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detachedminxsfics · 1 year

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Punishment

Masterlist

Characters: Negan x Saviour F!Reader, Simon, The Saviours

Summary: Negan doesn't like sharing his stuff, so much so that you just earned yourself a place on your knees and a job to do, and he doesn't stop for anything, or anyone.

Word count: 3.2K

Warnings: NSFW - Oral (m recieving), exhibitionism elements, authority kink, comic accurate foul mouthed negan, negan referring to himself as daddy bc why not, praise, degradation, dirty talk, dom negan

A/N: Haven't managed to get any writing done for a while because my brain just wasn't working with me, but this slutty little idea popped into my brain the other night and I was asked to make this as dirty as possible, so here goes nothing. Also, I have never wrote m recieving oral before, so I apologise in advance.

One of his black leather boots tapped idly against the concrete flooring, his hands interlocked and his chin perched on top as he watched you, elbows propped on the table and his eyes burning holes into you. Lucille was carefully laid in front of him, his gloves however strewn on the table off to the side. It was like he was waiting for something, but he hadn't said a word since he had one of the saviours come to fetch you and muttered for you to take a seat. Better yet, considering Negan wasn't one for long uncomfortable silences, his mouth always running even at the wrongest times, you were in some deep, deep shit.

"Do you know why you're here, sweetheart?" The pet name did little to lessen the cold, warning hint to his tone, a word usually meant with such affection practically dripping with poison.

You opened your mouth to speak but he swiftly unlocked his hands and raised one to interrupt you.

"That shit was rhetorical. You know damn well why your pretty little ass is here, and you are well aware of the little stunt you pulled."

You had to physically restrain yourself from rolling your eyes at the realisation of what had frustrated him so much that he went out of his way to call you into the meeting room. You'd grown quite fond of one of the saviours you were often grouped up with, and having done a few supply runs together by now, you were pretty comfortable. Comfortable enough to place your hand on their arm whilst the two of you cracked jokes and took a smoke break in the courtyard, the walkers entrapped in the metal fence behind you making a racket all the while. And though faint, you immediately sensed it. Eyes on you, watching you, eyes fixed on your every movement. You glanced to identify the observer, and there he was. The man himself. He was at the top of the steps, the door behind him one of the entrances to the second level of the sanctuary, or more famously, his catwalk. He was leaning on the railings, his eyes filling with something dark as he shot you a glare before he practically tore them from you and headed back inside, his usual saunter replaced by a riled pace of heavy footing.

"God Negan, we were just talking."

You wanted to calm him down, truly, but you couldn't help yourself. The sense of ownership and possessiveness over you he exuded was intoxicating, and tempting. You wanted to see what would happen if you teased him, what buttons you could push to make him tick, and how far he would go. After all, you and Negan were amidst a rather dysfunctional state of affairs. You weren't married to him, weren't one of his kind of prized possessions that pranced around in a little black dress and gave him massages if he asked. No, you were a fling. The first time had happened in this very room when he asked you to hang back after one of the usual meetings to ensure operations were running smoothly. What started as mild, innocent flirting turned to your back pressed against the long wooden table taking up the centre of the room, your legs propped on his shoulders as he thrust into you so hard you forgot how to breathe. You weren't ashamed to admit that he had fucked you in a way you'd never even thought possible, thus, you kept coming back for more. And so did he. In the front of one of the loading vans, on his bed, his leather sofa, the coffee table across from it, hell even one of the cells in the hallway. You couldn't get enough of each other, but you weren't exclusive. Although, Negan seemed to think otherwise.

"Is that so? Cause I caught the way you had your hands all over that worthless sack of shit, and it kinda felt a lot like you were doin' it just to piss me off."

"So what if I was?"

Silence fell, your words thickening the air whilst you made the mistake of narrowing your eyes enough to the point where you were shooting him daggers. His jaw clenched for a moment or two before he kissed his teeth, slightly leaning in so that he could close some of the space between you.

"You know that bratty little mouth of yours was always bound to get you in the deepest of shit someday."

And then he smiled. It unnerved you, the sudden grin as he enthused about whatever it was he had in store for you, and then leaned back in his chair, his legs spreading a little further apart as he did.

"Lucky for me, and not so fortunately for you, today is that fine day. So, I'm gonna need you on your knees."

It was humiliating the way you complied so eagerly, sliding off of your chair and sinking to your knees the very second he had finished making his demand, eyes trained on him as you awaited his next order. Your ardour drew a small pleased chuckle from his throat, only encouraging him to continue.

"Crawl to me, baby. Right here." He beckoned in a strange mixture that amounted to a soft demand, but a command nonetheless.

He paired his words with a brief point to the space on the floor below him, under the table. You flattened your palms against the cool concrete floor and began to crawl, not slow enough to make him impatient, but taking enough time to leave him with heavy, bated breath. Your own breath got that much more unsteady when you reached the space between his legs, and his fingers started to fiddle with the buckle of his belt.

"Now you are gonna stuff that pretty little mouth of yours full of cock because you don't seem to understand who exactly it is that you belong to, and who the hell it is that you're damn well talking to. Got it, darlin'?"

God, you loved him like this. His hazel eyes swirling with all the dark, twisted shit he wanted to do to you, tongue momentarily darting out to wet his bottom lip as he looked you over like you were good enough to eat.

"Yes, sir." You replied knowing the total subservience would only turn him on that much more.

The way you addressed him made him screw his eyes shut for a moment, a small grunt erupting from his throat at the mere use of the word. His belt rested loosely on either side of his fly, and he was tugging down the zipper of his jeans and pulling himself free in an instant. You smoothed your hands up his knees and over his thighs ready to lean forward when the feel of his open palm cupping your jaw stopped you.

"Easy now," he cooed as the hand turned to fingers cupping your chin, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip and slightly dragging it downward, "c'mon, give daddy some sugar first."

The interjection for the sake of wanting to press his lips against yours made you giggle, your hands still resting against his thighs allowing you to lean up and do as he said, your lips crashing against one another's hungrily. The feel of his tongue slipping into your mouth made you moan, as did the hand that wrapped around your throat as he stole your air in more ways than one. With Negan so occupied with your mouth, the opportunity presented itself, your hand sneaking down to his crotch before closing around his shaft, the feel of your hand pressed over his cock making him groan into your open mouth and faintly tighten the grip on your throat. You started to move your hand up and down his shaft whilst you carefully took his bottom lip between your teeth, nipping it a little before you let it go, and then kissed over where you had bit. When you drew back he was gazing at you with half-lidded eyes, lips parted as he breathed almost as heavily as you were, and a devilish smile soon appearing on his frequented lips.

"Go on then, wrap those pretty lips 'round daddy's cock."

You bit down on your bottom lip and settled back down to the space between his legs, the hard surface below stinging your knees whilst you leaned in and ran your tongue over the swollen tip, beads of precum gathering along your tongue as you did. Then, you slipped him into your mouth, taking him further and further until you were swallowing every damned inch.

"Fuuuck." Negan drawled as he threw his head back slightly, the feel of your throat alone enough to have him reach under the table and slip his fingers into your hair, fingers combing through the strands while you moved your head up and down, your tongue flattened against the underside of his shaft as you practically choked on him.

Then like some cursed nightmare, the door to the meeting room swung open. You immediately rushed to move off of him, but the hand he'd been running through your hair gathered some of your hair in his hand and pushed your head back down. You gave his thigh a few pats to signal that you were no longer alone in case he hadn't noticed, but he simply tightened his grip on your hair and ignored you. His chair was tucked into the table rather tightly thank god, so you couldn't be seen, but you may still be heard. Much to your horror the room filled with the many footsteps of saviours and the sound of chairs scraping across the floor as they took their seats, the many shoes and legs appearing off to the side of you and behind you making you keep your arms tight to you and your legs close together with the fear of being spotted. Negan, however, was over the moon. Negan started speaking to the other saviours whilst you remained frozen underneath the table, trying to find some relief in the fact that you might just be able to remain still until this is all over, until he tugged your hair to make you move on him. Your scalp burned from his grasp, the pain motivating you to bob your head, repeatedly taking him until he was hitting the back of your throat, your eyes watering with the urge to choke. You could hear some of the noises Negan was making above you, small curses muttered under his breath and tiny grunts that sounded like a subtle clearing of the throat when someone was talking. There was a pause between the discussion, however, a pause that you awkwardly filled with an accidental gagging sound as you swallowed him. Negan was quick to disguise this, his leg kicking out underneath the table to serve as a warning, and the sound of him coughing followed.

"Shit, think I'm comin' down with something."

The facade Negan sprung into action with seemed believable enough, not that any of them were stupid enough to question Negan anyways. He didn't have to give you a sign to continue, didn't need to lift a damn finger, you just did. You ran your tongue over the veins lining his shaft and occasionally swirled your tongue over the tip until it got to the point where Negan was practically squirming. He'd adjust in his seat like that would do him any good, and run his hand over his face all the way down to his stubble as he tried to suppress the filthiest and lowest of groans, throaty sounds that he tried to pair with anything to make it appear more natural. To make matters worse a comment someone had made irritated Simon, enough to cause him to lean back in his seat and stretch his legs out, his boots hitting your side before he noticed the obstruction and brought his legs a little further inward. There was no hiding it now. The way one of Negan's arms moved as he ran his fingers through your hair, the way he occasionally screwed his eyes shut and bit his knuckles to stifle his moans, hardly able to form one word as you slid him into your mouth over and over, effortlessly taking him to the hilt. The knowing and amused stare that Simon shot Negan to let him know that he was well aware of the fact that his boss was getting his dick sucked underneath the table, and the slight tilt of Negan's head in response as he dared him to say a word. Simon knew better. From what you could gather when you managed to tune into the conversation over the slight pain running through your jaw, and the feel of your spit having coated him, your drool dribbling down his balls and undoubtedly dampening some of the denim surrounding the base of his cock, was that whatever the basis of the meeting it went without a hitch. With him growing more restless, his breath getting heavier by the minute, he raised his hand and waved it dismissively.

"That's all, you're dismissed."

The sound of a sea of footsteps as they sat up from their chairs and made way for the exit came as a great relief, though you weren't so opposed to the thrill it had provided. Negan carefully tilted your head back to remove himself from your mouth, something you took as what shred of mercy he had for you ever since you'd first walked in, until you realised it was for something else.

"How's it going down there?" Simon quipped, the outright acknowledgement of what you had been doing throughout the entire meeting leaving you flustered.

You knew Simon though, knew that if you clammed up and let him feel that rush of pride from humiliating you that you'd never live it down, so you owned it.

"I'm doing just great." You remarked as you stretched your arm out from one side of the table and gave him a thumbs up.

Negan chuckled and nodded off to the side to signal Simon to leave, and then you were alone again, finally. He scooted his chair back considering it had been tucked into the table so tightly, which now allowed you to crawl out from the table and take him in in all his glory. The beads of sweat that had gathered on his forehead, the singular curl of hair defiantly protruding from his hairline having escaped his signature slick style, and the smell of leather carrying through the air from the way he was always roasting in that jacket, though the sweat you made him break into largely contributed. He was ruined, and he wasn't even done yet.

"Goddamn, you are a little slut aren't you," Negan commented as he looked down at the damp spots of spit on his jeans, "look at the mess you made."

You laughed and moved closer towards him until you were resting your head on one of his thighs and looking up at him through your lashes.

"I thought you liked it messy." You teased, the playful retort making Negan bite down on his bottom lip and slightly turn his head to the side as a pleased sound rumbled from his throat.

"Course I do, sweetheart. But in this case," he gently lifted your head from his thigh and cupped the underside of your jaw to bring your head back to his cock until your lips were barely brushing against the tip, "I expect you to swallow."

"Yes, sir."

And you were filling your mouth with him again. It didn't take long to work him back up to the point of squirming, though this time he could be freely vocal.

"God, fuckity fuck. That's it, baby, just like that." He fell into a string of gravelly curses, the occasional compliment and words of approval mixed in.

Negan's groans got deeper, harsher, and his hand found its way to your hair in the midst of the impending release, his head tilting back and exposing his rather prominent adam's apple as he swore like a sailor. He moved his hips as he made a few small thrusts into your mouth before you felt him tense, and everything coming out of that man's mouth whether it be words or sounds, was through gritted teeth. Then, you felt it. Hot wet spurts splashed over your tongue and the back of your mouth, some escaping down your throat. Patiently, you waited for him to be done pouring every last droplet into your mouth and then carefully removed him; your slightly puffed cheeks and the small splotch of white liquid decorating the corner of your lips making him laugh, a low, hoarse laugh as he reached out and ran his hand down one side of your face, his thumb smoothing over your cheek.

"As sexy as you look with a mouthful of my cum, swallow it."

So you did. After clearing your mouth of his release you stuck your tongue out to show him your clean tongue, the sight bringing one of the dirtiest smiles you've ever seen to his lips as he tucked himself back into his pants.

"Good girl."

The praise did little to ease the heat pooling between your legs, but this was a punishment after all. Negan would leave you positively high and dry until you begged him in a few days to screw your brains out of course.

"C'mere." Negan beckoned as he patted his thigh, eyes a little softer than they had been when you first came in.

You moved off of your knees for the first time in at least twenty minutes, the sudden change of scenery for your kneecaps making you hiss from the pain as you unbent your knees and stood to your feet, knees bruised from the large amount of time you spent kneeling against the concrete floor; especially when you shifted weight onto them. Despite the dull ache you placed one hand on Negan's shoulder to support you whilst you swung your leg over him and lowered yourself down onto his lap, a grunt passing from his lips when you fully settled down onto his groin, your legs on either side of him.

"You know," Negan started as he brushed some of your hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear, "you're the only woman in this whole place that could pull a stunt like what you pulled and get off that easy," he grinned as he spoke, his eyes dragging over you as he placed his hand on the small of your back and drew circles on your skin. Now it was your turn to smile paired with a small giggle and a slight tilt of your head.

"That was getting off easy?" You remarked.

"Course it was."

A beat passed, and then he let out a long, quiet chuckle and gestured towards his chest with a playful sigh.

"C'mon."

You tucked yourself against his chest, the leather of his jacket clinging and creaking against your skin as he held you tight to him. Then you buried your head into the crook of his neck, getting lost in his scent as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, one standing out amongst all others.

"Shit. I love you, baby."

#negan #negan smut #negan smith #negan the walking dead #negan twd #negan x reader #negan x you #the walking dead negan #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #twd fic #twd negan #negan fanfiction

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celaenaeiln · 5 months

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Thank you so much for debunking the whole "Dick was a super angry child" thing the fandom has been pressing hard for the last few years it's one of my pet peeve characterization for him. (The other him being a Playboy) Does he get angry of course he does he's only human but he's usually very level head and even if he was the "Angry Robin" when he first started he was 8 years old and just lost his parents! I feel like anyone especially a child would be hurt and angry then but he didn't want revenge he wanted justice. He was a sweet child who just wanted to make his parents proud.

og post in question

Yes!!

Actually another anon asked me about this too a while ago - that I'll be getting back to soon - and I began writing right away but then I just couldn't. I had to put it on hold because I was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of evidence that Dick was a happy robin. Not A happy robin, THE happy robin. I was exhausted because I didn't know where to begin, there was just too much evidence. I needed to create a separate post first.

It makes me so mad when i see Angry Dick Grayson posts because it's not even an interpretation of events. There's nothing to debate, there's no doubt, there's no question, there's no confusion, there's nothing to contest - HE WASN'T AN ANGRY ROBIN.

Jason says it himself! And unlike people in the fandom who've never read a comic in their life but like running their mouth off, he would actually know because he studied Dick. He watched all of Dick's videos when he was Robin. 11 years worth of videos. And this is what he says about Dick's robin:

Suicide Squad: Get Joker Issue #1

Jason straight up says that Dick was the happy robin. And that's just Jason. There's still Tim, Damian, Bruce, Alfred, Clark, the Justice League, and the Titans who talk about it.

Frankly it boggles my mind when I hear people who write takes say that Dick was an angry robin because even if they've never read any of the robin comics, they should at least know what he was like from what the adult characters say right? Did they really never stop and wonder why Jason keeps talking about not being Dick when he argues with Bruce? Or why Tim was so obsessed with Dick aside from knowing him from the circus? Or why Bruce writes entire monologues about how Dick saved him? Or why Alfred goes on massive rants about how Dick was the best thing ever to happen to Bruce and him or why he started crying and mourning when Dick merely left as Robin? Did no one stop to consider when they started going around saying he wasn't happy?

Honestly Angry Robin Dick Grayson characterization is a black hole of logic and intelligence.

The reason it became so popular is because it's a logical fallacy and logical fallacies sound convincing. This particular argument is the hasty generalization logical fallacy. Hasty generalization is when a statement is made after one or two examples rather than relying on extensive research to back up a claim.

For example: I got sick after eating pizza from Aleano's. Therefore, I must be allergic to pizza.

Proponents of angry robin dick characterization choose one example from decades of writing to claim that he was angry after his parents died which-seriously? Besides you'll start to notice that people who write those takes will never provide evidence because it's near possible to find something that doesn't exist. Sure one or two out of context photos might be provided but that's the best they can do to support that type of characterization. As much as we wish we were magicians from Hogwarts, no amount of wishing is going to transfigure the hundreds of comics filled with happy robin to him being an angry monster.

Also it's ridiculous that type of character because they're saying that if he's upset that his parents died, then he's an angry character. But if the Joker's happy that random people died, then he's a psycho. What do they want?! And that's not even the whole truth of it either. Dick was massively sad more than he was angry. He was taken away from his circus family and is left alone like all the time now. His life changed in a second - he's depressed. But he was able to work through it and that's how Robin was created.

Dick was not Robin when he went after Tony Zucco. The reason Bruce made him Robin was specifically because he admitted he didn't want Tony Zucco dead.

The problem is people sometimes hyperfocus so much on one detail that they forget the big picture. They centered 11 years of Robin characterization around one moment.

Let's get the facts straight. Robin is a success story. The greatness of Dick wasn't just that he was the smart, the best of the ages, and the greatest athelete - no. His greatness is that he is able to move. ON. He can do what Bruce never could. He could move on and take his parents death and turn it into something positive. He was able to overcome grief and not dwell in the past.

That's why he was able to be happy. That's why Bruce couldn't. And that's why Bruce needed Dick because Dick made him happy.

Alfred says this about Dick as Robin -

Robin: Year One Issue #1

"The addition of Dick Grayson into the Master's crusade has made a difference in him." "I do believe I saw him smile. There have been occasions in the pantry when I could just discern the muffled sounds of laughter echoeing up from that dreadful cavern beneath the manor."

People don't seem to understand. Alfred never approved Bruce's tenure as Batman. He loathed it so much he punched Bruce for it. It was Dick's light and goodness that changed Bruce's mind because he saw how happy Dick made him and how happy of a child he himself was.

And Dick? He never changed his personality in or out of costume.

Robin: Year One Issue #2

"He doesn't seem to struggle to lead a normal adolescence." "He's had no need to develop the masquerade that Master Bruce felt necessary." "His personality remains the same with or without the mask and boots. "

He's not the troubled kid some people seem to think he is. He wasn't mean or selfish or cast aside or raging moodily in a corner. Actually in the Batman (1940) and Detective Comics, he was seen as a role model for how helpful and kind he was. He was actually the one who went out of his way to help troubled kids because of his kindness, goodness, and empathy.

Checkmate (2006) Issue #14

Checkmate is a member of Task Force X under Amanda Waller and an ally of Batman's. She knows him. She knows what Dick was to him and Dick even mourns about the time when Bruce used to be happy. It was his joy and personality that did that.

Of course my argument isn't to be taken one sidedly saying he was constantly happy 24/7, all the time, in every occasion - no. Emotions are a spectrum and no one feels one emotion all the time. Thats silly. But, your personality outlook is based on what you feel most of the time. Dick sometimes got angry, sometimes got sad, etc. But in a dichotomy between happy and angry there is no doubt, no question, that he was overwhelmingly on the happy side.

There's a reason why everyone calls him happy. It's because for an overwhelming majority of the time, he was the happy robin.

52 Issue #25

Way back in the Batman (1940) comic Dick says, "I became Robin, history's first sidekick. And there I was, the laughing boy daredevil--"

Batman and Robin (2009) Issue #9

You can call him crazy, excitable, feral, overexcellent, etc. But never forget that Bruce once went insane after locking himself in a simulator that emulated Robin Dick Grayson's joy.

The incontestable truth - Dick was a happy robin.

#dick grayson #robin dick grayson #nightwing #jason todd #red hood #robin jason todd #bruce wayne #batman #alfred pennyworth #cyril sheldrake #knight #batman dick grayson #checkmate #cl confusedhummingbird asks #thanks for the ask!#biggest pet peeve

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fernsnailz · 18 days

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hello! i was wondering how long you've been animating for? and what got you into storyboarding & comic making? do you have any tips for comic making (paneling) & animating?

i've been animating since i was a teenager but i didn't start animating consistently until college, so a little over 5 years! but i've been making comics since i was little, so animating and storyboarding just kinda came naturally from that.

my general advice for comics is that it's all about flow and timing! flow is about determining the right pacing for your scene as well as making it readable. usually the panels flow from one into the other - like in the example below (by tracy yardley who is REALLY good at this stuff), the motion of the characters leads into the next panel, and the speech bubbles also line up with where the action of the panel naturally leads.

obligatory archie sonic mention complete

timing is just as important and can be conveyed in a number of different ways in comics. usually with my work, the size of the panel indicates how long i imagine the moment is. so a small panel is a short moment, and a large panel requires a bit more time.

long moments can also be split into multiple shorter moments if you break it up into numerous panels.

paneling itself can be pretty tricky - i tend to break a lot of my pages up into thirds first (at whatever proportion you need), then arrange whatever panels i need within those thirds.

these aren't really rules that are set in stone, just a few things that i've found have helped me. you don't need to fill a whole page with tons of Stuff for a comic - it's all about figuring out how you want your story to flow through the page's space. same with storyboarding, that flow and timing is important in an even more literal sense because storyboards flows through actual time, not just space on a page.

idk if any of this makes much sense so. i also highly highly recommend the Comics Devices Library for other elements and principles you can use lol it's very good 👍

i don't have as many tips for animating since 1) i consider myself to be a comic/storyboard artist first and an animator second, and 2) animating is. very complex lol. if you're new to animating then i suggest starting SMALL and trying out some beginner animation exercises and the 12 Principles of Animation.

if you're already an animator and just looking for general advice then uhh. idk arcs are important. arcs are SO fucking important do not forget that most motions move in some sort of arc. also remember to label your keyframes and looping animations. and put secondary actions and limbs on different layers if you don't want to go crazy. also animate your character's eyes and pupils moving if a shot feels too still. yeah that's all i got good night tristate area

#i hope any of this makes any sort of sense lmao #fernasks #long post

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little-box-of-autism · 1 year

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My Opinion on Spider

@peachycrime asked for this, so....

Anyways, buckle up because I ain't gonna hold back, and I'm going to be as brutal as winter in Nunavut.

Let's start off with the obvious;

Spider is sixteen years old.

He is a child, and as such, should not be expected to be held to the same standards as an adult.

But more over - and I know some might disagree with me on this - Spider is a child that was neglected and thus abused because neglect is abuse, and I'm not touching on the shit with Neytiri just yet.

The clearest example of Spider's neglect is the scene where Spider is running from Hell's Gate, the first one we see him as a kid rather than a toddler or teenager. Spider is at best seven in this scene, and yet he is allowed to run into the Pandoran jungle (because from the comics and other sources, we know that while the Omatikaya is close to Hell's Gate, it isn't beside it) unattended despite the fact that the jungle is dangerous even to an adult na'vi, let alone a human child who could feasibly die just by tripping over a rock and falling in a way that could damage or dislodge his mask, which he relies on to breathe.

If Spider had fallen, if his mask had been damaged or dislodged, there was no one there to help him.

There is a wooded area near my house that is filled with trails and is generally considered pretty safe, but I still wouldn't let my seven-year cousins (who don't rely on a mask to breathe) run around in there unattended.

Already Spider's hair is beginning to mat (they are mats, not dreads) and there is no way that the adults weren't aware of it, which means they allowed it.

Now let's get onto some other things I've noticed throughout the movie (and the comics, though I'm mostly focusing on the movie.)

"Stray Cat" is what Jake refers to Spider as, and I don't know if this may just be me, and my ASD, but I find calling/comparing a child to a stray cat to be dehumanizing, and maybe it's purposeful because it's a lot easier to ignore the neglect of a "stray cat" then a child.

Spider from the moment he is captured is very aware of the fact that there will be no attempt to save him which is devastating because even with the knowledge that a rescue from Bridgehead is improbable, the clear lack of hope in Spider is very telling in how he views his worth and value.

Jake, someone who was in the military and worked for the RDA, however briefly, would be aware, at least to some degree, of what would be done to Spider in order to get information, and he does not actually express any concern for Spider's wellbeing or safety, only thinking about what Spider could possibly tell the RDA.

Despite how close the younger three Sully kids are to Spider, they never express any worry or concern for Spider openly in front of their parents. Do I think that they were worried about Spider? Yes, but I do also think they knew they couldn't express this concern in front of their parents, specifically Neytiri.

The only adult who shows any real concern for Spider during the vast majority of the movie is Quaritch despite him technically having the least reason for why he should be concerned for Spider. As Quaritch states, he isn't the same Miles Quaritch that was Spider's father, and unlike Jake, Norm, Neytiri, or Max, he didn't watch Spider grow up. His connection to Spider is minimal in comparison to other adults in Spider's life, and yet he is the one who shows Spider the most care.

Now onto the matter of Neytiri, I can understand her reasons and I can empathize with her trauma, but she is an adult who is punishing a child who has not done anything to her besides exist. We wouldn't condone this in real life and to me, trying to excuse her actions is troubling to me because of the message it sends to people that have gone through something similar. You can still empathize with Neytiri and the trauma she suffered while acknowledging that her actions towards Spider are wrong. Trauma is a reason, but it isn't an excuse and as an adult, it is on Neytiri, not Spider, to manage her trauma.

We also have to consider how her actions affect her relationships with her children, specifically Kiri and Lo'ak.

Kiri is the most obvious, she and Spider share a very close bond that is displayed both in the comics and in the movies, and Kiri has argued with Neytiri over her treatment of Spider. This obviously would put a level of strain on their mother-daughter relationship, especially when you take into account that Kiri often feels 'othered' and considers Spider to be one of the few people who not only understands her but also does not judge or think differently of her.

With Lo'ak it's more nuanced but Neytiri's constant hatred towards Spider due to him being a 'demon' very likely has an effect on Lo'ak who already clearly has issues with his 'demon' blood that sets him apart from other na'vi.

In the end (because I need to end this somewhere before it just becomes a never ending rant) Spider is a child who was neglected and abused for who his father is, and his action of saving Quaritch is completely understandable in light of the fact that Quaritch is the first adult who took care of Spider and had - in Spider's eyes - saved him from death twice now.

One last time I want to make one thing clear;

Spider said "don't hurt her."

Kiri said "don't kill him."

And I cannot shake the fact that at that moment Kiri genuinely believed that her mother was capable of killing her best friend and was pleading for Spider's life.

If that doesn't bother you deeply, then I don't think you are ready for these types of discussions.

Now I am open to discussing my opinion in a mature conversation, but I will not tolerate dramatics nor will I entertain blatant ignorance. If you cannot engage in discussions with at least some level of maturity and willingness to understand different perspectives, don't engage at all.

#miles spider socorro #spider socorro defense squad #spider socorro protection squad #spider socorro #atwow spider #avatar spider #atwow #avatar the way of water

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silverskye13 · 18 days

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as someone who dreamed to be a knight as a child, it's unwise of me to be reading Redstone and Skulk. i can already feel my discarded moral code returning to me. i have been thinking of going to the gym and taking up Kendo practice again. Skye, when i get you, skye when i get you 🫵 /lh

Do it anon. I dream of the day you challenge me to a duel, after long hours of training and self fulfillment and I lay my sword before you and ask, "Was it worth it? Did you fill your time well? Every ounce of joy in your progress was my joy for you. Every moment of victory was a moment of victory I applauded you. Every time you thought yourself silly because of the source of your inspiration, know I wrote 1000 words hoping it inspired you. Every time you wanted to quit, or were tired, or felt lost, I was throwing a blanket around your shoulders and demanding you rest."

I mean, speaking honestly and plainly here, I started drawing because I thought dragons were cool. I kept drawing because edgy wolf comics online were popular when I was a kid, and I wanted to make The Edgiest Sparkledog OC, and put it in a comic with me and my friends, who were all also dogs. I started writing because my sister and I were bored on summer afternoons and wanted to one-up each other on who could write the craziest blatant ripoff of Eragon and Twilight, a tradition that passed on into long RP notebooks with my highschool best friend, and text stories that were so long, my phone provider literally laughed at my Dad when he considered taking off our unlimited text plan.

Is it inherently silly to start learning swords because you read a fanfic? Yes. But it was also silly when a cave painter first put their kid on their shoulders to throw handprints on a wall. They didn't do that to be profound, or to leave a thousand ripples, or for scientists to wonder how historically significant it was. They did it because they had paint and hands, and it was a source of joy.

Go take Kendo because you read a silly, barely canon adjacent fanfic online about some silly little guys. Go relive your childhood hyperfix on knighthood. The world will be richer for it, and so will you, and that's all that matters at the end of the day.

Also if you don't, Helsknight will call you a wuss. [He won't really, but he'll think it really loud. Go learn kendo and kick his ass about it anon.]

#anonymous #dont mind me its been a long day and im feeling shrimp emotions

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memoriesndew · 26 days

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hobbies that you can start this new year ft hobby tracker notion template pink

As we dive into the year, now is the ideal moment to discover new interests that bring us joy, creativity, and personal growth. Whether you want to relax, go on an adventure, or simply broaden your horizons, there is a pastime for you. Here are ten intriguing hobbies to consider for the new year:

Photography: Using a camera lens, capture the beauty of your surroundings. Whether you enjoy landscape, portrait, or macro photography, there are limitless opportunities for creativity and investigation.

Pilates: is an adaptable and efficient fitness regimen that provides a rewarding pastime option that fits into every schedule. Pilates classes, which emphasize strength, flexibility, and mindfulness, can be brief but effective, relieving stress and boosting overall well-being. In my opinion, pilates truly focuses the body in a soothing but powerful way. Overall, I like it.

Writing: allows you to express yourself creatively. Whether you're into journaling, fiction, poetry, or nonfiction. Writing is something I really enjoy doing. I've written poetry and begun a novel, but I constantly get sidetracked and fall off course, which is why I built the hobby tracker to help me focus on writing, which is one of my goals for the second quarter of the new year. Writing might be as simple as making cute notes, but it is quite fun and relaxing

DIY crafts: allow you to exhibit your creativity while also decorating your space. From knitting and crocheting to woodworking and painting, crafting is such a productive way to spend your time, and I really enjoy the sense of completing a craft; it feels very satisfying.

Learning a Musical Instrument: To channel your inner rockstar, learn to play a musical instrument. Mastering a musical instrument, whether it's the guitar, piano, or ukulele, can be both tough and incredibly rewarding, and the music itself is simply lovely.

Cooking or Baking: A lot of people see cooking as a chore but it's so relaxing, in the quiet of your kitchen or better yet with your friends just imagine baking, cleaning up, and eating with the people you love; it all sounds so relaxing and it can really help in the future in the instance you get really good and might even pursue it as a career.

Nature Walks: Walking not only provides wellness but also allows you to explore amazing landscapes and reconnect with nature. Walking is one of the most therapeutic forms of exercise because it allows you to think and connect with yourself, and it is really peaceful.

Vlogging: For me, vlogging is more of a nostalgic activity because I enjoy going back and seeing my development and what I've been up to, but your vlogs can also be shared with the world via YouTube, TikTok, or any other site. It is a very good approach to capture memories.

Collecting: collecting merch or just anything you find interesting can be considered a hobby. For example, I want to collect Archie comics because I see a lot of people collecting manga and how it fills their shelves is so cool, I want mine to be Archie comics because I just like them and it connects with my childhood self. You can collect anything really, from toys to albums; it just has to be something you love.

Ice skating: is a thrilling and graceful hobby that offers both physical and mental benefits. Whether you're gliding gracefully across the ice or perfecting your spins and jumps, ice skating provides a fun and rewarding way to stay active and express yourself. i think it is fun

A lot of times we lose track of our hobbies and sometimes they seem too much and overwhelming so here is a futional hobby tracker to keep track of your hobbies and also add anyone you might want to dive into in the future.

You can find it through the link below.

Hobby Tracker - the notion nest 's Ko-fi Shop

that’s all for today bye my dew drops..

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mewtwoandme · 2 months

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How'd you get Tumblr famous with your comic? I need advice

Oh I am the wroooong person to ask XD Also I don't consider myself "Tumblr famous." My comics' popularity have grown over the last few years, yeah, but I wouldn't say I'm where you're saying I am lol. MewtwoAndMe is well-known within the pokemon/mew/two community, but that's about it. Am I being too humble? Probably. Maybe my stuff is more popular than I think it is or what I give it credit for. But trust me, being this well known isn't all it's cracked up to be. Sometimes, I miss when I started out as a small creator and wish I could go back to that...It's nice to have this many people enjoy my content and all, but I never asked for it, or even wanted to be this big, but overtime, it's something that just happens.

This isn't the first time I was asked this question, and I've ignored them all up until now, so forgive me if I sound a little annoyed, it's not at you personally, but I'm gonna be real with ya here ok? I'm speaking to everyone who reads this too.

I don't do what I do to be "Tumblr famous." I don't do what I do for the likes or to gain followers. I do this for fun, for me, cause I just want to.

When I first made this blog, I went into it with ZERO expectations! I didn't care if my blog blew up or took off. I just wanted to bring my creative imagination to life and share it with people. Adding another space to the Tumblr mew/two multiverse for yall to escape to when the real world gets to be too much. I like telling my stories filled with big psychic cats and sharing them with all of you. If I can make just one person laugh or cry (or both) with the comics I make, that's all I need. I don't care if it's only 10 people watching or 1,000+ Numbers mean nothing to me. I feel fulfilled knowing I can brighten someone's day with a shitpost or wholesome slice of life or keep them on the edge of their seat with angst.

So I'm sorry, but I don't really think there's any advice I can give you. I don't find the whole popularity and/or seeking people's validation thing important

#answered ask #primroseprime2019

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fanaticalthings · 1 year

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You’re headcanon of Battinson crying when it comes to his kids makes me wonder what his reaction would be to Jason’s death. Like even in the comics it’s said that Jason’s death shattered and nearly killed him emotionally as well as physically as Bruce literally threw himself into his work and fighting crimes

But you’re headcanon makes me imagine that it would go a little further and just not go out as Batman and instead wonder the Manor maybe spend a lot of time in Jason’s room. I can see Bruce also clinging to Dick and becoming protective of him.

Yess, in canon comics after Jason died, Bruce withdrew himself from everybody, including Dick. He threw himself fully into crime fighting to the point where he disregarded his own safety and health.

And on top of all that, Dick also mentioned how Bruce basically got rid of any evidence that Jason even existed (I'm assuming photos, Jason's clothes, his books, etc) from his (Bruce's) bedroom. So comic Bruce clearly was so pained by Jason's death that he couldn't bear to even look at anything that reminded him of Jason. I have no idea what Bruce did to Jason's own bedroom but I'm assuming he never steps foot in it again.

Now as for Battinson, I think his reaction and grieving would be a bit different. Like anon said, I def think Battinson would cling more protectively to Dick and would spend long periods in Jason's room just mourning the loss of his son.

I also feel like he would sleep in Jason's bed and cry himself to sleep, imagining that he still has his son in his arms with him like all those times Jason sought him out after a nightmare or when he just wanted to cuddle with Bruce.

Comic!Bruce barely cried when Jason died (although it was still very obvious he was distraught over it), but I think Battinson would be the opposite and would cry at every little reminder of Jason, and unlike Comic!Bruce, would make sure to keep all of Jason's belongings where he left them (especially if they were left in Bruce's room)

In the comics, Bruce never told Dick about Jason's death, causing Dick to miss the funeral and making their relationship even more tense than before, however, I think battinson!Bruce would want Dick even more present in his life now that Jason has left a gapping hole.

This man just went through the most traumatizing and heartbreaking thing a parent can experience so of course he'd want to keep his remaining child with him at all times. I also feel like this would make Dick and him closer than ever (even if Bruce's helicopter parenting can be a bit much), since Battinson!Bruce would be more emotionally vulnerable and open, which would allow them to grieve together and maybe in a more healthy way.

Battinson!Bruce would dedicate so many charities and memorials to Jason, and would visit his grave all the time so he could read to him. In general, I still believe this Bruce would still close himself off, but only to people who aren't in his immediate circle/family.

The immediate aftermath of Jason's death would be absolutely devastating for him. If Death in the Family were to happen in The Batman universe, I need Battinson to let out the most heartwrenching cry when he comes across Jason's body, like i need him to be full body sobbing in the explosive aftermath of Joker's deeds. I need to see him viscerally torn apart as he clutches Jason's body tightly to his chest like how a parent would gently cradle their child to sleep. I just need it to be absolutely obvious that this man has just gone through something maybe worse than his own parents' deaths, and I want it to be known that Jason dying meant a part of Bruce died too.

It would hurt so much more considering Battinson!Bruce started off very closed off, and the only reason he came close to functioning like a healthy human was because his first sons broke down his walls and filled his life with a purpose other than serving vengeance. Dick and Jason would probably bring sm love back into his life, so imagine how badly he reacts when suddenly losing a large part of that? Bruce basically raised Jason, taught him almost everything he knew, and in turn Jason (and Dick ofc) taught Bruce how to love, and be a father, so it must've been so painful knowing he'll never get to see his baby grow.

I still think Battinson would pull a comic!Bruce and throw himself aggressively into crimefighting and detective work, except when he comes home he'll make sure to spend time with Dick, and maybe sit around in Jason's room, reminiscing all their memories together.

As for Jason's return as Red Hood? Lmao that man wouldn't dare lay a finger on his son, he would immediately tackle Jason into a loving embrace and cry his heart out after finding out his baby is alive

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tenjiiku · 1 year

Text

rapture / winter

it's been ten years since you left. he still falls for you the same way he did when he was 17.

manjiro sano x fem reader

11.7k words

warnings: portrayal of abusive relationships

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You first met Manjiro at ten years old. Two years your senior, you were positively terrified of him. You remember this now, of all times, particularly because you dreamt about your first encounter last night.

It was during the Summer of 2001 on a Sunday afternoon.

Having Emma Sano appear at your door only three days after sharing a simple smile with her from across the lawn of your new home was certainly a surprise. Mama had fawned over her many times over dinner, urging you to befriend her. To which you would dismiss, opting to gaze at the girl like some foreign entity — open to admire but never encounter.

The year was in that strange time between the Summer and Autumn. It was awfully cold to fully show one's legs, but by the same coin it was too hot to be wearing a sweater. You weren't sure if Emma had caught you at a favourable or unfavourable moment. You had just gotten out of the shower, on the one hand. On the other hand, because you finished your schoolwork and housecleaning on Friday, you had nothing to do over the weekend.

(Thinking back, Emma had always watched over you.)

“Y/n-chan! We're cuttin' some watermelon, come have some!"

The older girl is positively giddy. You briefly get blinded by her radiant aura. The trees and grass are both stunningly green, and the sky is clear and blue. The scenery complements Emma's presence and vice versa.

She is mature and beautiful. She is everything you are not.

You pinch your inner palm, bend your four fingers and dig them into your skin.

"I...," you start, "I don't know..."

"Are you busy or somethin'?"

"I... was cleaning." You lie.

Emma rises to her feet in response to your justification, leans to one side, and looks inside your home. When you realise what the blonde was doing, your eyes widen, and you awkwardly lean in her direction to hide her vision. It was too late, though.

"Your house looks pretty clean to me!" Emma cheers, "Come on, I wanna play!"

You open your mouth, close it, then open it once more before murmuring a small, "Really?"

"Mhm, we’re gonna play hide n' seek!"

You bite the inside of your cheek. You gaze at your feet, bare because you could not afford indoor slippers. Then you stare back at Emma's hazel coloured eyes.

"Come on!!!"

You take a deep breath in, suddenly becoming hyper aware of every action. You consider all the drawbacks of saying yes to Emma's invitation. But your personal worries would pale in comparison to the blonde's disappointment at being rejected. You had a strong desire to spare Emma's sentiments of disappointment for some reason. Mama had always told you to respect your elders — to never question them, to always be a good girl and listen. So you did. And Emma was no exception.

"Alright..."

Emma grins. You cannot help but also smile. Mama would be so proud of you.

It's almost comical how little it took for the girl to become so filled with glee — but you found it rather cute. You can practically feel Emma's contentment as you finish putting on your sandals.

"Come on, come on. Hurry hurry, the others are waiting!"

Others?

Before you can ponder on that thought a second longer, Emma grabs your arm as soon as your key leaves the door's hole. You try to calm the beating of your heart as you find yourself entering Emma's large complex. What ever were you thinking — going into a stranger’s home when mama was gone?

"Ah! Emma, you brought her!"

At the sound of a boy’s voice, you snap out of your reverie. The hold Emma has on your wrist is taken away and you suddenly feel as though lava has been poured onto you from the sheer intensities of the various pairs of eyes all drawn onto your meticulous frame.

But you dare to look up, and notice that Emma has brought you to the dojo you would often listen in on during evening martial arts lessons. It was open, presenting the wooden engawa, small cherry blossom petals falling in preparation for Winter littering the cracks.

"Emma managed to drag you outta the house, huh?"

The strange man asks with a smile, approaching you and Emma and being bold enough to pat you on the head. You close your eyes at the contact.

"Good job." The young man directs towards his sister, who grins pridefully.

"Hehe, thanks!"

You lift your head, the heavy hand still on your scalp. Your cheeks feel hot from the contact which the man refuses to take away. Still, you try to introduce yourself.

“I’m— I’m L/n Y/n.”

The man finally takes his hand off of you, gazing down at you with lazy lidded eyes and a Cheshire grin. He inhales from his cigarette and puffs the smoke out to the side, you try to keep yourself from coughing.

"Sano Shinichiro. Your mother had come over with pork gyoza the other day. Told me to take care of ya.”

You bind your hands together, awkwardly and unassumingly you murmur, "Oh. Okay. Yeah."

You put on a false ignorance about the three other boys in the yard. You stare one of them in the eye before looking sheepishly down at your feet again.

"Hey!" From across the grass, the boy with whom you shared eye contact yells. You tremble.

As he approaches the two of you, his voice is raucous and loud, as befits the situation. Suddenly drawn to the noise, you look in that direction and are astonished to see someone else appear between Shinichiro and you.

He extends a hand and says, "Baji Keisuke!"

At first, you're taken aback by how swiftly he decided to greet you and carried it out. He appeared to have acted without even pausing to consider, but you firmly believed otherwise. Keisuke, still in front of you, stretches out his hand. You can sense Shinichiro-san beaming broadly with amusement. You can't get out because everyone is already focused on you, so you dive in head first — despite not knowing how to swim — to make everyone feel comfortable.

You also extend your hand, accepting his, "L/n Y/n.”

Your way of speaking was a large juxtaposition of Keisuke's greeting. You accept his hand, and you are surprised to find it so warm against your own. Keisuke in turn, smiles at your willingness — at least you suspect so.

"Y/n, nice to meet ya!" Keisuke shouts, his toothy grin being so dazzling that it almost causes you to lose vision. You could probably work with the fact that this boy wore his emotions on his sleeve.

"Keisuke, you shouldn't say something to someone you just met."

From his seat next to Manjiro, a boy with a buzz cut in rose colour makes fun of his friend, clearly igniting Keisuke's boiling rage.

He turns his head, "Shuddap Haru!" his pupils engorged with venom.

While the two boys argue, you look at Emma apologetically.

“That’s Haruchiyo-kun, next to my brother, Manjiro. Or, we like to call him Mikey!” Emma gently explains to you, pointing at the short blond haired boy beside the taller one. Your eyes meet for a couple seconds, then you look away, anxiety pooling in your stomach.

When you hear the tell tale sounds of grass crunching underneath boots is when you pick your head up to notice an older man looking at you, then at Shinichiro. His taller frame gives you some relief from the sweltering heat, allowing your previously strained eyes to temporarily relax.

“She’s the new neighbour?”

He has a deep, slightly menacing voice. Shinichiro smiles and nods, and the stranger then turns to look at you.

As a sign of acknowledgement, he raises his head, saying, "Takeomi, Shinichiro's friend.”

You adjust the hem of your simple white t-shirt as you nod in agreement. You notice a girl looking at her from behind the man's legs, but as soon as she makes eye contact with you, the youngster runs away once more. You raise your hand to your cheek and begin to scrape the skin there.

Once more peeking her head out from beneath Takeomi's legs, the young girl now also catches Emma's eye. The blonde smiles at the girl while furrowing her brows.

"Senju!" Emma hollers and dashes behind Takeomi's knees to grab at the child's hand. She tugs the small girl from behind her brother, finally letting you catch a glimpse of her.

"This is our new neighbour, Y/n-chan!" Despite being only a few centimetres away from Senju's smaller frame, Emma explains fairly thunderously.

Senju's once-wary eyes seemed to flood with warmth the moment the blonde introduced the young girl to the unusual person who made her best friend Emma so happy.

"Hiya!" She exclaims, her hair bouncing with the sudden head nod.

"Hey-... Hi." The two girls round you and stare at you as if you were holding stars in your hands while you stammer. Baji stays by your side as well, and the sudden attention makes you perspire.

You're happy you chose to wear white for today.

"Are ya gonna play hide and seek with us?" Senju queries.

"Uh," You dare to cast your gaze in the direction of Manjiro and the boy Baji had dubbed Haru. You look back to the shorter girl in front of you out of shame as the two give you a direct stare. "I-I'm not sure."

At this, Emma and Senju whine, and just when you’re about to retaliate, you feel a heavy arm swing around your frame and rest on your shoulders.

"Come on, L/n," Keisuke drawls, emphasising your surname and darting his eyes towards Haruchiyo, "We need more players, 'sides, Haru doesn't even count 'cause I can catch him in a second."

Baji receives a direct blow to the forehead from a tiny rock that appears out of nowhere. The hit is so loud that you would have thought you could hear the wind current it briefly generated while being hurled. The thrower had some talent. After a brief squeeze from the shock on your shoulder, Baji's arm drops from your frame to support his hurting forehead.

"Ow!" When the youngster hollers, Haru is already glaring at him.

"Oops." Haru simply says, causing his partner with the dark hair to frown. He chuckles back and turns to look at Manjiro, who also appears to be smirking just a little.

"Join in the fun, Y/n-san!" Senju cries out while grabbing both of your hands.

You had no idea what in the world you did to attract the girl's attention. In truth, you were unaware of how you got here. The heat was really starting to affect you.

"Yeah! We need more girls!" Emma joins, capturing Senju's arms with her own two hands. You note how the three of you somewhat look like those barrel monkeys, all connected. You bite your inner cheek to suppress a smile.

Your eyes flicker from Baji's gaze to Senju and Emma before returning to Baji. You've run out of falsehoods to tell, and before you arrived here, you were fairly good at it. They were staring at you as you were burning from the sun's excessive brightness.

And that was exactly when it began.

"Fine. Okay, okay."

Emma and Senju both cheer, growing elated that their playing field was becoming more equal. Keisuke forms a toothy grin at the prospect of having one more person join their game, a new neighbour at that, nonetheless. Manjiro's gaze remains situated on the group, not bothering to move from his position, and Haruchiyo throws a glance his way.

Hot burns in your head. You hadn't planned on meeting four new individuals over the course of the weekend, three of whom were rather keen on welcoming you into their little circle. While Emma pulls on your arm, you allow your gaze to fall on her brother. While you weren't anticipating special treatment, he was the only one who paid you no attention. Sincerely, you believed that Keisuke, Senju, and Takeomi were more outgoing and curiously open than him. His response seemed reasonable and reassuring to you.

You hope Manjiro ignores you always.

"Who's gonna be the seeker?" Emma asks.

"Haru! 'Cause I caught him first the last time!" Keisuke states, which earns him a glare from the rose-haired boy.

"That works for me," Manjiro says in his first sentence since you got here. You would've liked dwelling in your shock a little while longer, but Haru instantly turns around, not before rolling his eyes, and covers them with his hands.

It all happens so fast. The two little girls beside you squeal with excitement, already starting to back away from the group. Keisuke sports a wild grin as well, mentally preparing his hiding spot. Manjiro leaps off of his rock to land right in front of you.

"How much do I count till'?!" Haru yells.

"Thirty!" Keisuke hollers, his voice distant.

You turn towards Emma and Senju, only to find that the girls have already disappeared. Baji was already running far too quickly for you to catch up, and suddenly you found that your cheeks were too hot under the sun. Your stomach churns in anxiety. It was like your feet were stuck to the ground.

Suddenly, a tug on your wrist snaps you out of your trance. Eyes widening, you’re forced to twist your body towards the intrusion, and your eyes meet with a mop of blonde hair. They travel downwards towards your hand to find it engulfed in his. You barely have time to spare Shinichiro and Takeomi a glance, but they watch with surprise as Manjiro drags you further away.

One moment, you are drowning in sunlight. The next, you’re overtaken in darkness, and a wooden door shuts behind you.

As your eyes adjust to the sudden shift in lighting, you find that you’re in a garden shed, and notice wall space between a shelf at which you decide to lean against.

It seems as though you were the only one out of breath, as the blond boy in front of you casually leans against the door. You have both come face-to-face now. It's intimate, not in the romantic way. It was quiet, the sound of the heat permeating through the wooden boards. Light floods in through the cracks, you can feel a little bit of the warmth on your cheeks. Playing with your thumbs, you do not dare look so freely towards Manjiro as he does to you. Your heart pounds against your ribcage from anxiety. You want to peel your skin off and take a dip in cold water to get rid of this feeling.

Finally, the culprit who caused you such emotions, is the one to put out your fire.

"You suck at hiding. You’ve never played hide an’ seek before?'' His voice is soft when he insults you so casually.

You lift your head to finally make eye contact with him. You can hear wind chimes in the distance. His eyes are clouded, like he was hiding a million secrets in them.

Furrowing your brow out of frustration, you look down at your feet, "I— I never wanted to play."

“Why’d ya say yes, then?”

His question makes heat rise in your chest. You look down, placing a cool hand on your face.

“I.. I dunno.”

The garden ornaments from outside send a pleasant tune to float in the atmosphere. A slight breeze bellows in from the cracks, You tried relaxing yourself by tilting your head upwards, closing your eyes. But your moment of peace is short-lived.

"You dropped this too."

At the sound of Manjiro's voice, you turn your head to him once more, only to notice a familiar red hair band you recall you tied your hair with this morning.

"Oh," your eyes twitch, something of a smile-perhaps formed out of anxiety-painting your features, "Uh…, ah — sorry."

Staring at the hair tie with eager eyes, you suspect the boy to give it back to you any time soon. But he simply stands there, holding it firmly in his hand. His eyebrows are slightly raised, and it almost looks like he is awaiting a statement to be said from you.

"Can I have it back?" You murmur.

You watch Manjiro rather intently. A resounding quietness befalls them. You note how it looked as though gears were moving behind his eyes, as though he was pondering on what to say next. Perhaps he was not as indecisive as you had first suspected him to be. Every move he made was a calculation he made in mere seconds — which made him all the more terrifying.

“Beg for it.”

You blink. Manjiro only smiles at your colourless expression.

“Don’tcha want it back?”

Your heart starts to race. You want to go home. You don’t like this. He’s smiling like it’s funny. You feel like crying sort of, because you know he is making a joke of you. But you don’t. Because Mama said big girls don’t cry.

“What? Lost your voice?” He mocks again.

You murmur something under your breath. He raises an eyebrow. You murmur it again, pinching your palm with four fingers to calm the panic in your chest. Manjiro crosses his arms, leaning back smugly.

“Hah? What? I can’t hear ya.”

You look up at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“You’re mean. I don’t like you.”

Manjiro blinks soundly. He doesn’t insult you, but he doesn’t give back your hair band. He simply stands there, staring at you. He seems to slump back at your insult. You think to yourself — has anyone spoken up against him?

He doesn’t say another word the entire time. The cicadas’ chirping fills the resounding silence.

You can hear the screams of Emma and Senju, no doubt Haruchiyo had discovered their hiding spot. When you can sense bodies from outside approaching the garden shed, Manjiro stands up straight and walks towards you. You, instinctually take one step back. You can’t be close to boys — especially not one like him.

He looks at you with an expression you cannot describe. It silences the beating of your heart.

"Here," Manjiro utters, grabbing your hand with one hand and manoeuvring it so that your palm opens — which he then places the hair tie on.

You are left staring at your open hand, confused at Manjiro's actions. He keeps your hand in his hold for exactly three more seconds, before releasing it. You keep your hand there for a few more moments, trying to register what exactly had just concurred.

A moment passes. Then another. And another. Manjiro scratches at the scab on his elbow, looking down at his sandals. You pretend you don't notice. You can’t really think, anymore.

Haruchiyo finds you both. He interrogates Manjiro on why he was hiding with you, to which the former tells him to shut up. Emma stares at you with bewilderment, which morphs into childish amusement at the prospect of her older brother taking a liking to you. She teases you, hooks her arms around yours and drags you back to their house.

You fiddle with the hair tie. Manjiro was weird. You wanted to go home.

You take a long, cold shower the following morning.

You were no longer children. You had lost all contact with your once friends, never having the gall to introduce yourself once more. Shinichiro-san had died from a car accident the same year your mother had passed — and neither of you had been the same since. Manjiro had grown rough and you had grown cold. You will never get those grievances back, and everyone had just expected one day for you to be alright with such a thing.

You liked to play pretend for their sake, be a small, nice little girl for their comfort — and ignore the incessant rock in your throat that had lodged itself there, stuck for fifteen years.

But with each passing season it only seemed to grow — to suffocate you more and more than the previous years.

You cry under the water with the stone.

Will it ever go away?

The next day, Manjiro begins the conversation. Perhaps it was because you had been acting like a shell of your former self since the aforementioned recalling of your adolescence. Maybe it was because of the cold weather. Regardless of the reason, it was during breakfast — over savoury bowls of tamago gohan — while you were seated across one another under the single kotatsu because that is all he could afford.

You feel like a stray cat he has taken in. The utter irony of it all.

You felt Manjiro’s eyes on you for ten minutes before he pointed his chopsticks at you disparagingly and spoke through a mouthful of warm rice and egg.

“You’re shaking.”

You huff at his audacity, gazing down at your bowl before bringing a bite of rice to your mouth, “Am I?”

Of course, he does not answer. Because he is Manjiro Sano who is nosy, loud and fastidious. He is Manjiro Sano who never finishes what he starts and leaves you to pick up the pieces. You never considered yourself particularly tough before encountering him.

Setting your half empty bowl down, you choose to question him.

“Why did you move to Osaka?”

Manjiro doesn’t answer. Rather, he turns his head to the open engawa, and pretends to care for the sakura petals that fall off the tree branch. You furrow your brow, setting your chopsticks down in your bowl.

“What about everyone else in Tokyo?” You inquire once more.

Thirty seconds pass. You wait, knowing an answer is going to come. The first shove was complimentary, the second prod was real — at least that was how it worked when Manjiro was 16.

“What about them?” He huffs, taking a sip of his morning beer, “They all know my address.”

You bite back a smile — afraid that if you were to show amusement he would only take it as a sign to continue dismissing your concerns. Manjiro had changed but his small little idiosyncrasies remained hidden. A selfish part of you is delighted at the notion that — despite your anxieties — you had truly not forgotten him.

“Don’t you ever feel…,” you bunch your hands together, “lonely?”

His next answer comes naturally. “Nah, think it’s ‘cause it’s new to me.”

“Right,” you shake your head, laughing, “ha— right, right.”

You look down at your bowl. Of course, what were you expecting? Manjiro was nothing like you. He was loud compared to your quiet. Captious to your carelessness. Unlike you who fretted over such illogical matters he would barely put any thought behind even those affairs which required them.

“Do you feel lonely?”

You lift your face up a tad too quickly and despairingly at his question. He’s looking at you with a blank slate of an expression, and it is in this moment you wish he would return to being unserious. You feel like you are in that very garden shed he’d hid you both in.

You force a laugh, “What? No— no. I—… no… No.”

An awkward silence descends upon you both yet again. The chirping of a little ringed plover fills the room. You think, or at least you try to with Manjiro staring daggers into your side profile. Wrapping the blanket he had given you tighter around your frame, you take a deep breath.

“What about… Keisuke and the others?” You ask, tentatively. His name sounds so odd on the tongue. You don’t think you have said it out loud for nine years now.

Manjiro huffs a chuckle, and you mellow.

“I visit him the first of every month. We all show up at his place,” he explains soundly, bending his left leg and wrapping his arms around it, “And his mother every two weeks. But she likes to be left alone.”

You stare at his hand that scratches at his foot. By Keisuke’s mother he most definitely meant her grave. The woman had always been an eccentric character in your childhood. She made the most delicious rice cakes and warabi mochi. You recall the memory with a solemn grin. She passed away two years ago. You hadn’t even known — only realised she was gone when Manjiro had told you nonchalantly in passing while you were preparing breakfast how much he misses her omurice.

You had burnt your index finger that day, and hid the mark from him.

A wind passes by into the house. The wind chimes sing a familiar tune, and you are surprised to notice that they are the very ones the Sanos had back in Tokyo.

You haven’t confronted yourself in a while. She scared you. Maybe confronting this monster inside will soothe this ache within you — you reason.

“I’d— I’d like to go. I’d like to visit them soon.”

Manjiro’s stare which was directed on his foot moves to meet your eyes. He looks at you for three seconds, scratching at his wrist. He stares at you in a way that silently asks you — ‘Are you sure?’ — and your gaze only hardens; with determination or fear, you can’t really choose.

Manjiro nods.

“Alright.”

He picks up your dishes and places them in the sink for you to wash. This is your routine.

You follow him to the kitchen, standing awkwardly behind the island as he looks at the plates he has put. His hands clench around the metal. He looks up at you once more.

“Alright, we will.”

You reach Shibuya at 9:26pm by car.

When you step out of the passenger seat and onto the road where Manjiro parked, the wind that greets you is warm, for November, at least.

An overwhelming wave of anxiety invades your stomach. Suddenly, the warm air does not help you. You feel like someone has set you on fire. Each step you take towards Keisuke’s home — a large house you have never even thought would belong to someone of his stature — your heart pounds erratically. Manjiro’s resounding footsteps following behind you only add to the reality of the situation. You want to go home. You should have never come.

A hand on your shoulder stops you in front of the door.

“You’re shaking,” Manjiro’s voice states the similar expression back in Osaka. You stare into his eyes, trying to ground yourself.

“Am I?”

“Yeah,” his eyebrows furrow in a mature sense of concern — it is so unlike his past self, “You know, you don’t have to meet them. I can tell them you got sick.”

Your mind manages to eat the information he is feeding you. Once it has consumed every morsel you shake your head. You wipe your clammy hands against your pants — you note how Manjiro’s eyes follow them wherever they go.

“No,” you breathe with a shaky tone, folding your arms across your chest, “No, I—I’m good.”

You shrug his hand from off your shoulder, taking a deep breath in. You haven’t been in this neighbourhood for nearly eleven years. It’s only natural that you are a bit nervous. Manjiro does not look quite convinced. You look behind your shoulder to find him, unmoving and unentertained. You leer into his hazel coloured eyes.

“I promise, I’m fine. Let’s go.”

You tell him for the final time, walking to the entrance of Keisuke’s surprisingly old-fashioned home.

You don’t even have to knock on the door, someone opens it for you from inside. You crane your head up to meet a pair of aquamarine eyes. A small smile traces itself onto your features.

Haruchiyo speaks before you can — he has always had the habit of doing that; taking the first step ahead in the riverbank you liked to explore together, the first bite of freshly sliced watermelon, and the first one to make fun of your mother’s death.

He stares at you like you never even left — like you were coming back from the grocery store.

“The hell happened to you?”

Your smile only grows. “Hi, Haru.”

Tiny pleasantries greet you, and — oddly — Haruchiyo’s arms do, as well. He is even taller than he was back in junior high school. His hair is longer and he still manages to stand out everywhere he travels. You can vaguely sense Manjiro entering from behind you — but you don’t have a lot of time to dwell in his presence. Not when Haruchiyo brings you to the living room. They are watching baseball, the kotatsu is out, stray chips and half empty beer cans litter the surface.

You have never felt more at home.

Keisuke and Ken lift their gazes from the television to you at the same time, when a home run is scored. You smile wearily, and they return it with a grin of their own.

“Y/n…” Keisuke is the first to speak, standing up and approaching your unassuming frame. He looks into your eyes for three seconds — an odd gesture, given that he never waited before — before enveloping you in a warm hug.

You grab his back almost too quickly. It only lasts five seconds but you feel the familiar heat in your stomach return — the one you had carried since ten years of age.

He asks how you have been. You murmur a solemn fine and compliment his home. He bashfully explains how Chifuyu had planned out the interior and exterior designs, and informs you of the fact that Kazutora is with him down in Hokkaido — getting supplies for their pet shop.

Keisuke is much more refined and mellow compared to his former self. His spontaneous nature and wild energy scared you at age ten, and treated you softly at sixteen — when the only boy whose presence did not scare you, was his. Even now, with a few grey strands in his hair, he is gentle and kind — offering you whiskey soda, somehow guessing your favourite drink after a decade apart.

Haruchiyo and Ken tease Manjiro in the kitchen. You overhear everything about him even when you do not want to — even as you are engaged in a conversation with your childhood friend.

“Oi, oi, Mikey. You cut your hair?”

“Ohh, he did, wouldja look at that.”

“Shut up.”

They return with more beer cans. Keisuke sits on the floor next to you on the couch. Ken’s eyes fall on your frame the same time your gaze falls on him.

“Hi.., Ryuguji,” your tone sounds sad. You didn’t mean for it to come out that way.

“Y/n…,” the widowed man returns your smile with one of his own, handing you a can of beer, “Please, call me Ken.”

You stare at it. You stare at him. You don’t know how he does it. The grief doesn’t line his face nor eyes the same way yours does — and it was fresh and new. It still stung and he deserved to feel upset. You did not, you had moved across the ocean and forgotten everyone because of yours — and yet it brought you back to square one, right on a sofa bed somewhere in Tokyo.

You put away your thoughts, locking them beside the incident in the garden shed many years ago. It could be dealt with later.

For now, you take the beer can from Ken’s hands with trembling fingers — praying he cannot tell you want to run.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Dinner is lovely. Warm pork ribs purchased from a local restaurant, spinach salad with sesame, sunomono, and many warm bowls of rice are shared amongst the five of you. You feel Manjiro’s gaze fall on you every so often — almost as if he was trying to assess and read your emotions, to be there to catch you when you fall. It feels odd, every time he looks your way. Every time he does, you clench your beer can tighter.

You do not know why he cares for you so. You are not going to give him what he wants. You can’t, right now.

After dinner, you step out of the golden lighting of the living area to the engawa that opens up to the small square area of greenery. American porch lights hang on the tall pillars holding up the structure of the house, and your eyes instantly fall on the small koi pond installation on the right of the green.

You vaguely hear Keisuke and Haruchiyo yell at each other from inside. You walk barefoot on the grass. You feel like an oversized child.

The creaking of the floor boards alerts you towards the open entrance. You turn as Ken approaches you. His lips are laid flat — and he pretends he doesn't even see you. You appreciate this about him. He’s never made you uncomfortable.

You think you should say something for both of your sakes. Spill the milk and clean it already.

So, you — the ever awkward — murmur softly towards the koi fish, “You’re all so… taller.. now.”

Ken huffs a laugh, standing next to you now. His shows are on, though.

“Maybe you just shrunk.” He jokes. You smile.

“Perhaps,” you respond, “I heard that the weather in New York does that to one.”

For a while, you both stand there. A congenial silence befalls on you both. The wind chimes play a foreign tune. The smell of whiskey, cigarettes and fried pork are carried with the wind. It feels the same way a full stomach does.

A couple moments later, Ken mutters to you, turning his head to gaze down, “You look lovely, tonight.”

You turn your head, too. Since he is now looking at you you suppose you should do the same. It is only customary, after all.

“Thank you… thank you.” You stutter, taking a good look at his features.

His five o'clock shadow is more prominent, only half of his being illuminated by the patio lights. The familiar dragon tattoo is as prominent as ever, but his hair is a dark black now. You wonder if Emma had anything to do with it. When you look at him, you start to think of her.

So you look back down at your feet. It hasn’t snowed in Tokyo yet. You are grateful it is not as cold.

“The weather here is great, though.”

Ken sighs, breathing in the night breeze, “Yeah...”

This time the silence is a little awkward, so you do not prolong it.

“Whose idea was it to install a koi pond and these patio lights?” You force a laugh, trying to make him smile again. It seems to work.

“Ah,” Ken brings a hand to the back of his head, scratching at his neck, “Sana had always wanted fish…, but Emma was allergic. So we had compromised to have them at Baji’s — so she could visit them.”

Your face pales a little at the mention of his daughter. You recall seeing pictures of her on Emma’s social media accounts. You had congratulated her briefly then went on about your day. Your mind had not even recalled her — how shitty of a person were you?

Ken breaks you out of your departure.

“I think the lights were Kazutora’s idea, though.”

You laugh at this, albeit an uncomfortable one. You knit your hands together. Maybe you should ask about her —he would not have brought it up if he did not want to.

“How is she?”

The koi fish in the pond move more rapidly as you pose the question, almost as though they felt the tension and wanted to relieve it. Ken pockets his hands and grins as he looks down at his reflection in the water, his eyes drifting from his, to yours.

“She’s doing alright. Left her at her friend’s house for a sleepover.”

You breathe a sigh of relief — one you did not realise you were holding. “That’s nice…”

You look around the scenery, trying to rack your mind for more conversation starters. You had not done this in a while — let alone consoling your once best-friend’s husband, who was now a widower. You were never really that close to Ken, you momentarily recall the few times you did interact; which happened to always be through Emma. You never quite had a problem with, you were happy for her — you truly were. Now that the one virgule connecting you both had gone, it was up to both of you to hang on to another. You wanted to be there —you knew Emma would have wanted that.

You don’t even realise the statement that leaves your mouth next is about her until it just slips out.

“She would’ve loved tonight.”

The dark-haired man only looks down, eyes solemn but a cheeky smirk plastered on his features. He chuckles, “She would’ve dragged me outta the house ‘cause I’d say no.”

You grab for his hand, noticing that the look in his eyes is all too similar to the one in yours.

“So why’d you say yes?”

Ken does not answer, but his fingers press deeper into your palm. Not enough to elicit blood — but it might as well have been.

“I— I don’t really know. I guess I thought it would make me feel better,” he laughs through a choke and you can only nod, knowing all too well how he feels. You don’t know how long you stand there, holding his hand in yours. A breeze you felt in Osaka bellows past you both.

Manjiro takes you back to his home, and you feel at peace — like you have done something right.

Osaka culture is dissimilar to Tokyo’s. Manjiro Sano is much different than The Invincible Mikey. But you were all the same.

A part of you thinks that is why the two of you attracted one another the way you did, many suns ago. Another irrational side of you believes that is why you have not been able to hold eye contact with Manjiro for longer than fifteen seconds since dinner at Keisuke’s home. You don’t know if you lack sexual appeal or if Manjiro’s libido has declined, but he has grown more… comfortable, around you, so to say; walking around with no shirt on and wearing sweatpants that hang too low on his waist.

To keep your mind occupied, you have taken on laundry duty.

You hum a tune to the melody your mama would sing to you sporadically throughout your adolescence, seated on the floor of Manjiro’s closet with his fresh laundry sprawled about the carpet.

Your phone rings. You take a look at it — it is an unknown caller. Craning an eyebrow, you finish folding the shirt you currently hold and pick it up.

“Hello?” You mutter into the speaker first.

The voice you hear makes your stomach drop. A heat begins to rise in your head.

“Y/n.”

Your eyes widen in disbelief. You take your phone off from your ear, check to see if you are actually currently in a call with someone, and put it back.

“…Ryuchi?”

An all too familiar exasperated sigh leaves the caller’s mouth. That is when you realise your assumptions were correct: your ex-fiancé is real and true.

“Fuck— Y/n, shit.”

Ryuchi utters your name like it is a disease — like it hurts his tongue. It is why you cannot put the phone down — why you cannot hang up.

“You know the fucking things I had to…—” his voice becomes a whisper, like he is trying to hide that he is conversing with you from someone, “you know how difficult it was to get a hold of you?”

You place a hand on your ankle, scratching at the scab there — willing it to open, “Ryuchi, why… Why are you calling?”

He doesn’t speak for three seconds, and it terrifies you. He always did that — when he was angry with you. He would never want to communicate until his emotions would reach their precipice and even then, it would require several pushes from you to draw his reactions. As such, those nudges had always led to him shifting the blame on you.

You had learned to live with it. Mama lived with Papa that way, before he left. But she was not allowed to leave first. She would have to stay until he did not want her anymore — and you would do the same thing with Ryuchi. Be it a hole to fuck or in those very soft, sentimental moments, a woman for him to hold — you would give your everything. You didn’t care about his wealth, you didn’t care about yourself. Why would you? He was everything — he was your World, it was how he wanted it so you would give it to him and not think twice.

Then, Ryuchi starts.

“Wha— What the fuck are you talking about?” He laughs, it sounds scary, “You— where the hell are you? Why— Why the fuck did you cancel your lease?”

You chew on your bottom lip. You hate how soft your voice comes out when you ask him again, “Ryuchi, why are you calling?”

A scoff, followed by a, “Do I need a reason to be calling my fuckin’ fiancée — are you kidding me?” rings on the telephone, but all you hear after the word fiancée is white noise.

You remember it vividly. How he had broken things off. You remember him calling you to buzz him up to your new apartment, the one you wanted him to move in with since he was still living in a bachelor’s flat with his friends. You remember opening the door to his solemn face — and you had remembered knowing that it had ended before he told you himself: ‘This is not going to work. Not anymore. Not with you.’ How could you ever forget those words?

You hadn’t cried. You hadn’t even felt mad. You just thought about the papers you had wasted printing your engagement cards. You thought about what everyone would think of you — thought about how mama would be so upset with you for not giving your life and soul to his relationship.

You had heard her voice that day. It was cold.

After a moment, you murmur a flat, “What?” Your breathing begins to pick up, “I… I thought—”

You don’t say anything else. You don’t really know how to. Ryuchi was smarter than you — right? He could pick up the pieces and fix the puzzle.

He does.

“Holy shit—,” he chuckles darkly, his tone then becoming mocking and impassive, “You— you thought I was being serious?”

You don’t realise the words that leave your mouth and escape his.

“You— You asked for the ring back, Ryuchi, Your— Your mother returned the wedding card—.. What— What was I supposed to think?”

“Yeah— yeah—, Cause I was stressed, Y/n. Mother had some qualms with you and I let her get to me. But, I’ve dealt with her now — all for you. I fought for us. Fights like this happen all the time — that... that doesn’t mean you can just get up and walk away.”

They all sound spiteful. You hate arguing. You just wanted to be good. You didn’t want him to do all of this for your sake. You did not need much, you do not know why Ryuchi insisted against that for the longest of times.

He always called you too naive for your own good: but you know what love is.

It is why, after the longest pauses of utter silence taken so far within this phone call, is when you murmur quietly, “Ryuchi, I— I.. I can’t... I.. can’t do this.”

He is on you, instantly.

“What do you mean you can’t?” His voice cracks. You don’t know what to make of it. “I—I miss you. Please. I love you. I love you, baby. You.. you can’t. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please come back to me — I’ll make it work.”

He can’t. You know he can’t. He’s never needed you, Ryuchi has only ever wanted you in his life. You cannot go back now.

You stare down silently at your hands, fisting Manjiro’s shirt in your palms. The door of the closet is cracked open, streaming in the yellow lighting of the bedroom. It is oddly warm, given the circumstance you find yourself trapped in, unable to move.

When you feel darkness impose on that, you lift your head up. Manjiro stands there, gazing down at your frame. His eyes fall on your cell phone, then on the clothing you crumple.

“Y/n.” Manjiro calls your name. It is soft. His eyebrows are furrowed and you could mistake his worry for how tightly you are gripping his favourite shirt, enough to leave wrinkles.

“Y/n.. please.. don’t do this.” Ryuchi’s whines ring into the speaker. They settle in your ears. Before it would have elated a fire in your stomach, but now it sends a chill up your spine.

You are a bit tired of feeling cold.

“Don’t call me anymore.”

You hang up, stare at Manjiro for a moment, before exiting the closet with his shirt in hand.

You go to the bathroom, and you cry into it. Manjiro doesn’t ask for it back.

You wonder late at night why he is so soft to you.

You think Manjiro began feeling bad for you. He would not leave you alone since the day Ryuchi had called. He’s started to clean up after himself: figuratively and literally. Whereas prior he would leave dish washing duty and laundry to you, you found he would pick up groceries for the dishes you’d plan to make that day — and an expensive brand of detergent you had been eyeing but never had the gall to request.

His steps were small, but left their marks in the ground. You felt supported and seen.

So, the next time he went shopping, you asked him if you could kindly join him. He had told you that if you’d asked sooner, he would have taken you to Tempozan Harbor Village for a picnic.

You refused, saying that your fresh home cooking tasted much better — he hadn’t disagreed — and you ended up going to Tamade Supermarket on a Monday afternoon. The last time you went there you were fifteen and in love with him.

It is funny. How things change.

“I like this shelf,” he states, pointing at a random wooden shelf displayed in the show room.

You nod awkwardly, “It’s a nice shelf.”

It is also nice to be talking to Manjiro like an adult. Although at heart you felt as though you had stopped mentally ageing at 19, it felt good: the idea that he had caught up with you in terms of getting around your hobby of window shopping appliances you can only dream to afford. You do not even care if you are being too loud in the department store. Manjiro made a detour on the way to the supermarket. It feels nice to take up space with someone else. You did not get much interaction like this in your youth; most of your time spent with him was passionate and lustful. Taking things slow was a wonderful change of pace, something you realise your adolescent self would have appreciated though refuted against.

You ponder more about your relationship, admiring the bonsai trees in the garden supplies aisle.

“Didn’t you have a thing for flowers or some shit?” Manjiro asks, pushing the cart up behind you.

You look at him incredulously, with an eyebrow raised in question, “Botany?”

He clicks his tongue, placing his elbows on the cart’s pushing bar and leaning forward.

“Yeah, that.”

“Yeah, well,” you huff a laugh, playing with the leaves of the tree gently, “a bachelor’s in botany is about as useful as a glass hammer.”

“Oh, so it’s shit, then?” Manjro asks rather forwardly.

You snort, and try correcting him. The auntie who strolls past you both looks at you with disgust and Manjiro only makes an even uglier face that makes her run away. “It’d take a lot of time and money. Neither of which I have.”

“That’s why you went into software?”

You think for a second. You look at the flowers you had wanted to plant all over Tokyo as part of your dream adult career when you were 6. How stupid you were, then. It was nice, it had always been better, back then — when you did not know how to tie your shoes or write your name properly in kanji.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

A silence befalls you both. You stand still in the shelves section of this sequestered furniture department store.

“Guess I’m lucky Shin left his shop for me,” he says.

“Yeah,” you say as a response.

Manjiro looks at you. Then he reaches for the shelf, cradling it like it is an infant. Your eyes crinkle up in amusement.

“I’m gettin’ this shelf.”

“Alright,” you huff. “Can we go to the market now?”

He smiles back. You bend your four fingers into your palm when you feel your heart begin to develop a rhythmic thumping against your chest at his expression.

You were not 15.

“Sure.”

But you sure wanted to be.

The next week, Manjiro went to work — and you had taken a long, good look at yourself in the mirror; assessing the damage.

A wrinkle would come on your forehead when you would smile. Crinkles would form near your eyes and at the corners of your lips, too, if you got too excited. Your skin was transparent — showcasing all your emotions whether you wanted it to or not. Truthfully, you preferred it that way. You had hidden too much of yourself when you were young — for no reason. Perhaps out of fear or embarrassment of being seen — is what you could possibly surmise as some reasons. Your features had also hardened since then, odd, considering how much softer you had morphed.

All of your youth, you spent resenting yourself. Too afraid to even look at yourself, at times. But, you were normal. You were not a monster — a pleasant surprise.

As you were eyeing yourself, your eyes hand landed on a pair of scissors in a cylindrical cup on a shelf over the toilet. You had then looked at yourself once more, before grabbing the scissors.

Manjiro comes home in the evening with groceries in hand. A small ‘tadaima’ leaves his lips as he takes his shoes off in the genkan. You appear in the dimly lit hallway, a part of you missing. His eyes, already on you the moment your frame turned the corner, enlarged. You feel your chest tighten and the familiar coil in your stomach tangle.

“You cut your hair,” he breathes softly, like it was a secret.

You approach him. He comes close to you. You are standing taller than he is on the elevated flooring of his home. You smile, a delicate one. “He always preferred long, but I never did.”

A pregnant pause follows. That was the first time you had brought up Him ever since that encounter in the closet. At least voluntarily. You can see Manjiro’s chest deflate, almost as though he had been holding his breath for you to set him free, ever since that day. A part of you hurts at the notion that he still cared for you. Another, more selfish and attention-starved piece of you thrived.

The clock you purchase him ticks. Manjiro’s nose is red and his eyes are wet from the cold. You see him lift up his hand — it is shaking but you do not stop him or inform him of that.

He cups your cheek. His hands are cold against your warmth. He murmurs, softly and true, “You look nice.”

You look down, suddenly feeling like a teenager again.

“Thank—Thank you…”

Manjiro’s actions do not register in his mind until your discomposure. He looks at his hand like he has committed a crime and snatches it away. You are troubled by how much his disappearance bothers you.

“Sorry— I—.”

“It’s okay,” You cut him off halfway, giving him a tight-lipped smile. What were you thinking was going to happen? You grab the grocery bags he had set down and walk inside. “I’ll start dinner.”

It is not after dinner he touches you again. It is late in the night, when the moon has reached its high and the cicadas reach their crescendo. You are laid on the tatami, turned on your side and admiring the melting snow on the sakura trees outside. Your head lays on your left arm, the right one traces patterns into your own skin.

You feel someone behind you. You turn, and see Manjiro.

His gaze reads sorrowful. The rims of his eyes are red. Though he is shirtless and resembles a man, he looks like he is eighteen again when he cries like this, in front of you. It has only ever happened once, when you saw him like this. You had run into him, rather than the other way around — like this.

Manjiro had grown mad. You had grown scared. You were both so stupid and naive back then.

You sit up, your covers bunching at your waist as they fall. You call for him, your tone only but a whisper.

“Manjiro,” you call for him, the clouds finally parting, letting the moonlight flow into the quaint living room and paint his features.

You knew it was coming — it was only a matter of time. Heated stares shared across the too large kotatsu, limbs entangling underneath for ‘warmth’ — they were all a rouse.

A teardrop falls onto your face, as the last sakura petals of Spring shake off the tree branch outside, and meet their wilted brothers and sisters on the dull green of the grass.

“Y/n…” He speaks, ever so softly, as though afraid of breaking through your skin.

Manjiro sounds so sad. He bends onto his knees in front of you. You stare into his brown. A shiver runs down your spine, from both the cold and his close presence. You had realised you had been mentally awaiting for this to happen. It was only natural — like moths to a flame. Suddenly, the tatami mat beneath you is non-existent. You feel like you are floating — like you are in Mr. Nakamoto’s linear algebra classroom, about to receive your first kiss from the boy who’s ruffian behaviour scared you, before. Looking at him now — ten years after heartbreak and uprooting your life — only now you have realised his softness.

“Yes?” You whisper, knowing it was too late — but also knowing Manjiro would never care. It would never bother him like it would to you.

“Y/n,” his voice cracks, he places his hands around your frame, encompassing you everywhere. He calls for you again, his voice only a whisper — almost as though Manjiro were afraid that if he were to raise it any louder you would leave him once more, “Y/n.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur, laying down as he begins to move over your frame and bring your covers up, “it’s alright.”

You take Manjiro into your arms; his sharp teeth at your neck, his warm hands feverishly running up the cold skin of your stomach under his shirt you wear, his blonde hair in your fingers, him, inside of you and you holding onto him for dear life — irrevocably — and he leans into them.

His introspection arrives the morning after he has laid with you — it comes gently and ordinarily. You would not have even known he was opening up to you, if not for the seldom look-aways and hiccups he’d let out every now and again. Metaphorical, of course. But they might as well have been real — it’s too easy for you to discern them.

It scares you, the idea of being a form of his recluse.

You wake up, and he is already staring at you. Your cheek rests on his bicep. His eyes form into crescent moons when you look at him. A warmth rises to your cheeks. You unconsciously hide your hands underneath the covers.

Some birds are chirping outside: for some reason they have not gone to warmer climates. Manjiro is still staring at you — like you are hiding something. You gaze at him, your lips lifting up at the side, unable to hide your amusement and giddiness for some reason. You feel like a small child in his arms; like an excited seventeen year old who had passed their driving test with his guidance. You feel like you were always meant to be here — next to him.

It feels nice. Which is why it confuses you when he asks.

“What?”

You hum. “Hm?”

“You’re hiding something,” he says.

“Huh? What?”

Manjiro grabs at your hands covered by the blanket. He finds the top and kneads it with his thumb. It sends a thumping to your chest.

He grins at you, curious, as he questions, “What’s in your hands?”

Your eyes widen, ever so slightly. Manjiro was always watching you. Usually attention would bother you. You hated explaining yourself. But his attention elicits a warmth in your stomach that sends the same pleasure as drinking a warm cup of coffee.

You think your cheeks are dark as you murmur, a small, “Nothing.”

Manjiro clutches your hands in his, smiling. “Then why do you keep hiding them like that?”

“Have I?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, rustling a little under the covers. The duvet falls to expose his bare stomach. Suddenly you grow hyper aware of the fact that you are both naked. You are even more shocked to find yourself not caring to know the whereabouts of your underwear.

“S’been driving me insane. Thinking you’ve stolen something of mine.”

You feel yourself smiling from one side. “If I had you wouldn’t have found out so easily.”

“Hn.”

You laugh a little at the tiny sound of hesitancy and distrust. Manjiro was so cute. You rustle under the covers, pressing your hands closer to your chest. You hold them together. They are cold against your breasts, and when you press them too hard to the bite and kiss marks left over your skin by the man you lay with, you feel yourself growing shy under his gaze.

“It’s… a habit,” you measly whisper, “I don’t know why.”

Manjiro places a hand on your cheek, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Yeah, you do.”

You sigh and look away. “It’s silly.”

Manjiro brings your face back down to look at him. He looks so serious. You don’t know whether to be flustered or afraid. Perhaps both.

“Tell me.”

You cast your gaze downwards. It was stupid.

“I— ah, you know,” you swallow, “Haruchiyo… used to tease how stubby my fingers were.” You explain, purposefully letting out the part he was involved in. Although you had lost the baby fat and were 29, you do not know why your brain chose to hold onto such an inane insult. You were barely 11 when you were told that. How come you do not remember the good things?

Manjiro looks at you with guilt. Your eyes widen. He remembers, too. You look down, again — feeling embarrassed for even bringing it up in the first place.

“I— uh— it’s whatever…, I also never liked my hands.”

He shakes his head, and rests his forehead in the crook of your neck and shoulder. You still.

“Shit,” he grunts, arms wrapping around your frame, “I’m a dumbass.”

You feel your heart jump. You don’t think it’s ever done that before. You like how rough Manjiro’s hands feel against your skin.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, reluctantly bringing a hand up to brush the back of his hair.

He slightly pulls away, looking into your eyes. You feel his feet brush your ankle.

“It’s not, though.” he says, “How could I—,” Manjiro stops himself midway.

He continues to look at you. You feel his eyes travel to your cheeks, the mark under your eye he gave you accidentally when you were 13 and taking turns jumping into a neighbourhood lake you stumbled upon (he had pushed you in because you were afraid — scraped your face against a rock — you had never seen him look so regretful and scared). You look at him — at the light stubble on his chin, the scars running on his cheeks, be it from his time as a delinquent in his youth or from motorcycle work at the shop he runs right now. You wonder where all the others came from while you were gone. You’d gotten up and left — right when you were getting to know each other. You have no one but yourself to blame, and yet he looks at you like you were a martyr who could do no wrong.

“God, I was a dumbass.” He rasps, sweet and true. He leans in closer. You lean in, too.

He holds you so gently, it makes it so easy to forget whatever you had been worried about before your reunion. Warm thumbs brush your cold cheeks — you feel small but you can burst through the seams from this warmth.

“How could I have not seen how beautiful you were?”

His lips brush yours and his voice is raspy smooth when he asks the rhetorical question. You blush and tilt back. Your eyes shift to the open engawa behind him, to Manjiro’s face. You lift your hands from underneath the covers, and place them on top of his.

“You like me.” You soundly state.

“Yeah,” Manjiro admits, “yeah I do. I like you very much. But you don’t need to worry. That’s something I have to deal with.”

His confession elicits something in you. Something that seemed to have been festering for a while, waiting to be awakened by only him. You feel safe. You do not want to run away. Manjiro knows exactly what to say.

The admission causes a silence to fall. You break it by opening your mouth and spewing nonsense, as you usually do.

“I… also used to make fun of you.”

Manjiro grins. You blush. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Used to misplace your things when you’d piss me off.” You say, staring up at him through your eyelashes. That was your rebellious phase. Albeit, that had only occurred once — you did not want Manjiro to feel alone in his guilt.

He laughs. You smile. It is that simple.

“That makes us both idiots, then.” He murmurs, leaning in closer. Your lips touch each other, and you are 15 again, in his arms.

“I guess so,” You whisper through a smile, and return it ten-fold — a warm mouth melting you away softly.

February arrives carrying a similar breeze. Snow is starting to melt and Manjiro’s garden is beginning to blossom. You make love in his living room, bedroom, and the shower — when he is busy. You also procured a part-time job at a local firm to finally have the money to purchase your own clothes, instead of lounging in Manjiro’s garments all the time. He leaves often in the afternoons, rarely in the mornings — but he always comes back to you in the evenings. You prepare breakfast, lunch and dinner — but this time an odd sense of romantic domesticity is involved in all of your gestures and being around him. Manjiro is clingy, you have come to find out. In his youth his affections were scarce — but so were yours. You were both scared, hiding your love from one another — maybe out of embarrassment, you presume? Now, he is older and so are you. Manjiro’s hands find themselves around you any and every time you are near him.

It is lovely.

Currently, it is 6:45pm. You are in his closet, arranging his clothes once more. Your eyes land on a box hidden away deep on the lowest level of his shelf. You crane an eyebrow. It has a feminine, intricate design of bellflowers etched into the wood. You note the initials K and E also carved on its top. You reach for it and open it. Your heart falls.

“Found anything interesting?” Manjiro’s voice pierces the silence.

You jump and look towards the door. Much like the day he found you speaking to Ryuchi, he is standing there in his work clothes. Your eyes fall on his face. He does not seem mad. If anything, he seems relieved — almost as though he had left this box out in the open for you to find.

“You’re home,” you breathe.

Manjiro drops the bag in his right hand. He enters the closet and closes the door behind him, sitting down on his knees close to you and placing a chaste kiss on your cheek. You make a noise between a choke and a grunt, but he only caresses your face.

“I’m home,” he whispers softly to you.

You look down at the box resting in your lap. Manjiro’s hands rest on yours, and guide you towards the lock to open it. You look up and gaze at him with uncertainty. He only nods.

“Open it. It’s meant for you.” He encourages, letting go of your hands.

You stare down at the box. Something in your mind tells you that you know it is yours. You open it, and it is true. Silent for a moment, you gaze down at the countless number of bottle caps — from soda and milk brands back in the day — and your stomach twists at how familiar they all look to you.

Then, you remember why that is.

“I can’t believe she still had this…” You murmur. You look up at Manjiro. He looks down into the box and rests a hand on your left one. It is only when he does that that you realise that you had been shaking.

“What is it?”

“Bottle caps,” you utter, breathlessly, “Emma and I… we—we’d buy each other drinks on Wednesdays. A midweek reward,” your voice starts to crack, “I—I’d put aside money from my tutoring job for it.”

The idea that for over a decade, the girl who you thought forgot about you — did not care for you or wonder about you — kept such an odd presence of your reminder in such a delicate box that you know meant a lot to her (the first present Ken has bought her when they started dating), makes you want to cry. You can’t though. Not with him around.

The walk-in closet suddenly feels too small. The tiniest of whimpers leaves your throat. Manjiro cups your cheek again, grounding you from the panic you feel.

“She always cared for you. But, that doesn’t mean she was mad. She was never mad.” He softly speaks.

You can’t say much to that. Emma is dead. She will not even know that you came back for her. You think Manjiro senses that, because he drops it. You set the box down and lean against the shelf, and he copies your actions. Your shoulders are touching. You look down into the box and decide that perhaps organising these bottle caps will make you feel better.

You start putting them into groups on the carpeted floor of the closet. You can feel Manjiro’s eyes on you. A couple of minutes pass just like this, the only sound being the occasional metal of the caps hitting each other and the rain hitting the windows from outside.

“Have you ever been in love?” Manjiro asks.

The question oddly does not take you aback. You reckon that he deserves to know. “I guess… I mean… I was engaged.”

Manjiro’s body stiffens beside you. You continue organising the bottle caps.

“His name was Ryuchi. He was friends with my old roommate's boyfriend.” you murmur, eyebrows furrowed as you recall your past, “I—I don’t even talk to any of them anymore.”

Looking towards Manjiro, you find him already staring at you. You note his hand formed into a fist, and look away.

“I think I liked his smile, so I gave it a try. His mother never liked me,” you laugh a little — not quite out of amusement, “He broke it off in my apartment after four years. A Sunday.”

“I’ll kill him,” Manjiro growls.

You turn your head to look at him and weakly smile. You place your hand over his fist, and it unfolds to grab at your fingers and intertwine them together.

“He’s… not in my life anymore. That’s that.”

“I am.” Manjiro reminds you softly with an accusatory tone of voice. It itself is so contradictory it makes you smile; makes your heart flutter.

You shift closer, so your elbows are touching. Your exposed thighs press up against his. “Yes, you are.”

“Were you upset?”

You move a little in your spot, sighing. “I mean, obviously.”

“Are you still upset?”

“I—I dunno.”

A weird part of you feels relieved, another part wants to murder him and another smaller part wants to die. But you do not say any of that to Manjiro. It feels too weird. The topic shifting from his dead sister to your deadbeat ex-fiancé feels too much.

“But enough about that,” you change the topic, tightening your hold around his hand, “What ‘bout you?”

“Yeah,” Manjiro admits, keeping eye contact with you and coming in even closer. “I have.”

“Oh,” your breath hitches, and you murmur a very awkward, “nice.”

Manjiro is close to your ear. You can feel him breathing down your neck. You shiver. “Y/n?”

“Yeah?”

He presses his forehead against yours, playing with a strand of your hair with his index finger and thumb.

“Y/n…”

He kisses you gently, laying you down softly against the carpet. Hot palms brush the bare skin of your stomach, kissing down your neck — leaving small little messages in their wake. A small mewl of defeat escapes your mouth, which he swallows all too easily— all too greedily. Manjiro is everywhere around you, all at once, shielding you from everything and anything in the small little closet of all his and your belongings. A shirt comes off, then your socks. Fists meet hair and you have never felt so alive despite the incessant biting at your skin and clashing of teeth.

I missed you. Each one seems to speak to you. Never leave me again. They beg.

But — something bigger leaves his mouth. Like a monster that had been hiding in your closet all along — hiding in the garden shed since that very day you met the bane of your existence — something you tried desperately avoiding. You start to cry but only clutch onto him harder, because you had always had a fondness for the ugly creatures in life.

“I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

#fem reader #rapture #writing #manjiro sano x reader #mikey sano x reader #mikey x reader #manjiro x reader

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480pfootage · 7 months

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any thoughts about the bri-guy (brian thomas)?

hehe bri guy

i do have a lot of thoughts abot him... (under cut, extremely long tangent I apologize)

hmmm His mom wasn't in the picture while his dad was one of those paranoid doomsday preppers so he didn't have much of a childhood.. However with his dad being the way he is, he drilled into Bri's head at a young age how to handle guns, encode messages, some basic medical stuff, n other stuff like that. I think I mentioned it in another post but my Brian has ASPD and uh... growing up with the constant dread of everything being snatched away from you and the world ending combined with arduous 'training' kinda fucked him up in the head.. Around ten-ish he began to practice hunting animals with the neighborhood pets. Sooner or later though, he was found out (he may have preformed an impromptu surgey on the class pet lol) and got appointed a counselor at school.

During middle school he started to realize that he was exceptionally good at getting what he wanted. He could throw on a nice charm and even if things didn't go his way, he could steer it back to where he wanted....

High school was when he met Tim and Brian went onto college to major in psychology whilst rooming with him :3 Tim was the only one that Brian really really trusted back then, and the only one who knew of his diagnosis (which was a reason why he got so pissed when he found Tim's medical records because he thought that having trust in each other constituted to Tim having to tell him everything). And then marble hornets happened but you all know about that stuff.

OH before getting into the more pasta oriented stuffs just wanted to say that the operator and slendy aren't the same entities in my universe (if you wanna know more just ask!!). Either way, under the operator's sickness it was said in the mh comics (3.5) that his head was just filled with all these lines of codes and I interpret that as him being paranoid to the point that he had to encrypt anything he was saying as he thought he was going to get caught by someone.

OKAY pasta time. After mh happened, Tim had tried to escape the op and ended up somewhere up in wisconsin. He was at his breaking point then, he wanted his friends back, he didn't want to be on the run again. And then he met slender. At first he thought it was the operator and i don't want this Tim tangent to go on too long so uh... hehe ask if you'd want more but basically Tim made a deal with slendy to bring one of his friends back under the guise that he and said friend had to gather people for Him to feed on. He had asked for Jay, but that didn't work (Jay was already in Skully at this point) and so Brian was brought back from the ark.

hmm ok after that things get a bit fuzzy for me i can't remember what I planned out, but basically Brian, Tim, Kate, and Toby live in a cabin in the woods together working for slender. Brian doesn't consider himself human anymore, despite the fact that his heart was still beating, hell he didn't consider himself 'Brian Thomas' anymore. During the beginning stages of his revival he would always keep his stupid mask on and was extremely snappy. Brian is a very petty person and he holds grudges, so remembering the fact that Tim kept his medical records away from him, he continued to steal Tim's pills (and also Toby's whenever he came around and pissed him off). But those times are rarer now that he has gotten used to his.... situation.

Brian's the stalker type in their little operation. He gets the information for the gang and scopes the place out, not usually going in for the kill (that's Toby and Tim's jobs). Kills to him are something to relieve stress, whenever a victim is able to escape the others, he pursues them, the thrill of the chase is really what gets him going (it's a plus if he gets to hear them beg for their lives), he likes being in control of the situation. During missions like those he likes to make little snuff films, like I said he finds killing to be stress relief, and he edits it with his quirky little style (think the weird tta vidyas TT) accompanied with nature documentary type videos he takes himseslf.

I would talk about his relationship with Amos but this is getting a bit too long GRHGHRGHGAHGHAGH. OK. Next time I wil........

#creepypasta #brian thomas #hoody #hoodie #hoodie creepypasta #hoody creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #crp #ticci toby #tim wright #masky #toby erin rogers #art #my art #my writing #old fandom

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drifting-pieces-blog-blog · 4 months

Text

Breaking down the comics: BEMIS. Part 4

READING THINGS SO YOU DON'T HAVE TO!

Part one is here.

Part two is here.

Part three is here.

Issue #197.

Oh look! Burrows is back! …It’s a sad day when that makes me happy. Which means that this is going to start to get gore filled again. Yay.

I'm going to be perfectly honest here... I didn't finish the Bemis run. When it first came out, I was so pissed off after a while that I stopped reading.

I can't remember which one I stopped at, but I have a strong suspicion I know the point it was.

So you guys? We're going to be surprised by the ending together!

Anyways...

Back to the moldy bread factory we go.

We start with three cloaked guys (very cult looking) and five other guys.

The five other guys all sit down at a stupidly long table.

The leader welcomes them all. "Welcome to the Bi-Annual Feast of the Societe des Sadiques. You have been chosen--Selected--from a vast pool of candidates. Having proved your loyalty, your zeal, and your passion."

Oh good... Let's see who we got this time. Bemis seems to like to put in strong stereotypes and then just make fun of them unfairly.

We start with a photographer dude with thick glasses and a bit of a sad stubble face.

Then we have a female drug lord and executive level madame. I have no idea what that is, but she's stressed up in a 'little black dress'.

Then we have someone that is just listed as having 'a particular distinction, even in this group' and he's in a Guy Fieri flame shirt.

Lastly we have a shirtless man with tattoos and piercings all over him and a green mohawk. "A tattoo artist, body piercer, and reality television mogul".

So be prepared to have Bemis give them all incredibly dislikeable characteristics. You ready?

Cause this is a group dedicated to "Sadism, in all its shapes and forms."

We are going to get a look at what Bemis considers extreme sadism as well as people that find it not only enjoyable, but also get off on it sexually.

And I will take the stance that I have nothing against consensual sadism. Every fetish has a time and place as long as everyone involved is enjoying themselves and also has safety in mind!

Bemis isn't going to do that. He’s only going to show the bad side. And try to make it edgy.

The leader asks the four others to tell them how they came to 'know and practice your fascination with the pain of others'.

We start with the photographer named "Liberation".

You see him as a teen getting into photography. Specifically the early 2000s in New York at the "coked-up rock shows". We see him taking pictures at a punk rock show, taking pictures of a couple making out in a dingy dirty corner of the club. Then we see him taking pictures of a passed out person in a toilet stall that has ODed on probably heroin cause there's a needle next to them.

I'm not showing this.

"I photographed my first cadaver in 2001."

He talks about fashion photography that was run more like a frat party. How popular he got and how "brand" he was.

Despite all this, he felt his true calling was in death photography and that he was sure that there would be people interested in "black market photography."

"Snuff Couture".

For those that don't know, Snuff films are films that feature people dying. Many of these films have been proven to be fake death films that are very violently acted and very real looking. On the dark web, there ARE real films out there. It's...Don't look this up. I grew up in the beginning of the internet and remember the unsafe place it used to be. I've seen things I shouldn't have seen. Don't look into this one.

So he was killing people and taking pictures while he did it then selling it to other people that 'taste'.

The group claps and they move on to the next person. The drug lord, Lyla.

She talks about how the mafia isn't what it used to be and that the chinese economy and triad was edging them out of jobs.

"What was going to be a straight-up assassination of the head of the Triads could have turned seriously messy when his wife and 2-month-old child turned out to be home at the time."

You see a bunch of dead guys and a woman holding a baby. They shoot the woman and you see a happy baby covered in blood. The baby is Lyla, who apparently got adopted by the Mafia after they killed her parents.

"See, it would have been some kind of weird fairy tale if I was brought up by the mafia don who ordered the hit. My life would have been a walk in the park. But when they stole me, they entrusted me to Daniel DeCriscio, also known as "the deathbringer" in the press for being, at the time of his death, the most prolific and brutal hitman of all time."

Apparently he taught her exactly where she was from, made her fight on the streets for her food, and she wasn't allowed to sleep or eat till she trained with him.

"I learned to kill before I wore my first bra. And so I did. Kill, that is. A lot. I think I was nearing triple digits by the time I was 20. I was good. I rose through the ranks."

She eventually became his replacement assassin and murdered her 'father'. She became a 'Made Man' (not how it's done but that's a mafia lesson for a later time). She slowly killed off the leaders until she became the main leader.

Badda bing badda boom.

Next guy is "Sol". The Guy Fieri shirt guy.

"Well, I started out by lobbing grenades in public places and running away. No particular motivation besides...throwing a cog in the machine. The weird thing is, they never caught me."

This is called terrorism.

"So, I went on to start murdering random women from 1999 'til the present."

This is called misogyny.

"They didn't catch me for that, either. I guess I made the cut because I'm the only living man who's been both a serial killer and a mass murderer."

Not true. Not true at all.

The group claps.

Lastly, we have "Tilt" the tattoo guy.

Wanna know how I know Bemis has no idea about tattoo culture?

The way he depicts the tattoo parlor.

You don't show up to 'watch people work'. And a topless lady? This would be done with a privacy screen and people wouldn't be gathered around like that taking pictures.

Tattoo artists, PROPER ones are actually very protective of their work. If they designed it, it's their art. Doesn't matter if it's on your body, it's still their art.

We see depictions of 'outrageous' piercings. Some of which are medically unsound. (A piercing that goes on the underside of an eyelid? Yeah, have fun with your corneal ulcer).

Then he did a tattoo show. We aren't going to talk about the controversial tattoo show who I won't name here. Just know... It's not well thought of in a lot of circles.

He got rich and "Being rich made it so I could have whatever I wanted. And all I ever really wanted....Was to pierce someone to death."

Uh huh.

So we see shadow images of bodies with outlandish piercings (Which, not all of them would actually cause death... I've seen people with some of these piercings).

He brags about perfecting the art of 'hurt'.

He then tosses in a completely unnecessary background. It's just not needed. He should have ended it with the images of the piercing. This is just over explanation of things and bad writing.

"See, I came from nothing. Grew up in pretty horrible circumstances. I was already mad then. And once I had money, they started treating me different. Like now I was finally worth something. That made me even madder. So now... I get even."

Why is he shirtless here? Why when you have a heavily tattooed and pierced man do you always have them be shirtless? Is it a macho thing? Wear a shirt! You have to protect your tattoo from the sun! They're going to fade and get shitty!

Anyways, the group claps.

One of the hooded figures sits down with the group.

"Woo-Hoo! Another classic. I love how not dark this whole thing is!"

Lyla is offended by the hooded guy sitting next to her.

"What do you think you're doing? Do you know who we are? You're barely fit to serve us booze."

"It was pretty good, though, right? I heard this wine pairs well with psychopathology."

"Get out of that seat, trash."

"Well, the thing is, Lyla, you charming flatterer... I'm actually here for the induction ceremony. I'd like to throw my hat in the ring."

He takes off his hood and....

I hate this art. I hate so much about this.

A sadist. Making Moon Knight into a sadist. Specifically Marc.

Marc is not a sadist. Marc hates how violent he is. He hates his anger issues. He had issues in other runs with…murdering the bad guys… But I don’t think Bemis knows what makes a sadist.

A Sadist is NOT someone out to watch others be murdered, be out for revenge, or tossing grenades and running away.

According to the dictionary… “Sadist: A person who derives pleasure, especially sexual gratification, from inflicting pain or humiliation on others. “

They bask in other’s pain. They cause pain and enjoy witnessing the pain they are causing.

So... Moon Knight assures them that "No, no! I'm not $%#& with you! I really am! I mean, yeah, I got into what I do to save people's lives. I'm a good guy. But I was messed up as a child and ended up with Dossociatve Identity Disorder. LIke, there are other people living in my head. People cope with mental illness in different ways.

Rather than become a bad person myself, I decided to start professionally beating the snow out of evil criminals. It's basically my job. And you have to start enjoying your work or...what's the point?

That broken part of me is made of bleak, pitch-black fury. So, the blood-spray and bone breaking... I won't lie, I enjoy it. I look forward to it, sometimes. Hard to admit, but it's true."

I HAVE SO MANY PROBLEMS WITH THIS.

He is implying that mentally ill people are inherently violent. 'rather than become a bad person'. He says that he has people living in his head (as if he is the house owner and they are paying rent!?) and rather than become bad, he had to chose to fight crime.

That his trauma, his illness, his everything means he was going to fall down the same path of evil.

DID DOES NOT MAKE A PERSON EVIL! I know so many systems and they are all such kind and wonderful people. They are traumatized. They are in pain. They are doing what they can with their lives and NONE of them are bad people or violent or evil!

Marc carries on. "So, I'm going to hurt every one of you. Hurt you badly, if you don't cooperate. And yeah... I'm going to kind of really, really enjoy it. Did I make the cut?"

The other henchmen open fire on him.

Just as things are about to turn into a brawl, someone else enters, telling them to stop.

"The masked man is not to be harmed. At least...Not yet. I knew this day would come. In the exclusive circles I run in... The threat of your existence, as well as your true identity, are a known quantity."

He's not exactly ever been good at hiding his identity, but Bemis keeps saying "my exclusive circles know you well!" Who the hell are these circles? Is there a MK watch group out there? I wouldn't be surprised.

Oh good. They're playing coy banter.

"And I knew you'd know And that one day I'd find you. Why do you think I'm here?"

And the new mystery figure tells him that he's arrived in time for the ritual.

Then he gives Moon Knight a hug that no one is happy about.

"[...] You've earned a personal invitation...courtesy of your Uncle Ernst."

Oh good. The Nazi is back.

And that ends this absolute trash of an issue. Nothing happened in this episode. We got people doing their best to be VAGUELY scary or menacing then had them immediately be upstaged and then an old Nazi showed up that looked weird and gave Moon Knight a hug.

ISSUE #198.

Alright, intro! Oh look, the blurb has updated.

Why is the society of sadists in French? French doesn't automatically make things authentic or fancy.

The Societe des Sadiques. "A secret group of uber-sadists" is meeting up for some biannual feast for their new inductees. Moon Knight shows up, on the hunt for their 'mysterious leader-Ernst, the Nazi who Marc witnessed torturing a man in his synagogue as a child, the traumatic event thta fed into Marc's dissociative identity disorder."

I hate that I had to type that sentence. It was long and badly worked and also just... I feel so dirty.

"Now Ernst can follow through on his ultimate plan..."

Oh for cry out loud...

I don't even know where to start.

So... We have Ernst addressing his audience, made to look like he's talking to the reader. He's got a little Moon Knight toy and he's wearing what looks like a purple jester collar.

I'll show you in a second because I want you to appreciate this.

He's gonna monologue for a solid minute or two.

"And so our drama begins, dear audience. In which a flawed hero is tested. His already dubious moral standing called into question Is he man, or is he dragon? Today, the societe des Sadiques will tease out the essence of his core."

So are we supposed to forget the fact that he's an ACTUAL Nazi?

Here's the problem. Now Bemis is going to try to turn him into a modern day villain that's worse than the Nazi he was.

And you can't do that. You can't take an original Nazi that admitted to atrocious crimes against Jewish people and then put him in America as the head of some murderous sadistic cult. That doesn't make him worse. He was already as bad as he can get. This feels like a step backwards and almost like you're apologizing for him being a Nazi in the first place and trying to explain it away.

If Bemis tries to make it about Ernst having a terrible childhood to explain his sadistic needs to be a jew torturing/murdering Nazi I swear I'm going to lose it.

"I confess...There's a part of me that wants to see him escape this spiritually unscathed. But this is our GAUNTLET. Where the contenders for entrance into our society are made to discover just how truly merciless they are.

In the end, they'll face one another, and if they can live up to that...Then we shall bless them."

What on earth is he talking about and why should we care. Bemis sure loves his long pointless exposition babble.

"As for our Little "Surprise" guest...I can only say his arrival has been anticipated. Call him a Pet Project.

If I were a betting man... I'd bet that what we are about to witness...Is the birth of a monster."

Uh huh. That's disgusting. Why was this needed? Ew.

And now we have Moon Knight on some sort of light runway with people in masks all around clapping.

Why is this all so bad?

Oh no. Here we go. Here it is people! What you've ALL been waiting for.

You've heard us talk about it in passing. "Don't read Bemis. Rabid Dolphins".

YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND.

And now here we are.

I give you... Rabid Dolphin:

As someone who has spent an upsetting amount of time studying Rabies… I have a LOT of questions. But I’m just going to move on. I don’t want to give this more brain power than I need to. Because what’s about to happen is upsetting enough. I’m just going to apologize for making you witness the rabid dolphin incident.

In this next part it's called "Second trial Man vs. Inhumanity.

I don't even know what is happening here. YOu've got some sort of paper mache room? There are animals in statue paper mache and some big guy that's covered in paper so only his head is visible.

Marc walks into the room and finds a newspaper article on the wall. The paper man yells at him and tells him not to read the paper. He's pissed that he's there and swears up and down that he knows people that can make his life a living hell.

Marc reads the paper. "Sickening 'torture farm' raided by FBI. Jess Ebidiah, 38, implicated in what may be the worst case of animal cruelty in the history of California."

Uh huh.

Marc takes out a moon crescent and it just says "Trial passed."

Third Trial: "Man vs Himself".

This is where I just get angry. The dolphin hurt my head and made me tired. Now I'm seething.

So you see a guy in a weird outfit that looks like a cross between the punisher, a luchadore, and a gimp outfit.

He introduces himself "Greg Salinger, AKA Foolkiller."

He's a crime fighter that is also a licensed Shrink.

What does that mean? Is he a therapist? A psychologist? A Psychiatrist? What the hell does 'SHRINK' make him? What credentials does he have? Not all 'shrinks' are trained in how to handle all problems. Some specialize in PTSD, dissociative states, or other things. Not all are equiped to handle D.I.D.

The man addresses Marc by name and tells him that the cultists are forcing him to do this under threat that his family be killed if he doesn't 'assess' Marc.

Marc takes a seat at the couch and the shrink asks what Marc did to the man in the last room.

We don't get to hear the story, but in the next panel "Three minutes later" we see the therapist trying not to vomit (that's professional). Even the cultist guy with the gun on them looks shocked.

This is a cope out. Bemis wants us to think it's some unfathomable horror that can even make the therapist vomit.

"Marc, it's my opinion that you suffer from certain...OTHER chemical--and Personality-based--Disorders outside your clinical diagnosis of Dissociative Identity Disorder. See, I know what it's like to want to stop criminals from hurting people, but...The sort of actions you describe suggest a pathology that...Marc, has anyone ever spoken with you about Bipolar II? Or the spectrum of Personality Disorders relating to Borderline thinking?"

PAUSE. MAJOR PAUSE.

As I noted off the bat in part 1. Bemis is Bipolar. Self diagnosed or professionally, I'm not here to question it. If he says he is Bipolar, then he's Bipolar.

He's attempting to Move Marc into a position he can self identify with. Which, unfortunately, moves him away from DID and into a different area that Bemis can claim to now be an expert on and therefore no one can question him.

There's a major problem with this. It DOES take him away from the spectrum of DID that exists and forces him into another one and also putting all these negative traits he's given to Marc onto Bi Polar people, making the audience start to associate all these terrible and dangerous things with them.

It ALSO is taking away from something called System Accountability.

This is something that is learned in systems and it does take time to trust in the system for it to work. It also involves a heavy amount of intersystem communication.

It means that if someone in your system is an asshole, the WHOLE system is responsible for making sure that this asshole gets help as well as attempts to NOT be an asshole.

It means that no one is out there beating their spouse and claiming it was 'the bad alter'.

Even deeper, it means that they have developed a fail safe to protect the body. If someone is hurting the body or putting it at risk, the rest of the system can take charge and make sure that person is no longer given access to the body until they are able to get help.

You only get one body and you have to share it. This takes time and trust, but it is something I've seen done.

We've seen it done in the MacKay run when Steven forced control away from Marc so as not to cause them further trauma.

UGH.

UNPAUSE...

"All very common. These things don't ever make you a mean person. On their own they in no way imply... But the MIX... You've got a heady mix, there, champ. And it's pretty apparent someone hurt you very badly at some point. The thing about it is...

I think you need to admit to yourself that your need to hurt people may go beyond just wanting to protect others. An addiction to sadism isn't anything to scoff at...Or frame with a pretty costume and make disappear. I'm sorry, Marc. You have to start thinking of it like...A nearly incurable disease."

NO. NOPE. Not even remotely… This is SUCH a cope out. And why in each run does Bemis have an ‘epiphany’ moment with Marc realizing that he’s a terrible person and having to go on some inner journey down some path where he realizes the bad guy is right?

The therapist babbling about some sort of ‘mix of personality’ issues… ANd ‘incurable diseases’. Ableist shit.

What Marc has is trauma. Extreme trauma coming from more than one person or place in his past timeline. He hasn’t learned how to handle his trauma or how to connect with people. He views himself as deserving of his trauma. Thus, he views himself as a bad person or thing that deserved what happened to him. He’s also incredibly angry about it and dealing with generational trauma being placed on top of everything else!

This is a fact. This is coming from the Moench/Zelenitz run. In the Lemire run he takes it a step further and deals with Marc’s fear of attachment and abandonment issues. As well as his uncomfortable realization and acceptance that he has DID and he has to learn to communicate and talk to Steven and Jake and they have to work as a team.

Putting ALL this on MARC alone is not okay. Treating it as some sort of horrible disease and blaming his violent tendencies and ‘insanity’ on a chemical imbalance and on his DID is just… I want to beat Bemis with a DSM book.

"Third Trial completed. The Hero is crowned a Prince of Death." And we see him being dressed in cult robes by guys in moon knight like masks. I don't even know anymore.

Even though we see them clearly fitting him and measuring him in PURPLE, in the next scene he's in a fully new and fixed up white Moon Knight suit. Who knows.

….I don’t remember this next part. I honestly think I stopped reading the run at the dolphin bit. Oh no. I thought I got further than this. There’s still two issues left. Oh no…. Did I skim the rest out of frustrated rage? You and me, dear reader…We’re going to get through this together. We got this.

Fourth Trial time. "Fun with Morpheus, Dream Eater."

YOU. HAVE.GOT.TO.BE.KIDDING ME.

I'm gonna... I'm going to punch something.

That's not Morpheus. And Marc knows how to handle Morpheus. This isn't what Morpheus DOES.

"That's for that time with the thing."

BEMIS DOESN"T EVEN KNOW WHO MORPHEUS IS OR WHAT HAPPENED. He's just throwing him in because he thinks he can mess with Marc's mind!

Morpheus is a DREAM maker! He attacks with 'dream waves' because he himself can't sleep or dream.

So we go to the inner world where we see the boys all in gladiator and medieval armor in ruins.

Steven: "I thought he said he wanted to handle this himself."

Khonshu: "He is holding onto a grip that is...Tenuous, to say the least."

This is bullshit.

This is not how his system works.

this is not how they work.

See current MacKay run to see how they work together when they are attacked psychically.

He also went ahead and gave them 'roles'.

Steven is "The Mind", Jake is "The Robust Undercarriage". Khonshu is "The Spirit".

Then we see a fourth blank space, probably reserved for Marc?

So... Fifth Trial. "Royale"?

We see him just fighting the four other guys from earlier.

His outfit looks purple here. Maybe it was supposed to be purple in the other image and they got the shading wrong. I don't know. I hate this art.

Moon Knight has zero trouble dealing with these 'sadists'. "Trial? Nah. Spanking" it says.

You see, these guys aren't fighters. I don't know why they think they are or Bemis thinks they should fight MK.

They are sadists that enjoy picking on the innocent and incapacitating their victims to torture them and kill them. The only one that knows how to fight is the assassin, and all she does is stand there with a gun shooting him till he punches her out.

Marc stands over the bludgeoned members of the cult and yells at a camera. "Ernst. I get the damn point. I'm ready and I'm yours. I've always been %#^& YOURS!"

I would like to remind you that Ernst is a Nazi.

Steven in the background says "I...I can't do it anymore..."

Khonshu tells him to "Let him go, Steven. He will not let our traits serve him now. That duty falls to...the other."

Ernst calls him 'my son' and invites him in.

"Trial 666." clever.

"The entire society, though not present tonight, has been anticipating this moment for a long time. I knew eventually when you were ready, you'd track me down. I knew the seeds I planted would bear fruit, my little...First-round pick."

Bull shit. Marc was not supposed to find out about Ernst. He told Marc not to go to his office till much later and he wasn't expecting Marc to find his hidden place in the basement. Then he ran off and didn't confront Marc again. This wasn't 'all according to plan!' I HATE when the bad guys do that. There was no plan. It cheapens the value of the surprise of the hero finding out in the first place!

We see a very TIRED and broken down Marc as he follows Ernst into the back room.

"All it took was the careful manipulation of your...Friend...Jake Lockley's undesirable "sources". I always saw something in you. Now you must see it in yourself."

Are you kidding me. Is he going to blame this all on Jake?

Jake the Most Jewish Part of his System?! The one that speaks Yiddish and openly presents himself as Jewish?!

Ernst walks Moon Knight down a long badly designed hallway with pictures of members. You see some guys in Nazi uniforms from WWII and various other guys that we don't get close up pictures of. Because Bemis lacks imagination...or Historical knowledge.

"Choice one. You fight us. ALl of us, our full might, focused soley on you. You almost assuredly, will not make it back to see your daughter alive, nor save her from me. Two. You abstain. I eliminate your child. It would take a wave of my hand. Only your value to me has prevented this so far. Or THREE. Complete the ritual. Become what you were MEANT to be, beside me, forever." And he gives Marc a picture of Diatrice.

Oh. Oh wait. No. I remember this now. Fuck. I had completely blocked it out of my memory. Fuck. I have regrets.

I’m going to need a minute and I advise that you all take a minute too.

This…This is worse than I thought it was. Worse than I thought it could be.

EXTREME TRIGGER WARNING: Racism. Nazi idealization. Race wars. Implied child harm.

This is bad. I can’t stress this enough. We’re about to talk about some really fucked up things.

I am going to… very carefully…sensor this. It needs to be talked about. This didn’t age well. Especially with the way things have been going for the past several years.

So please… tread carefully and take care of yourself. If you need to nope out, I respect that. If you have had enough and need to just stop and go “Yeah. Bemis was bad. I’m glad I didn’t read that” then do it. If you need to know, then let’s continue.

***************EXTREME TRIGGER AHEAD*****************

So Marc turns to the door after he's locked in a room with his choice on what he has to do.

Fight them all (which I don't get how this is a choice because we know what Marc can do. But the threat of him losing and them going after his daughter is there.) Surrendering and losing his daughter. Or becoming one of them and doing 'what needs to be done'.

He turns around to find out what his next task is.

I don't want to draw this out. I really don't. Bemis does. It does it because he wants the impact of what his choice is to hit you hard in the stomach.

And it does. It hits VERY hard. But not in the way Bemis wants it to. He thinks he's being clever. He thinks that he's set it up so that Marc has been pushed too hard and realized like he did with the Sun King that the villain is right and he has to do it.

So he wants the reader to think the hero has given in and might actually do it.

This is BAD writing.

Instead, the way it comes across is scary. It's fucking scary because of the current climate. Because of all the things that happened in 2020. Because of all the things happening now.

I'm so angry right now. I'm angry and hurt.

I'm going to just TELL YOU what the choice is then I'm going to back track and show you the lead up to it. Okay?

*****He wants Marc to murder a little black girl*****

Backing up. Let’s…Let’s just take this a panel at a time.

Marc sees the 'choice' before him and he reacts with disgust.

And we finally see Jake speak up. He's been pretty quiet this issue besides lurking in the background.

And knowing what Bemis does with Jake and what he obviously thinks of Jake... You're about to see why. And Bemis probably feels like he's being so clever and doing some sort of redeemed character arch. Only the character he tarnished himself and now is trying to make better?

"Being your dark side"

I'm so angry.

I don't even have the energy to explain it. I've been explaining it. If I haven't gotten through to you yet...

"And now you won't even...To save her life? Sometimes horrible decisions have to be made when Nazis get involved."

This is how the holocaust got started.

This is why no one stood up against them when they saw and then denied and refused to acknowledge what was happening.

"You think I want this to have to be my call?!" Jake is yelling at Marc.

Marc shuts down and curls up in a little ball on the floor.

"I don't wanna. I don't wanna. Ah God... Dad... Dad, where are you? He made me... I saw..."

So we see Bemis' version of a PTSD type of flashback shut down.

I can't say if this is accurate or not because everyone is different. I've had shut downs before. Both silent and a few with some sort of pleading similar to this but never to anyone in particular. So sure. Close enough I guess.

In this shut down, we see Steven, Khonshu, and Jake standing there watching.

None of them move to comfort Marc.

Jake "take that as 'feel free to take over until I grow a set of STONES, Jake'"

I'm frowning so hard.

Jake pops up in the body, complete with full mustache. I guess it was in his pocket? Even though he is wearing a whole new outfit?

"Hi, my name is Jake. Don't worry about anything. Just be...Just be very still."

The 'choice' pleads with him not to hurt her.

"God in heaven, I'm sorry. I don't want to do this. I don't want to do this!"

Yeah... Ignoring all the other issues... There's also a major flaw in the religious talk here too.

Jake stops and drops his crescent dart. "I don't want to do this."

Ernst is displeased. He thought for sure Marc would do it and join him. Because...I don't know. I have no idea. I just... Maybe I'm not filled with enough self righteous rage to be able to think like a Nazi?

He tells his people to "Clean up and move out. This is over".

And we get our first look at the girl. I'll let you judge how she's portrayed.

It’s pretty clear that he asked for the most innocent young looking version of a black girl he could get. Even gave her the pigtails.

Before he can do anything, the room opens up to show them in the middle of a forest clearing surrounded by cloaked guys.

A large airship shows up. Moon Knight prepares to fight all these guys.

We get TWO quotes.

Now... Keep in mind that this run has been about Nazis.

So do we get a quote from that time period? Or a quote about the evils in the world?

Nope.

"The Killing was a means to an end. That was the least satisfactory part." -Jeffrey Lionel Dahmer.

The serial killer, Dahmer. The one that was a sex offender who killed and dismembered a whole lot of young men. He then ate and performed necrophilia on them. As well as turning parts of them into things like lamp shades and thing...

Dahmer was diagnosed with Borderline personality disorder, schizotypal personality disorder, and psychotic disorder.

I'm sensing Bemis is trying to make a parallel.

Next quote?

"A psychoneurosis must be understood, ultimately, as the suffering of a soul which has not discovered its meaning." -Carl Gustav Jung.

Back to quoting JUNG. I have a lot of issues with JUNG's philosophy Especially when it comes to his views on the nature of personality and roles and how they can often be wrongly attributed to D.I.D. I’m nog going to get into it, but at lot of people jump to Jung in an effort to sound smart and like they know what they’re talking about even though they only ever read maybe ONE thing on Jung or heard a quote by him once and went “there’s a smart guy!”

Anyways. This issue is over.

Two more to go. Just two more… Then we never have to look at this bread again.

ISSUE #199.

Oh look. We got a new artist. Davidson. Ah fuck it's Paul Davidson again.

Becky Cloonan did the cover. Which is why it looks so nice and lures you into a false sense of security.

Can we skip this one? Like…. Legit… Is it needed? It is the most garbage filled issue. You thought the last Davidson issue was bad with Mr. Butterflyman and the collective?

So... We open with Ernst in a cafe with Marc.

Ernst is yelling at him about how there "No such thing as Multiple Personality DIsorder or whatever your legion of soft, pliable brats choose to call it these days."

Uh huh.

"Your trio of imaginary friends are merely extensions of your own whim. 'Mental illness'? 'Social Awareness'? Do not even get me started on the proliferated fallacies of 'queer' and 'multiethnic'. 'Me too! Me too!' SHEEP. You choose to dwell among sheep!"

This is hate speech. I've heard it in person. I've heard a lot of these EXACT things said in person.

He's attempting to caricature the people who make these speeches, but he's doing a piss poor job of it and it makes them come off as being 'in the right'.

He tells Marc, who looks sad and pitiful here in this style., that he has been 'whisked away from your punching circus and shot with drugs'.

This is what we call a cop out. He didn't want to have to write or lay out or have them draw the HUGE brawl that he lined up for us at the end of the last issue.

So he's taken it away and put us somewhere else so we can listen to this guy MONOLOGUE for an ENTIRE ISSUE about the bad things in today's society.

See why I want to skip it?

He also says "What happened to the little girl? [....] is irrelevant. Fill in the blanks yourself. Hehe. he."

Yeah... I don't like what that implies.

He tells Marc that this is his last chance. If he doesn't comprehend what Ernst is trying to do in this last test then Diatrice dies.

Marc starts to see a weird Cthulu thing walking by. Ernst tells him not to be distracted.

He calls him weak and crazy.

"I stole your heart in your youth...But this is not your Ghetto. Here I can grip it tight and squeeze."

I take serious displeasure in the fact that he talks about Marc's Ghetto. We know Marc grew up well off in a proper home. And a Nazi using the term Ghetto to describe his growing up conditions is just poor taste.

"Ask yourself....Did I break your mind? Or did we break your genes?"

Uh huh.

"We're friends, Marc. And I have seen your power. I am in need of an heir. And a young, able fist."

Ew.

"See. I was never a true anti-semite. I was and am a REALIST."

Are you fucking kidding me right now

"I realist offers fame, money, and power consolidated. Bargain bin vigilantes. You do not belong among them. Besides, soon none of you or your kind will matter. Du schwein."

This is disgusting.

You see why this is wrong, right?

He's now backtracking from the Nazi plot line. Saying "Oh fuck. I should have just made him a cult leader from the start. But I had to use some way to traumatize his past so his being Jewish was the problem the whole time!"

So now Marc is tripping pretty hard on the drugs and seeing monsters and demons and things.

You can see why I’m not posting much art from this issue.

Between the art (I hate this so much) and that LONG meaningless hate speech there, there is literally nothing of merit to this issue.

He goes on and on like this.

I have no idea what he's talking about. He's just saying things that sound meaningful and metaphorical at this point.

Blah blah blah "Here we can hear the fait, weak sounds of self-knowledge as our dark idea literally comes to life. Here, we taught it how to both love and despise itself. Perhaps what we created can think at this point? Like a child. AN IDIOT GOLEM who fancies itself some kind of philosopher."

The not so subtle use of anti-semetic language is not lost on me.

And you know what else we need more of? That’s right. Racism.

Marc protests he won't hurt these people.

Ernst yells at him to do it. "Make them hurt like you want the world to hurt, Marc!"

They are now in some druggy's house. He tells Marc to look at the man deeper and see the monsters inside him.

Marc yells out for Khonshu, Steven, and even Jake, asking for help.

And we see them trapped in some sort of Egyptian bubble thing under Ra's eye.

Marc rebells and Ernst kicks him in the balls. I kid you not.

Then tells him to "Say you're nothing but an errant SLAVE."

ANd Marc is on his knees crying and says he's his slave.

"Say I'm the first man you ever loved."

"You're not my dad. YOu're not my dad!"

"Join me or she dies!"

"I...You're the first man I ever..."

"Ha! You are like clay! Now. Say these words. 'I am no hero. I don't deserve my own infinity. ANd today is the day I finally give up."

NOPE. NOPE NOPE NOPE.

This here? This is anti-semitism propaganda.

They believe that the jewish people think they are uppity and holier than thou and will be the rulers of the earth and afterlife.

This is incorrect. This is Messianich teachings. And Bemis slipped it in. Didn't think we'd notice, but we did.

Marc refuses to say it and he fights back. We see Khonshu and Jake and Steven break free and start to fight the monsters and Marc hits him in the gut.

"Because I would rather my daughter DIE than grow up in your sick fable."

Marc tells him that he doesn't think his daughter is in danger because once the cultists saw Marc fighting back, they abandoned Ernst.

Ernst begs him. "Stop. you don't know what it was like, Marc. In Germany. For a man like me."

"I can imagine. My grandparents were Czech, remember?"

It's like Bemis can't decide what to do with the story line he already set down with Ernst killing Marc's Grandfather and fleeing Europe.

Even the art is inconsistent.

And he heads back out to the streets and it's still covered in demons and angels and cherubs and devils and so on...

And then he runs into "The Sun King".

Who Bemis probably thinks is the best villain ever because he made him. What a twist.

He doesn’t look like Jesus anymore. Why does he look like Rasputin now? Ra Ra Rasputin… LOL It’s a pun. And now that song is stuck in my head.

You know what REALLY upsets me?

The fact that BEMIS got a huge milestone…

ISSUE #200.

Art back to Jacen Burrows. Cover by Becky Cloonan.

This is an oversized anniversary issue. LAST ISSUE EVERYONE. I can see the end of this endless torture and bread factory.

Oh, Jesus is back.

Thanks Burrows.

Also… I have ZERO memory of this issue. I legit don’t think I read this issue so getting to the end will be a surprise to me.

We get a flashback to them all leaving the island.

Marc is talking to Sun King.

"I mean it! It's a Quasi-Max asylum run by the government, and they'll put you down if you even try to escape, but...I belive you can be redeemed. Maybe. In all seriousness, you need help."

Truth, remember him?, asks if he can go too.

Truth legit wants to be helped.

Ra is pretty pissy at the whole ordeal.

We get to hear a lot of psycho babble as Truth and Ra are analyzed.

I'm not typing all that up.

WOW. They just attacked Asecuality too! They're just adding to the list aren't they?

"The Truth's Asexuality a normal reaction due to being socially abandoned."

I lied. Here's more that boils my blood.

"...Mental Illness being both a difficult and challenging trait and a beautiful gift to be shared with others when utilized in a positive, giving way, as referred to in Dr. Lemire's seminal thesis, 'Healing, or: How to be okay with being you.'"

At least he's getting CLOSER to what Lemire was getting at.

We see Sun King starting to heal and also get his fire powers back. He is happy to have been paired with the Truth. They're bonding.

Then we see Ernst bust in with his cult. He spouts things about old money buying them out and tells them to come get one more shot at Moon Knight.

Now we are back to present times and Sun King looks weird again???

Marc tackles him in the street and threatens him. Truth tells him to stop and listen to him for a second but Marc isn't listening. So Ra attacks and burns up the cult followers around them.

Where is this going? Am I the only one that doesn’t understand where this is going now? With Ernst ‘gone’ and Sun king on his side for now and Truth doing his own thing… How are there so many pages left?

Sun King tells Marc that Ra can go to hell because Moon Knight is a good man while he himself is not. But he was born with fire powers so he's going to "Prevent the creation of 'monsters' like me. For the rest of my life. Or I will die, trying to eradicate that dead Nazi's legacy."

Marc tells Sun King that he needs his crew.

Oh look. It's the army of random regular people that Marc recruited from the island.

They all head to Marlene's house.

Marc tells Marlene that a crazy group of Nazi sadists are coming after them so he hired the Sun King and his goons to come help protect them.

Marlene Maces the Sun King despite being told not to.

Marlene starts to yell at Marc about his 'weirdness' and problems and that she can take care of herself.

Marc, Jake, Steven, and Khonshu gather with Marelne to form a plan.

Marlene points out that she can't see or hear Jake, Steven, and Khonshu and that Marc is just standing there in silence.

In the background we get a cameo with Dr. Emmett yelling about making Sun King Believe.

whoopie doo. Chaos. Fun. everyone's crazy. wheeee.

Diatrice interrupts (and she is drawn very poorly and kinda looks like a frog face with pink hair. I hate this art.

She drew a comic of them all saving the world.

Marc is in good spirits now so he and Sun King run off to...I don't know. Things.

And we find Moon Knight and Sun King facing the giant hover craft after it catches fire and crashes.

The dialogue here is... It's bad.

They fight more cultists.

And there's a big battle scene of Marc's army fighting cultists and things are on fire and Moon Knight and Sun King are fighting...

It's a mess of just like.... 2 giant spreads of just chaotic fighting.

Glad they are using this 200 issue anniversary well.

Sun King tells Marc that "you're pathologically violent but you, almost literally, wouldn't hurt a fly."

Then we...get Sun King's LONG back story that includes things like "My past is spotty, but I know I'm from the southern states and that I was born a Christian."

Who even asked?

"We 'Play for the same team'. Christians come from Jews who come from...It goes on."

It literally doesn't go on. It literally doesn't. But history. Can't be bothered, right?

He starts talking about Atheists, magicians, witches, and beautiful people all fighting for the right to believe in anything.

Then he goes on about "our fixation with the beauty of the Egyptian spirituality' and 'reconciling our peoples' ancient struggle and the uselessness of bigotry."

Whhhhhhyyyyy is he still going on about this?! NO ONE ASKED.

"Now imagine a mentally Ill "Power" whose ability was to take his own inner devastation and then force the world to believe it."

Almost sounds like you're saying DID isn't a real thing but just a construct of the mind that is being forced on others... Careful there, Bemis. You might give yourself away.

He tells Marc that there is a new leader to the cult. The real enermy is "The False Truth".

And we see Truth attached to some sort of weird machine thing. Ernst brain washed him to do his dirty work.

The Truth attacks and forces Ernst's knowledge on them.

Here we go...Ready?

"1935. Ernst is imbued by one of Hiler's mystical artifacts with what we will refer to as 'the blue corruption'." It infects people with 'self-created thought virus, or Meme."

fuuuuuuuuuuuu-

"1936 Jose Mengele creates an unseen subsect of Jewish people 'Infected' by the artifact under Ernst's supervision, using his brain as a conduit."

-uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck

"This plan is unsuccessful, but the altered children remain and disperse into the post-holocaust diaspora.

There are images here. I'm not showing you those. They aren't good.

1938....(the war ended in 1945. Why is he...FINE. Let's go with it...) Something about comic books with 'corrupted ink' and preserving the medium's integrity.

1944 the war is closing. Erst is the only Nazi officer who has the corruption. His psychological devastation and personal history cause the corruption to turn into a sort of Venom?

Marc concludes that this all can't be true because then he can change what happened too and still have all his friends and be married to Marlene and have been there for their baby's birth....

This is false logic and I have no idea what he's talking about.

Marc tells him that he's too crazy to fall for Ernst's memories and truth.

They tell truth that the blue goo Ernst was injecting into him is making him crazy and aggressive.

Truth attacks them Moon Knight and Sun King again.

Things are said... Bad things.

They argue back and forth in an attempt for Truth to get them fighting. ...I'm not going to waste my time on what they said. Just know that it's poorly informed crap and more stuff about Jews being slaves to Egypt.

Then....Jake... sorta takes over? He attacks truth, smashes up the machine. He yells that he's "a Jew too." Then Khonshu attacks him too....

Then Moon Knight declares he is "No Man's Slave" and breaks his arm.

Marlene shows up? She yells at Sun King for a bit. Threatens to mace him if he ever goes near her kid again.

Sun King sticks up for Truth and notes that "allowed himself to have his mind warped by abusers." He offers his friendship to Marc.

Marc and Marlene agree...as long as he goes to a mental health facility first.

The orderlies offer to take Marc in for help too. He tells them he's fine and leaves.

Marc calls up Marlene to tell her he's coming home.

And we get at long last... WTF am I looking at?

I…I’m exhausted. It’s 3am Christmas Eve and I’m exhausted.

Why did I read this. Why did I put myself through this? Why did Marvel let this happen? Why did Bemis get away with this crime?

How did Moon Knight survive this run?!

Why did this run follow one of the best written runs ever?

I had plans to type up a big breakdown on why this whole two trade run was so bad… But if you made it this far with me (Thank you. Thank you so much. And I’m sorry), you know why it’s bad. You saw it.

I’ll be real… I lost steam here. This was like a 10+ psych hit attack and I’m just baffled now. That ending was so convoluted and trash. The plot didn’t know where it was going. The characters were so rushed. The pace had issues. The bad guy didn’t know he was a bad guy till he suddenly needed a bad guy. The main bad guy couldn’t decide on why he was the main bad guy… And the good guy kept having existential moments of “Maybe I’m the villain?”

It’s safe to say that EVERYTHING Bemis set up in these comics all faded away and were never touched again. With good reason.

It’s like he set up a whole world ready for people to use and patted himself on the back and thought he’d done a really good job and done everyone a favor and then the world had time to process what he did. And the smart people? They took one look and went “No. No no nononono.” And closed that door again.

Keep it closed. Lock it tight. Don’t let any of it sneak out. I beg you.

We don’t need this racist, anti-semetic, homophobic, ableist shit in this fandom. If you know someone that is a Bemis fan and cites it as ‘an amazing run’ or ‘one of the best runs’, I encourage you to REALLY look at that person. They’re probably not healthy to be around.

So… This was Bemis. Thank you for taking this journey with me. I need to go… go do anything that isn’t this. Expect some Moench soon. I need to not have this taste in my brain anymore. Questions and comments are welcome. Hate and bigotry are not. Feel free to discuss this run. But remember, Friends don’t let Friends read Bemis.

#Moon Knight #Moon Knight comic #Analyzing the comics #BEMIS #It's done you guys #I'm free #Friends don't let friends read Bemis #I did this for you #I'm sorry #I have so many regrets #Gonna go to bed #then read some GOOD Moon Knight

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