his cock thinks about this whole situation. He hopes she doesn't notice the tent in his boxers.

But he shouldn't worry, she doesn't seem to notice much, standing still under the spray of the water, and when he turns it off eventually, deeming her clean enough, she inhales deeply and opens her eyes, blinking away stray water drops. She remains immobile, and while he turns to grab a towel, she doesn't move an inch. When he starts drying her off, rougher than he intends, but his hands feel like they are shaking from the tension growing inside him, she winces a couple of times, but then presses her lips together and endures.

He's watching her like a hawk, apologizes for accidentally hurting her, tries to be as gentle as possible, and her eyes are glued to his face, not completely focused yet, still glazed and hazy, pupils blown for some reason, her gaze almost curious. What a strange little creature. He'd expected a victim of whatever type of rape she's experienced to be more... hysterical?

When he finally wraps the towel around her small body and another one around her damp hair, she seems to relax even more. Then she opens her mouth.

“Thank you, sir,” she whispers, looking up at him before bowing her head.

He stares at her, blinking in confusion. “Uh, you're welcome,” he says. “But, uh, you can call me Sam, okay? I'm Sam. No need for... honorifics or whatever, you know?”

There's a frown on her face when she looks back up, her lips moving as if she's repeating his name in her mind.

“What's your name?” he then asks, leaning against the sink as he watches her.

The frown deepens, her eyes moving away from him, flickering here and there as if she tries to find the answer somewhere in his bathroom. “I...” she starts, eyebrows furrowed before she exhales deeply, her shoulders sagging. “It doesn't matter,” she then replies.

“Huh?” he makes, staring at her. “What do you mean it doesn't matter? I'm sure you have a name. Did you forget?” He kicks himself mentally for assuming as much and for his harsh tone, but it's ridiculous.

She shakes her head, not to say no, but to clear her mind maybe? It's a frantic gesture. “It doesn't matter. I don't matter. I am... I am yours to... to use,” she mutters under her breath, hands clenching into fists at her sides.

“What now?” He gapes at her.

And then she is suddenly on her knees in front of him, the towel falling away, her small body folded with her hands lying neatly on her lap, her chin tilted up, looking at him with big eyes. “Please use me,” she says quietly.

He takes a step back, bumping into the cupboard next to the sink, staring down at the girl. Is she serious? He shakes his head, then walks back and grabs her elbows. “Come on, get up, no need to kneel before me, okay? Get up!”

His harsher, also slightly agitated tone makes her wince, but she's on her feet immediately, letting him pull her up, then stands stock-still before him, head lowered, a soft little whine escaping her. “I'm sorry...”

“Stop apologizing!” He lets go of her and runs a hand through his hair, sighing deeply. “I mean, ugh, wow. I'm sorry, too. You must be... well, you've been through so much, I don't mean to scare you or anything, I just...”

“Please,” she mumbles, breathing a little harder. She's shivering without the towel, the one on her head coming undone as well the more she shimmies on the spot. He stares at her, she has her hands clasped in front of her sex and squeezes her thighs together, small breasts squished, nipples erect, a deep blush almost hiding the red welts on her skin. “Please use me,” she then says again.

“No!” he blurts out, and she flinches, another sob escaping her. He groans. “I mean, come on! I will not just use you, I just met you, I found you! In that freaky sex room after you've been...” He stops when he suddenly meets her gaze. Her pupils are fully dilated, her already dark eyes shining entirely black. “You're in no condition to do anything but relax now, okay? Take it easy. Come on, I'll show you the bed.”

He's about to grab her hand when she turns her shoulder, avoiding his touch. He freezes, frowns. “In... no condition? Am I... not good... anymore?” Her voice is that feeble little hum, a desperate song sending shivers down his spine.

“What? No! You are good, you are perfect, you are so beautiful!” he croaks out, unable to stop the words. She tilts her head, blinking. “I mean, yeah, uh, you are, but that's not what I mean. You are... Look, whoever treated you like this, whoever hurt you, just left you there. And I couldn't not take you, you know? I want to help you, do you understand that? I want you to feel good again after –”

“Then use me,” she whispers, breathing harder, hands falling away from the obedient pose as she rubs them up and down her thighs, still squirming on the spot. “Please, it hurts...”

“Of course it hurts, they hit you with a fucking cane! They raped you!” he shouts, a little too loud, his emotions getting the better of him.

She flinches back, gasping with her lips parting, her eyes wide. “No... no, they were... they had to punish me because I... I was bad... I deserved it... and they... they used me like they should use me...”

Her words are mumbled, but he can still hear them, even though he wishes he couldn't. What a sick way of seeing things. What a fucked-up world where a pretty girl like her has these thoughts planted into her head.

Anger makes him clench his hands into fists. “They shouldn't have done that. You are a human being, a young woman, a beautiful girl, not a doll to play with, not a toy to use!”

She stares at him, eyelids fluttering, chest rising and falling faster, small breasts bouncing. Really not the time to notice that, mate!

“But,” she whispers, wincing slightly as she starts chewing on her lips. “But that... that's my purpose... I am... I am yours to use,” she repeats these last five words like something she had to learn without knowing the meaning behind it.

He approaches her slowly, carefully, his big hands find her small shoulders, and the touch makes her look up at him. “You are your own person. You have a name, even if you can't remember it right now, you had a mother and a father, maybe even siblings. You went to school, you had a job, maybe. You had dreams, everyone has dreams, for the future, things you wanted to have, places you wanted to see. You are not just a body for strange men to use. Not like that. Not without consent! You were not made to be punished, to be hurt because some random sicko gets off on it. Your body is so much more than just... holes to fill... and a canvas to soil with bruises and welts and... cum...”

His voice has become calmer, like a mantra, new thoughts to plant into her muddled brain, so he hopes, and she listens with her lips parted, eyes directly looking at him. Sometimes she frowns, sometimes she blinks, and when he finishes she licks her lips.

“But I want this,” she says quietly. “I want to be used...”

He sighs deeply and lowers his head, then shakes it in frustration. “No, somebody told you you should think like that! Nobody in their right mind wants to be raped and mutilated like that!”

A single sob makes him look up, and he lets go of her, straightening up. Her lips are trembling and her eyes watering before tears stream down her face. He lets out a groan.

“I'm sorry,” he grunts. “I didn't mean it like that! You are valid, whatever you want, of course, but... but you gotta agree it's a little strange?” She only cries harder, her small frame shaking. “Okay, look, no kink shaming or whatever, I just... I assumed, the way you were lying in that room, the state you were in, I thought you needed help! You looked horrible! I was about to call the police!”

She freezes at that, staring up at him. “No,” she gasps. “Don't do that! Please! I... I don't want any trouble... I... I'll do anything, but... please... not the police!”

He raises an eyebrow at that. This reaction surprises him. “Why not?” he asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest. She averts her eyes, breathing harder. He isn't very fond of them either, but why wouldn't she? Why would she prefer being gang raped and beaten and strangled over calling for help?

She presses her lips together, doesn't say a thing. For a moment they are both silent, standing in the bathroom, the naked girl and the guy with his tented boxers. Even now his cock doesn't agree with him. But he doesn't care about it anymore. This is a mystery he wants to unravel.

“Tell me,” he says, tone harsher, pointedly. She seems to reply better to commands.

And it seems to work. “He said he'd kill me if I talked to them,” comes her quiet answer, spoken to the tiled floor.

“He? He who?” he asks, his arms falling to his sides.

“Sir,” she replies, her shoulders shaking.

“Sir? Who calls himself Sir? Who is that? The man who did this to you?”

She shakes her head. “No. He... he found me, he took me in, and then... he... he sent me away because I was... a bad girl and he... he... they...” A series of sobs escapes her before her hands fly up to cover her face. Her cries pierce his heart. “Why did he send me away? What did I do?” she wails softly, muffled from behind her hands. “I was a good girl... always a good girl... did everything he said...”

He can't watch it anymore. While his rage for this unknown man grips his insides, he steps forward and pulls her against him, arms wrapped around her shuddering form, but she keeps crying, lets it all out, desperate and heartbreaking. He scoops her up and carries her to the bedroom, her tears hot on his skin, her whines loud in his ears.

Putting her down carefully, he pulls the blanket over her naked body and tucks her in, gently rubbing her side as she curls in on herself, continuing to cry miserably.

“Please stop crying,” he whispers, sitting down on the edge of the bed, hand still on her hip. “I'm sorry he treated you like that. But he let you go, you said so, so why don't you use that as a chance to move on, look ahead, find a new Sir? Or live your life without any man for a while? I'm sure that's nice too...”

She stares at him from under her clumped lashes, momentarily paused in her sobbing, only to cry out again when he suggests moving on. He sighs, letting her wail and whine until hiccups shake her form. She's not calming down, but she gets quieter, and he stands up then, walking down the stairs into the kitchen to get some water and a snack. When he returns, she's lying on her side, staring blankly ahead, eyes reddened, face flushed and wet, but she's stopped crying for the moment.

He sits back down on the edge and holds the water glass to her face. “Come on, drink something. Please.” She doesn't even look at him. He exhales loudly and puts the glass on the bedside table. “Fine. Well, it's there if you want it. I also brought some crackers, maybe you're hungry. I can get more later. Or just sleep, you definitely need that. Rest, get better, and tomorrow we'll figure something out, okay?”

She doesn't give a reply, and he shakes his head and leaves again, settling on the lumpy couch under the stairs, his eyes drifting back up to the loft area every now and then. He falls asleep thinking it was probably a bad idea taking this girl with him. For his sake. What if she is so sick in the head she'll stand over him with a knife in the middle of the night? Great thought to slumber over, really.

1 🟢 2 🟢 3

End notes: *And this was the plot part of our story, stay tuned for the sex frenzy to begin in the next chapter!

There will be three chapters in total, I'll upload every Wednesday.

Thank you for joining me on another little original story I needed to get out of my system.

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

[babacontainsmultitudes]

Hmmm... So the whole thing about Zhouzel's mother having to eat 1000 souls might explain at least part of why the initial (failed) ritual was set up as a boxing match (immediate souls to be fed after she's eaten the warrior offering, albeit probably not nearly enough but a start), and Zhouzel supposedly being a god-slayer that fights the other entities explains why the man in the trophy store described Zhouzel as "brave", though he also described it as "rising in the light of Adothi" and I wonder now if Adothi is simply the name of its mother or something else entirely.

-> Okay below is a lot of random, loosely connected thoughts that have been circling around in my brain regarding the happenings of the world and its entities, but please note before venturing further that 1. A lot of it is quite out there, incredibly speculative (if not full-on conspiracy), and likely to be flat-out wrong and 2. I haven't like relistened to the episodes properly so there could be plenty of important details I'm forgetting/missing. So please, feel free both to refute any of the theories being proposed here if you think that evidence exists to the contrary, and feel free to share your own thoughts and theories (no matter how "out-there") on the mysteries of Peachyville and everything beyond it, I'd love to hear them.

OKAY. Speaking of the trophy guy, flame has been playing an interesting role in the narrative thus far. The trophy gu- oh Hal that was his name- Hal wields it in an attempt to spare both himself and the party from whatever fate Peachyville is apparently destined towards should the powers that lie beyond the veil (Zhouzel included) be unleashed, then we learn from the book Trudy finds [did it have a name? I can't remember] that the being unleashed from the failed ritual (presumably this was also Zhouzel's mother) is weak to fire, then related to and following that we have that pretty horrifying scene where the flamethrowers come out through a portal (more on that in a moment) and kill everyone who was trying to escape, then in this episode the ritual room has fire extinguishing foam prepped and ready to go. So what's up with that? Are all the entities weak to fire (unlikely, since The Doodler does not appear to be)? Is it just some of them, or really just Zhouzel's mother? Could there be some other entity associated with flame in some way or another? One that inspires its own kind of madness, as in the case of Hal?

The flamethrower scene is quite interesting and raises a number of questions. The goal was almost certainly to do away with the entity in the ring, but whether that was with the goal of reattempting the ritual down below or fighting the ritual entirely is unclear. The latter case is rather interesting, because it implies that there are people other than Moth Jesus (and Relish Wet?) and the PCs actively trying to prevent The Bisons from summoning Zhouzel, and that these people may be quite powerful and dangerous in their own right. Moreover, in his phonecall with Trudy (who he believed to be Tucker), Dr. Man actually suggests exactly this: that there are people working against those still involved in Project Heartland (or whatever's become of it now) and that betrayal within the organization has already occured. So who then? Actually *one* of these enemy factions we've already known for a while now: the soviets. Everything that "Penny Picket" had to say to Tony in episode 4 and that which E.B. White had to say about her in episode 5 (describing her as the "former KGB occult operations officer") suggests that 1. the soviets are aware of and against the plan to summon Zhouzel, and 2. the british are most likely in favor of and associated with it and Project Heartland alongside the americans. So maybe the portal and flamethrowers belonged to the soviets, but are there more possibilities than that? Well, Mama Anderson (I can't remember her first name if it's been said), as you may recall, wanted Kelsey to win against The Bison's chosen warrior, which as we saw of course fucked with the ritual, so it seems likely albeit not certain that she and the Anderson gang are enemies of The Bisons and against Zhouzel's summoning as well, possibly responsible for the flame thrower incident, though the extent of their intentions remains unclear (they could just be a gang mainly concerned with money, of course, or things could go much deeper than that).

Leaving that there and instead returning to the topic of flame, I ask again, could there be some entity associated with flame and fire? It's a farfetched theory at the moment, but not entirely out of the question. Of those mentioned, Zhouzel and Adothi (if Adothi is the name of an entity at all and not just something else entirely) are most likely out of the question, as is The Doodler of course, and I highly doubt either The Maggot Whore or "The Cloud Thing" would be. Daegon perhaps? [Okay, now we're getting into real conspiracy theory territory for a moment or several] The only "Daegon" I could find (with that spelling at least) is the mortal combat character hehe, but in all fairness to the theory that guy is a demi-god and does have fire-related abilities. Not connected to Daegon specifically but still to the possibility of a fire-oriented entity, when Trudy reads from her book she reads the following passages:

In 1503 I saw through the veil And cried 666 words in a wail Ask me a question and draw out 3 cards And with them I'll show you the fate in your stars

For our purposes right now, it's the 666 portion that's of particular interest, since it alludes to more classical/biblical notions of something demonic/devilish and hence associated with fire. Guillermo Campos' accounts and existence may nod to the existence of a more devilish entity as well (referring mainly to his ties to catholicism, sins, and the inquisition). As a small and mostly unimportant sidenote, though I don't have any real evidence to support this, I somehow feel as though these passages may be related to the "Testimony of the Unknown Pagan", referenced in episode 9. Also, both Trudy's and Guillermo's books suggest that contact with all that lies beyond the veil far precedes Project Heartland.

As a small, final note tangentially-related to that last point, books also seem to be a reoccurring and important matter, as evidenced by the individual books mentioned as well as the existence of the archives themselves. The Maggot Whore, moreover, is said to read from The Book Of Many Eyes (and this book is mentioned again by someone talking to Dr. Man in the hospital in episode 7), which kind of makes me wonder if we'll finally encounter her(?) at the archives, though to be honest the zoo feels just as likely to me (something something rotting flesh). This reoccurring motif of books above all else has me wondering what's in store for Peachyville's happiest and snappiest schoolmarm, and that's not even getting into the implications and consequences of the decision she made today.

...

Okay okay one more thing that absolutely doesn't matter and never will but the implication from the episode 3 intro that the film "four father's in fantasy land" was used as part of a failed experiment orchestrated as part of Project Heartland (that failed experiment of course being what happened to Hildy/what we saw footage of in Oakvale) makes me wonder if there's an original version of the film, and hence of the S1/S2 universe, before its tape was altered by the Heartland experiment, where the doodler isn't released and S2 of course goes very very differently. OKAY THAT'S ALL GOODNIGHT PEACHYVILLE, GOODNIGHT.

[fisheito]

*rings the service bell* hi um i was wondering.. if there's any yakumo temperature play in here? sounds silly but i only realised after i circled the building a few times... that i haven't seen it at all. Seems to be common practice, actually- to not have it. i've visited several other buildings and there's been no sight of it.

which is... strange? if i think about it, it's surprising that i haven't encountered it yet! it sort of makes sense to have them together, you know? considering that temperature is so vital to a snake's perception of the world. and how sensitive reptiles are to temperature fluctuations.

so there's a lot of control to be had here. can you imagine controlling someone's energy level just by adjusting the thermostat? er- well, i guess we already do that. but imagine you put yakumo in an ice bath and he immediately falls asleep. brumation happens instantly now, sorry. and the only way to snap him out of it is to stick a flaming dildo up his ass

what?. no, i mean, restore his regular energy level with a soft warm-up. a heated blanket and a gentle steam. hahaha.

people plunge themselves into ice water before jumping into hot tubs and vice versa- for fun! they do this recreationally!! they call it a "spa treatment" and pay a premium for it! what's wrong with giving yakumo a spa treatment? who are we to deprive him of such sensory luxury?

i'm JUST SAYING that since he naturally gravitates toward heat, you could put him in a hurt AND comfort scenario he could be naked and cold, banished to the distant corner of the room.. but when you offer him a source of warmth, whether that be a hot rock or a warm hand or 20 lit candles suspended above him dripping wax on him at random intervals,,, wouldn't he have a tough time turning down your generosity?

i mean, he certainly would if he was tied up.

see, here's the other thing i cannot quite comprehend-- it's that--- how has a snake yokai not featured bondage scenes yet? i guess there was that one time with the.. hm. no, we shan't talk about the cellar. besides, ONLY ONE TIME is unacceptable for a sentient rope!! although yakumo would love to wrap up his prey and squeeze the cum out of em, i feel like we're missing out on a lot by not OutSnaking the Snake. tie up and restrain the Restrainer. it's just a liiiiittle step farther than putting him in a pillowcase! so mild!!!!

here's a guy who is always worried about losing control/// about being free to wreak havoc on his loved ones, despite his best intentions. so how about we give him a moment of peace? a moment where he believes he's subdued and unable to cause harm? just tie him up! keep him under TIGHT lock and key. (or some nice soft cloths for his sensitive skin, if we're being nice.) honestly, his brain will do the rest of the work. even if he's not truly incapacitated, his desire to BE So can fill the gaps in any questionable knotwork.

while he's half in the prison of his mind and half in the confines you've created for him, take some time to squeeze some whimpers out of him. although it pains me to cover up those soggy eyes, a blindfold may be an intriguing option. is yakumo the type of snake to rely on heat vision? WHY NOT FIND OUT! (if he's not terrified at his loss of sight, then i guess his pit organs are functioning . in which case, the blindfold doesn't really need to stay on. if he IS terrified and feels the loss of visuals acutely, this would be an excellent opportunity to soak in his panic. just for a bit though. we're not so cruel. guide him back with a warm touch. see? playing with fire temperature contrasts can bring such relief!)

maybe i'm getting ahead of myself. i don't expect yakumo temperature play to show up WITH bondage , why- that would be asking a lot, right?

but the basics are simple enough, yes? give the wretched creature the comforting warmth he wants, then perhaps inch closer to something bordering uncomfortable? Too Much? have him seek out what he craves, only to be burned (metaphorically and/or literally) if he indulges himself too much? oops! someone's become a slave to their senses!

i'm just saying that the sensory perception of yokai vs kink is (relatively) unknown territory. if temperature play already messes with humans, what could it possibly do to yakumo? he could experience it in facets unknown to others.-=- to levels others are incapable of appreciating---- like someone with synesthesia who can experience music with another layer of enjoyment.

if you give a snake ice cream, followed by a hot piece of meat [unknown origin], it'll really make him aware of the contrast, hmm??????

anyway. sorry about that. i'm not super clear on the specifics of it all. i just thought it peculiar that i haven't seen the yaku-hot-cold-sensitivity-finagling. out there, in here, nowhere as far as i've seen..

...or is it located in a part of the building i overlooked? if so, could you direct me there? i would really appreciate it.

if you don't have it after all, that's ok. i'll keep a careful watch now that i know what i'm looking for. maybe it's one of those things where, once i actively search for it, i'll notice it everywhere! wouldn't that be delightful!

with that, i guess i'll be on my way. thanks for your patience. yeah, i hope i find it too. have a good one!!