#I mean so did the crime scene photographers though

[carnage-cathedral]

still no word on the court outcome or sentencing :( I've checked the public records and they aren't there yet so maybe it didn't go as planned

[unteriors]

Since you're Australian, why are so many of the posts from the US? Did you start with Australia and then move onto other countries once you'd felt like you exhausted it? Or is the US particularly interesting for your purposes?

A big part of the reason is the enormous difference in scale. Australia has about 25 million people, versus 300 or so million in the US. Each of the 50 states has at least one or two major cities, most have many more than that. In addition to the volume of real estate imagery produced by this market, there are a few things about the US in this context which draw me in from an Australian perspective. One is how real estate listings weirdly embody how much more visually apparent the harmful economic forces of the past 50 years are in American society than they are here or elsewhere. Australia's welfare state was developed roughly during the same time as in the US, and has similarly been cut back since the 1970s. But it was always much weaker in the US than in Australia or Western Europe, and correspondingly the effects of its deterioration - along with other economic trends - have been much more visible than they are here. The way this is played out in terms of localised funding for public services means that many American cities have pockets (of varying sizes) where poverty and other forms of systemic oppression are concentrated and left open to the elements. The sort of stuff Jacob Holdt documented in his photos in the 70s, or that you see in a lot crime films and thrillers with location shooting. Gentrification and other forces since then have pushed these pockets into other areas and made some places seem less grim, but from what I've heard it seems like it would be hard for the average person in the US to ignore that these large, systemic problems exist. Conversely, in Australia, this kind of intense poverty has been pushed into the margins of society during the same time period - to remote communities (where people suffer from chronic diseases that have been eradicated in most other wealthy countries), country towns with shrinking economies, or to the fringes of larger cities (where people sleep in their cars in parking lots, or multiple families form sharehouses to afford $400-500+ pw rents). Though as things have gotten worse, particularly since COVID, it's getting harder to ignore. But still there's a substantial part of the population here who have grown up in ignorance of any of the larger, percolating structural problems in Australian society, and who proactively retain that ignorance into adulthood.

I think you can see these different perspectives play in out in real estate listings. In most American states, even in most of the towns I've looked at, you can see a broad spectrum of living conditions (and commercial interpretations of ideal living conditions) - from burnt out trailers, to overpriced renovated shitty older houses with cheap grey vinyl flooring and white walls, to clearly lived-in time capsules to McMansions to actual mansions. Some photographs are clearly shot by owners, others by real estate agents with a great variety of care and attention to detail (from elaborate staging to crime scenes). Rightly or wrongly, I feel like I get a broader, more honest (or at least more direct) feel for the housing crisis. It's a more honest horror film.

Australian listings, I think in part due to concentrations in corporate power in the real estate industry (similar to other monopolies that have formed in our economy), tend to more heavily adhere to the visual language of advertising and are more heavily regulated by agencies. The problems still exist, the housing market here is among the worst in the world and little effort is being made to address the underlying structural issues, but you can see the lack of will to acknowledge these issues in the level of gloss that's applied. You can look at a listing of an older house in Western Australia, for instance, and know for a fact that it's riddled with asbestos and probably has several other structural issues, but most likely enough time and effort will have been spent on staging and lighting and maybe surface-level renovations that it will seem otherwise fine. Lots of turds that have been polished successfully enough that you need insider knowledge to properly identify them as dogshit. Incidentally, I spent part of my childhood in a house built in the 1960s that had asbestos in the walls and ceiling.

I'm still interested in images from Australian listings (and other sources) though, I just look for other things that are interesting. Anything that runs contrary to the artificially positive, limited world view that advertising promotes. Even if its a poorly-lit time capsule that is directly aesthetically opposite to the ideal of house-beauty at the moment, or an obviously run-down house that has had every realtor photography trick in the playbook thrown at it until it becomes deeply uncanny. And it's always interesting to see what other people find interesting; I genuinely think the housing crisis underwrites every other political issue we have to contend with, its tendrils extend in many different directions, and I think this also means imagery like this can reach people in a diversity of ways. Aesthetically, nostalgically, inspiring fear and self-loathing and horror. All good sources of inspiration for creativity.

[just-a-little-cellist]

Hi,

could you write a Hannibal headcannon, where he meets his soulmate at an FBI crime scene.You have to touch your soulmate in order to see colour?

(oh I love the idea of Hannibal with a soulmate au, his reactions would be so interesting! hope you enjoy!)

(Hannibal x gender neutral reader - Hannibal is his own warning)

Hannibal discovers his soulmate in... interesting circumstances. Not the perfect meeting by any means, but the universe has its ways.

He'd never made an effort to seek his soulmate out, more than content to live in black and white forever if necessary, but once he meets you he wonders how he could ever have existed without you.

Hannibal had seen you before, he thought, in passing in one of the many corridors full of bustling FBI agents.

You had caught his eye once or twice before, for reasons he couldn't quite place. Obviously you were attractive, but that wasn't usually enough to sway his attention.

Either way, he nodded in recognition when Jack brought you along to the scene. Jack mentioned that you had only just been reassigned to the Chesapeake Ripper case and, while you had obviously done your background research, being present at a scene would be a very different experience.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Lecter. I've heard a lot about you."

You extended your hand in greeting. Hannibal shook your hand and was about to reply, but had to pause for a moment as he looked into your eyes.

Your eyes, that were suddenly full of colour.

From the way your expression shifted, you were experiencing the same thing.

He was pulled out of his momentary shock when you retracted your hand, schooling your face into neutrality once again.

"The pleasure is all mine. I hope I can be of assistance."

Jack soon ushered you both over to the thick of the crime scene, not willing to spend more time than necessary on introductions.

You were clearly trying to push thoughts of meeting your soulmate aside, focusing on doing your job for the moment until you had a spare minute to process.

Hannibal, however, was not able to do the same. He didn't particularly need to focus though, only appear as if he was. The details of this murder were not exactly foreign to him.

Soulmates were not a unknown concept. He was fully aware that they existed, but doubted that he himself would ever have one. Or, even if he did have one, he doubted he would ever be fortunate enough to meet them.

It was also not the most ideal scenario. He had no plans to cease his 'work', but presumably spending time with an FBI agent would make it much more difficult.

He supposed he would just have to figure it out.

His role today was simple, and something he had perfected by this point. Give a slightly vague profile that would keep the FBI on the trail, leading so close but not quite all the way to him, and then act disappointed when there were no traceable leads to be found.

While Jack still seemed satisfied with his profile, Hannibal felt more than distracted by the musical sound of your voice in the background. You were talking to one of the photographers - Hannibal didn't even register what about - and when you briefly glanced back at him and smiled, the rest of the world seemed to vanish for a moment.

There was, as with the other Ripper cases, nothing much to be found in terms of evidence at the crime scene. Not that Hannibal would expect anything different, of course.

Though it did mean he would have to part ways with you rather sooner than he'd hoped.

While the deceased was prepared to be taken for autopsy and the agents finished clearing the rest of the scene, Hannibal watched as you approached him. Perhaps a little cautiously, but not lacking in the confidence you'd held the whole day.

"Could I borrow you for a moment, Doctor Lecter?"

"Of course."

You moved away in hopes of having a little more privacy, and apologised for your reserved introduction. You explained that you didn't want to be seen as easily distracted on your first scene in this case. You wanted to prove to Jack that it was worth having you reassigned and, now that you'd done that, you were very interested in meeting the man, not the doctor, that was your soulmate.

Hannibal understood. He was also not keen on making a fuss about his soulmate, at least not in public.

(Although, he was already considering how best to dedicate his next 'work' to you.)

You intrigued him. Clearly for good reason, if the universe had deemed you to be his perfect match, and he found himself craving the next moment with you, despite the fact that you were still stood before him.

Stood before him with that hopeful, doe-eyed expression.

Hannibal couldn't wait to truly make you his. To possess you, in every way he could.

Though that might be too strong a start.

"Perhaps I could steal your attention later tonight instead? I would love to have you over for dinner."

"That sounds wonderful!"

He took one of your hands and gently pressed his lips to the back of it, delighting in the heat that rose to your face.

"I'll look forward to it, my dear."

[bits-and-babs]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

synopsis : photographs from a gangland crime scene just beyond mexico's border send ghost into a spiral. as his superior, you feel it is your duty to bring him down from delirium by any means necessary.

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader (colonel)

warnings : 18+ mdni. heavy use of the canon comics, gory imagery, mentions of torture, brainwashing, corpses. ptsd, delusions, simon in a submissive headspace. d/s themes, softdomme!reader, praise kink if you squint, oral (f receiving), fingering, cumming in pants, i wanted to write simon as a sub so i fucking did. please note this is a fic about using sex to navigate trauma. it will not be for everyone.

ghost masterlist ୨୧ main masterlist ୨୧ join taglist ୨୧ ask

He's like a spectre in the back of the briefing room, his shadow looming over the gory photographs spattered over the table and smothering the map beneath them. Snapshots of gruesome, twisted corpses reflect in the honey liquid of his irises, his usually expressive eyes made mute by the ghastliness of the savaged bodies.

Ghost's vast frame appears to shrink the longer he gazes at the glossy, printed pictures. 

Price continues his mission briefing. His forgotten cigar smoulders in the cigarette dish placed haphazardly over the map, ashes building an eminence of embers on the glass platter. His tar-drenched lungs rasp as he talks, gritty voice booming as it ricochets from the walls in the tiny box room. 

"Intel confirms a congregation of armed cartel members just beyond the Mexican borde-…."

Leaning against the wall, Ghost's shadow retreats from the tabletop and slinks back into the corner. He crosses his arms over his vast chest, charcoal grey fleece sleeves pushed to his elbows to expose the ebony ink scrawled across his chalky skin. His scarred knuckles bleach when he tightens his grip on his bicep, silently stewing in his own conviction. 

He knows. 

It's as though you can see them play like a film reel in his gilded irises, flickers of his trauma in Mexico. Ghost's file had been heavily redacted during your time as his equal, reams and reams of black ink ribbons distorting the writing and camouflaging his colourful history. Serving alongside him, you learnt that the SAS Lieutenant approached conversation similarly, censoring himself by remaining relatively silent. 

Since your promotion to Colonel, you had gained access to transparent files and learnt precisely why Simon' Ghost' Riley kept mum about his time in Coahuila… You'd seen those gnarly scars, pink and magenta and silver welts that raised or gouged into the porcelain of his pale skin. Yet, the answer to your concerned queries was always a singular, gentle remark. "Classified." 

Ghost's attempted brainwashing and the ultimate death sentence were confidential. He'd never told you that the scent of the decaying body of his Judas commanding officer, Vernon, had clung to the walls of his nasal cavities for weeks after escaping the coffin. Never revealed the way his hand sunk into the putrefying corpse when he attempted to break his way out of the casket. Wouldn't admit to ripping the jawbone from the rotting carcass to pry open the lid. 

His reason for convalescent leave was also confidential. Extreme temper-management difficulties handing the vulnerable Ghost over to ex-teammates Sparks and Washington and the conclusive massacre of his entire family. Three generations, blown away with a bullet through the skull. 

And the man at the centre of it all, Manuel Roba, stared back at him in the pictures of horrid, mangled, ripped flesh littering the table and pinned to the map. Puncture wounds from being elevated on meat hooks, emaciated following daily meals of mind-altering drugs––

"Riley." 

Ghost's honeyed eyes dart from their fixated aim on the pictures towards Price. Concern furrows the Captain's brow as he observes Ghost's self-preserving body language. "You hearin' me?"

"Loud and clear, sir," Ghost's gruff voice rattles like gravel in his chest. His eyes appear hollow through the gaps in his ski mask, black grease paint making him look particularly gaunt. 

It's a split second, momentary, but Price casts a precautionary glance your way. You know that expression, can translate the concerned crevices on John's face; he knows. 

"... Good Hunting," Captain Price issues his dismissal, pointed looks urging the members of 141 out of the room quickly. The rubber soles of your boots stay rooted to the floor, gaze set on Ghost as the task force leave the conference single file. The Mancunian doesn't budge, his eyes aimed at their target on the table. 

It takes a handful of moments, Gaz and Soap gawping over the brutal torture details and Price urging them both with an insistence to 'shut up' that was far too authoritative for them to ignore. Then, finally, the door swings shut, clicking in place. Ghost blinks at the sound, a minute, barely there flinch that wouldn't register with outsiders, but you notice it. 

Silence creeps through the room and settles between you like a blanket of gunpowder, charged and ready to blow. Ghost's body is tense, oddly postured in an attempt to retain his intense emotions. 

"Ghost." You say his codename, and immediately he moves his head in a slight shake—a silent urge for quiet. He pushes his back from the wall, slowly approaching the table he had glared at for hours. 

"It's him, isn't it? Roba," Ghost's voice is tight with fury, those gravel pieces sounding a lot more like glass shards, "He's come back."

You watch, lungs seizing behind your ribcage when you hear him speak Manuel Roba's name. The vile man had lived like a ghoul amongst Simon's memories, fictitious as long as he remained unmentioned. Talking of him was almost like speaking the behemoth into existence. 

"I know you read the file, Colonel," Ghost spits through gritted teeth, reaching forward to pinch a photograph from the table. You see it, the almost imperceptible tremor in his fingers as he does. "He did this to us- Strung us up like pig carcasses-"

"I understand that you're scared-" You begin your attempt to ease the spiral that Ghost appears to be silently falling into, his almost normal outward appearance betrayed only by microscopic symptoms of panic. 

"I'm not," he insists, agitation edging his tone of voice as he holds up the image of a gutted corpse, "I'm not scared; you're all tip-toein' around this like I'm fuckin' stupid!"

"Riley."

The use of Ghost's surname makes the hulking mass of man stop in his tracks. He swallows the words he holds on his tongue, realising his disrespect to a commanding officer should not, and would not, be tolerated under any circumstance. 

Stepping forward, you gaze right back at the shell-shocked man before you. "Manuel Roba is dead. You killed him. You know this. Shot him right between the eyes."

You demonstrate the bullet trajectory by tapping between your eyebrows with your index finger, triggering a visual for the shaken Ghost to project the image of the slaughtered drug dealer. "The bodies you're seeing are probably a result of his control over the Zaragoza Cartel. Remnants of his fighters lashing out in a last-ditch effort to obtain some power." 

Ghost nods slightly, a singular tilt forward of his head as his hand lowers to his side, fingers loosening their hold on the gory picture so it falls to the ground. He clears his throat awkwardly, eyes following the path of the image as he casts his gilded irises to the floor. You note how vulnerable he looks, flayed raw by his memories and the stalking PTSD that had gripped him without detection.

"You're right. 'M sorry," he lets out a shaky sigh, chest trembling as he attempts to expel the tension in his chest, "Don't know what I was thinkin'."

You dismiss his embarrassment with a wave of your hand. "Don't mention it." 

"How much do you know?" Ghost asks, the question uttered in a whisper. 

You consider his query carefully. A good question. How much did you know? Had the files revealed the total of Ghost's catastrophic timeline from Mexico to Manchester? Or was there still unforeseen information hidden behind censorship walls that even you couldn't worm your way behind at this high a rank?

You're careful in your choice of words, attempting to curb any particular language that could trigger upsetting recollections. "I know Roba used to brainwash you. Drug you. Make you fight."

"And?" Simon urges you onwards, his aureate irises staring coldly at you through the blackness of the grease paint and mask–– awaiting the agonising stab of the truth.  

"He used to offer sex or death as a means of control." You carefully place your palm against his shoulder, a warm and weighty presence to help ground him as you speak. "Attempted to hardwire your brain to find arousal in fear."

Ghost swallows. You see the bob of his Adam's apple beneath the thick material of the ski mask. A minuscule quiver of his eyebrow indicates his inner turmoil, the usually composed and inscrutable Lieutenant Riley slipping away as you peel away each layer of his trauma.

"Do you still? Find arousal in fear?" 

Silence twists your stomach; Ghost's incessant, piercing stare causes the hairs on your forearms to stand up. 

"On your knees, Riley."

"Yes, ma'am."

Simon sinks to his knees, slow and deliberate, in a latent attempt to please you. It's as though Everest has crumbled, its foundations bending beneath its enormous weight. Simon is an unshakeable force, an indomitable summit, yet when his patellas hit the floor, his giant palms meet the edges of your thighs in reverence for you. 

His touch is precious and delicate with its weight–– not as though he's afraid he'll break you, but more like he's trying so hard to earn your favour as his superior. His blonde lashes dip low, heavy-lidded, unable to stand looking at your face when he's laid bare for you like this. 

"Please." When Simon speaks, it's as though the cocktail of gravel and glass shards has excoriated the walls of his throat. It's broken, choked and pitchy as he begs you. "Please."

"Please what, Simon?" You query, maintaining an even, commanding tone. His eyelashes flutter slightly, trembling so prettily for you as arousal floods his spine. 

"Please, ma'am. Can I be of service?" It's spoken through his gritted teeth as though he's mortified that he's voicing these torrid desires, even in the vaguest terms. You slip your naked palm beneath the woven canvas of his mask, clutching his jaw and forcing his face upwards. 

It's amusing, you think, that Simon believes himself unreadable as long as he wears the skull mask. It couldn't be further from the truth. His eyes are so expressive, constantly betraying his innermost thoughts without even exposing the expressions of his visage. 

The probing gaze you offer him has him twitching in his camo cargo pants. You see his thick length bob against the fabric, aroused by the ease with which you read him. 

"Is that what you need, Riley?" It's rhetorical; you both know it. He's never required anything so desperately in his life. Simon had been lost in the Congo jungle without food for weeks and escaped a kidnapping attempt that had him stumble through the Iraqi desert without water, yet he looked at you with those keening eyes as though he'd die without a taste of you. 

"Tell me."

"Yes," he gasps, inhaling sharply as though he'd forgotten to breathe, "Yes, ma'am. Please, I need to tast––"

Simon barely manages to finish his sentence before he pushes his trembling fingers beneath the hem of his mask on his throat, shoving it over the point of his chin and balancing the bunched-up material on the bridge of his nose. He groans out as he fumbles with your khaki belt, unwinding it with great difficulty. 

While Simon busies himself with your zipper, your fingers delicately trace the silvering scars on his throat, many of Manuel Roba's love letters to evil etched into his ivory skin. The files had labelled each laceration and its cause; S2 below his chin issued by a butcher's knife, S5 against his clavicle the product of a dagger during a spar with another brainwashed hostage. You can't help but smile when your fingerprints find S7. 

"S7 - a two-inch superficial scar from a tricycle accident."

A desperate groan rumbles in Simon's chest when he shucks the waistband of your cargo pants over the flesh of your hips. Your hand quickly grasps the edge of the table when he buries his nose against your clothed cunt, your heavy-handedness knocking more of the long-forgotten gory images to the floor. 

"Fuck," Simon exhales, his warm breath fanning across the soaked fabric of your panties. "Thank you, Thank y- fuck."

Your gasp of pleasure catches even you off guard as Simon drags the flat of his tongue against the wetness of your underwear, a groan sneaking from his open mouth as he relishes in the taste. 

"This good, ma'am?" he breathes, hot and heavy against your core. He's desperate to please, a slight flush to the lower half of his cheeks that you can see. It takes you a moment to compose yourself, overwhelmed by the exposed flesh of his face. 

"Yes," you praise him as he uses his fingers to push aside the cotton in his way. "So fucking good for me, Simo-nhgn-" 

The tip of Simon's tongue seems to find your clit almost instantaneously, curling around the sensitive bud and teasing it as though he knew exactly what you needed. His moan is muffled and pathetic against your soaked cunt, lapping at your arousal and drowning himself in you. 

He keens when your fingernails dig into the soft flesh of his shoulder, digging reddening crescent moons into the skin. They blend amongst the charcoal of his tattoo sleeve, but they're there, little arches among the skulls, guns, and warfare. 

Simon paws at the backs of your thighs, spreading the wingspan of his fingers across the curve of your asscheeks and squeezes, using his hold to drag your body impossibly closer to his mouth. He nuzzles in, the tip of his nose teasing at your clit as he sinks the hot, wet flesh of his tongue into your entrance. 

"Hah-" you gasp out, Simon's moan vibrating against your needy clit forcing you to grind forward against his face in search of more friction. Your fingers find purchase in the fabric on the top of Simon's head, curling your knuckles around it but ensuring you don't lift the mask from his face. 

The Lieutenant feels your grazing fingers against his scalp, burying his face further into your pussy as he tastes your arousal from the source. He sighs heavily, shakily into your cunt as he savours the ambrosia on his tongue, greed forcing him in for more–– licking and tasting and sucking and swallowing more of you. 

"So good for me, Simon," you reward him, voice trembling as he assaults your cunt with his probing tongue. He retreats from the soaked flesh of your cunt to tease at your clit again. You can feel your pulse concentrating in it, thudding against his tastebuds. 

"Mhmm," he huffs, vast chest heaving with heavy breaths that add another layer of pleasure to your arousal as they waft over your wet pussy lips. You could cry when you look down at him, his eyelids drooping (one lower than the other thanks to the scar that ran across his left eyelid. "S4 - a superficial scar from a fist fight during detention in Mexico").

A single, calloused palm skirts around your waist, splaying wide across your lower abdomen as Simon feels the muscles beneath his hand tremble and tense at his ministrations. He groans again, his other hand teasing at your pussy lips from behind in a silent plea for entry. 

"Simon- Simon, do it," you urge him, desperate to be filled as he teased at your clit with his nimble tongue. You'd never had guessed a man so intent on disguising his countenance would have the perfect face to sit on. 

"Yes, ma'am," he responds, only momentarily before reestablishing the relentless rhythm of the swipe of his tongue. Then, without much warning, he sinks his index finger into your entrance. A delicate press of his fingertip at first, testing the waters, so to speak. Only when you let out a blissful sigh does Simon continue to ease the digit into you. 

His fingers are so thick. You stretch around him, your head dipping back between your shoulder blades and gasping a curse to the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. The bliss that sweeps through you is overwhelming, toes curling in your combat boots as you attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure. 

Simon won't let you. 

"Please," he moans in bliss as he pulls you closer again, your feeble body unable to fight his firm control when your limbs are gelatinous and malleable to his whims. 

His cock is bobbing beneath his cargos, a dark patch of precum soaking into the camo print. A flood of arousal drips through you, your eyes rolling back at the realisation that he might fucking cum in his pants, untouched, just with the taste of you.

"S-Simon-" you wail, losing all control as your voice cracks. "Right there-"

God, he ratchets up the intensity of your bliss by sinking another finger into you. It faces no resistance, sliding down to the knuckle with an ease that had you seeing stars when it pushes up against something utterly devastating within your abdomen. 

"There!"

Simon groans around your cunt, lathing his tongue over your throbbing clit with an eagerness that seems so alien for the stoic, unreadable Special Airforce Soldier. His fingers ease in and out of you ever so slightly, rocking back and forth against that mind-numbing spot inside you that has your knees buckling beneath your weight. 

"Oh my g-aha-" you choke on your words, both hands now fumbling to hold onto the table with a white-knuckle grip. Tension curls in the pit of your stomach, twisting and shape-shifting.  

You feel it before you hear it. The vibrations of Simon's desperate groans of bliss rock through your cunt before the sounds reach your ears, his mouth sloppy on your cunt as his own arousal begins to take root. The fingers not buried inside your walls take a bruising grip on your waist, branding you with his prints.  

He notches that paradisical spot inside you one more, and your failing knees quake at the vicious burst of ecstasy it unleashes. You moan loudly, the lewd sound wracking through your body as though Simon had just set off a stun grenade, light bursting through you with a crack. Your hips buck against his chin and nose mindlessly as you ride through the peak of your bliss. 

Simon lets his jaw hang loose, tongue flat as you ride against it— pathetic, utterly disgusting groans of delight drip from his lips as you use him. He pants, and you only just manage to force your eyes open as a particularly pitchy wail of your name to witness his undoing. 

His hips rock forward against nothing, just barely finding friction on the seam of his pants as his orgasm rocks through him. You watch his eyelids flutter and his brows twitch as he cums in his standard-issue military cargos. He slumps back slightly, jaw loose as he sucks in deep breaths. It's utterly unbecoming of someone who appeared so unshakeable, a submissive, needy man taking his place. 

At first, you allow him some space. The forceful inhale and trembling exhale of his lungs tick like a clock, in and out, in and out. Simon's hand delicately smoothes over the flesh of your ankle, a feeble attempt to feel close to you in this moment without overstimulating his vulnerable mind. 

When he lifts those honeyed eyes to you, searching for your comfort, you allow your palms to smooth down the fabric of his ski mask and offer him some privacy, restoring some dignity to the usually stoic Ghost. 

He leans into the weight of your palm for just a second. A barely there moment, like the grip of his biceps from earlier, the twitch of his brow. It fades quickly like his S7 scar, the dripping molasses of his eyes hardening beneath the skull image. 

"Not a word," you order him, tone aggressively authoritarian when you issue your directive. 

Ghost is glad for it, a curt nod of his head indicating his return to lucidity as he begins to rise to his feet. 

"Yes, ma'am." 

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[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s2 episode 7 thoughts

hmm. hmm. that is the sound if me pondering what i just watched.

(i understand that this episode was an analysis into mulder's self-destructive behaviors when faced with overwhelming grief, but. that does not mean i enjoyed vampire hookup time)

well. we shall start from the top!

i read that it was an episode about vampires which i thought was a weird narrative choice because. hello. scully still gone??? but then i remembered that i too ignored the main quest in skyrim to hunt some vampires and that i had no place to judge

(granted, my main quest wasn't finding scully though. might have given that a bit more priority than saving the whole world. because she IS my whole world)

we open with a guy that looks like joe biden meeting with an attractive young woman. they're making out in a hot tub and we just know someone is gonna get slurped upon. and woe, it be upon us! double vampire attack.

back in DC, mulder gets his old office back! it's covered in plastic. he takes some of it off. he adjusts his calendar from may to november, so we see how much time he and scully had been assigned to other tasks, which also has me wondering how she managed to get a new house that quick.

(also, this calendar is... scantily clad women posing next to tools such as hammers and saws. was this allowed? was this acceptable? was it normal? were the 90's a lawless wasteland and mulder an irreparable freak?)

well. scully is an x file now, and he puts her glasses and id into an evidence bag and closes the filing cabinet which was sooooo evil. but he can't bring himself to put her necklace away. oh man. oh he's gotta have it in case he finds her. he has to hold her close. i'm Fine this is Fine.

so. he goes out to california to deal with the joe biden looking fellow being murdered. and he is not wanted on the crime scene. we know this because someone greets him by saying "nobody called the bureau" and he says "well, they should have" and lifts up the tape to let himself in. because one thing about him is that he's gonna let himself into a place he isn't wanted.

he sees the writing of a bible verse in blood on the wall and says something about their grasp of biblical knowledge being "feeble and literal" and i was like okayyy need to have a theological discussion with him

he then scares the other guy who originally wanted to kick him out by reciting a LARGE amount of facts related to similar cases and it's very much giving photographic memory. got me thinking, have we ever seen this man forget something? (directions don't count. they're confusing. but everything else sticks in that man's brain)

he just needs one thing: a phone book. which he uses to call a blood bank and ask about a new guy. who must be the vampire who did this!

so he rolls up to the blood bank and i'm over here struggling because i do Not Do Blood, and i knew at this point this was gonna be a tough watch, but i didn't anticipate the non-blood related reasons why this would be true

anyway he's sniffing around the blood bank and he hears some slurping and wouldn't you know, this dude is tearing into a bag of the red stuff like it's a capri sun. somehow he gets him into custody, where the dude refuses to talk because the lights are on, and mulder comes in with a lamp he put a red filter over, because he was prepared for vampire interrogation.

the vampire is going on about how what he did isn't murder because it's not like animals hunting prey is murder which is. not the greatest approach in terms of legal defense. mulder tells the guard that the guy is delusional and it's best to play along, and he believed this to be true... until he, quite literally, burned to a crisp in the sunlight. and died.

he's talking to the coroner and rattling off a bunch of vampire facts and says he didn't believe in vampires which is so funny to me because like. why is that where you draw the line, my friend. not at bigfoot and definitely not at aliens. but man. vampires are just too out there for spooky mulder. until now!

the coroner has a very funny line: "you are really upsetting me... on several levels" which seems to be the general effect fox mulder has on people. and also because i felt the same way about his dumbass actions during this episode.

coroner finds a stamp on the dead body's hand, which seems to come from a nightclub. so naturally our fbi agent ends up there.

you often see posts saying that "(insert character here) should be at the club". i fear that this is not the case for fox mulder, but it's possible that it's his suit and tie that are throwing me off. he just doesn't seem like he belongs there. i ask myself, where should he be instead? perhaps some sort of star wars convention would suit him better. a book signing with some author he likes. idk, an interior decorating festival. not here.

i shall use my verbatim words to walk you through the next scene:

"pause. he's talking to a woman who was looking into a compact without a mirror. so. vampire suspect. and now why are they getting so close together. and getting a drink. okay now they're leaving to a new spot together? AFTER she admits to vampirism"

(here she did some stuff that required me to look away from my screen due to my Weak Constitution. but also it would have felt necessary to look away anyway because it was getting... charged)

she tries to get him to... suck on her finger... but he won't do it because aids. which is fair. i think that's a smart move, actually. it's just that getting flirty with a vampire he knows was involved with a ton of killings was such a stupid move, i don't know why it's now the braincells start to kick in.

that kills the vibe, though, so she gets another guy to take his place and things escalate.

mulder pulls in at a restaurant called ra. nice! the sun god! and he is... through a window, witnessing some more slurping action. he seems to want to intervene and save this poor soul being feasted upon...

but the poor soul is no poor soul at all! he comes out and decks mulder, and delivers this line with stunning conviction: "i don't know who you are, freak, but we're two consenting adults" and with this, he is forced to flee.

and yeah. it made me laugh. my expectations for the genre were subverted. he signed up for that shit! what he did not sign up for, however, was the next part, where he was killed by the other vampires.

cut to investigating the crime scene. mulder has brought along a forensic dentist, which is a job i had no idea you could go into. he needs to see about those bites, which are very human.

next they go to vampire woman's house. it's a very nice place. mulder... opens her oven. and sees a loaf of bread in there. and i'm thinking, man, i hope this doesn't go where i think it's going. baked goods... ovens... i never want a vampire pregnancy arc. but he cracks open the loaf and something red spills out and somehow, this to him means that she is gone and isn't coming back. he can read the signs of the bread. so add that to his resume. what did the bread tell you, my liege?

he seems to have stayed in her house, however, because he's there when she's back, and says he knows she was using the bread as a charm to ward off evil. because apparently that's an eastern european thing, blood bread to warn off evil. sound off if any eastern europeans in the chat wanna confirm or deny.

anyway. he's IN this woman he thinks is a vampire's HOUSE? what the hell. mulder seriously i need you to stop and think. like you should have stopped and done some thinking a while ago. honestly i'm not mad i'm just disappointed. and he's like "i want to save you come with me before they kill you" ohhh big tough man needs to save her huh. make him feel good inside. huh. certainly no ulterior motive here...

she's monologing about her horrible childhood and how sweet blood tastes. um girl. don't lie to him like that. i have busted my lip open before that stuff does NOT taste sweet and dangerous. it's like a penny with rust that you found in a parking lot.

it seems her vampiric origin story, if to be believed, is that things simply got too kinky. which is a new take on the genre.

(it's also about being caught in an abusive relationship and the damage that inflicts, but it seems abusive boyfriend came into vampirism at his kinky parties and things escalated from there. which. well. it blew the eyebrows clean off my head, to be fair)

at this point we see that he is WEARING SCULLY'S NECKLACE? he says something like "it's from someone i lost" and she says that she "hopes he finds her"

i did not like the undertones here and certainly not the overtones. because i knew where this was going. he was shaving in her bathroom. and let me tell you something: there is only ever a shaving scene in media because the writer needs a way to get some blood out of someone's body and into the real world. and man. i knew it was coming.

but what i didn't see coming was her SHAVING HIM??? girl. i am uncomfy. and she does, of course, cut him, and then they kiss. aggressively. terribly aggressively. can anyone answer what was going on in a satisfactory manner?

but the gag is: the original vampire- who burnt to a crisp in the jail cell, and was the abusive ex she spoke of- HE'S WATCHING THEM THROUGH THE WINDOW!

he breaks in and taunts the vampire woman about how he had to "wait for her to finish" and i was like cool. thank you SO much for that mental image i'm super happy with it. i definitely don't feel like i need a shower. but then he's going on about how he can't be killed.

here, at the tail end of the episode, we learn the rules of vampirism in this world: a vampire cannot be killed by a non-vampire. and a non-vampire BECOMES a vampire by consuming the blood of a believer and also taking a life. it is only here we realize that this woman is not an actual vampire yet, she just appropriates their culture by drinking blood unnecessarily.

mulder's still sleeping in her bed and she's like "you need to leave" and she stabs the wall to make her evil ex think she's killing him. but when they go to break out, mulder ties him up quite handily and he gets in the car to escape with vampire woman. until ANOTHER vampire woman jumps on the hood of their car. and main vampire woman knocks her out for a bit by running into her with said car, which is super effective.

mulder's leaving the place in shambles, his shirt still unbuttoned, wandering down the side of the hill. back at the house, now that we know the vampire rules, main vampire woman says she can finally kill the evil vampire ex. and he's like how!! you haven't had the blood of a believer or taken a life. so. she licks the blood off her hands (unclear if it's hers or mulders tbh) and says she'll take her own life. and drops a match after pouring gasoline.

so. that brings that to an end. and shabby looking mulder sits on a hill as he learns all four in the house died.

the episode ends with him playing with scully's necklace. which i don't even sort of feel like unpacking right now but maybe another time.

probably not, though, because i just didn't like this episode. and yeah, a lot of it comes down to me not wanting to see mulder hook up with people who aren't scully. can you blame me? is it so wrong to have preferences in this world?

but also, narrative wise- do you honestly see the guy fucking off to cali while scully's still missing to deal with an unrelated problem instead of devoting every hour of his life to finding her, like we saw him do in the last episode? you expect me to think he just puts it off for a lil while? the guy who, just last episode, pulled his gun on the ski lift operator to get to the top where she might be a little faster, and then choked his one and only suspect out of fury? you're thinking this is the guy that's gonna go soak up some west coast rays?

and yeah, he was obviously not himself through the episode- very cold and analytical- but c'mon. we all want to bang a vampire. he's not special. i just personally wouldn't do that if my friend were gone. like how is that gonna help the situation. be so for real. time and place!

and also the whole only learning the rules of being a vampire about 5 minutes before they need it to be plot relevant. that annoyed me too.

overall, mulder, like i said, i'm not mad, just disappointed.

let me know what you thought on this episode- i try to not be a hater, but i also understand that hating in small doses can be good for the soul. if it's a widely beloathed episode i'll feel better in my judgement as i join a long tradition of haters who have come before me.

[project-sekai-news]

Living Up to the Name - the Bad Dog

Welcome back to PJSK News! This is your reporter speaking, Hoshino Ichika. With me here is Tenma Saki, PJSK News' professional journalist.

Ichi, I'm not a pro -

Today we are reporting about the crime of Shinonome Akito, a player on a famous baseball team called the Street Sekai Bad Dogs. The crime he was convicted of is kicking a cat as he was walking down the sidewalk. Witnesses include photographer Azusawa Kohane and Senator Shiraishi An, who claims a baker and fellow Bad Dogs player Aoyagi Toya was also there but won't, quote unquote, "fess up."

Azusawa Kohane has taken a photo of the crime occuring, which we will show on the screen now. It is slightly blurred because she screamed and jumped while taking it.

Hey! I didn't scream! An pushed -

Ahem. As I was saying, the court will be held at 5:30 pm tomorrow in the Shibuya Courthouse. The offendant is Senator Shinonome Ena, the older sister of Shinonome Akito, who wasn't even there at the scene of the crime but jumped at the chance to throw her younger brother in jail. Her lawyer is Momoi Airi, a sought-out lawyer. The defendant is Shinonome Akito, and his lawyer is Aoyagi Toya, who did go to law school by force of his father but isn't actually a lawyer.

Ich - Hoshino, how are you so sure that Akito is going to be thrown in jail if the court hasn't even been held yet?

Because look at their lawyers, Tenma. Momoi has never lost a court case, and Aoyagi is a baker and baseball player. He went to law school, but against Momoi, his chances are pretty slim.

Yeah, that's true. Akito should have chosen a different lawyer.

Well, no one was willing to except for Aoyagi, and if Shiraishi was telling the truth, he should've seen Akito kick the cat. Either way, Akito is getting sentenced to jail for animal abuse.

Well, my brother will see you there, Akito!

What do you mean, your brother? Is the Pegasus -

He made a little girl cry at his last show and told me he was going to turn himself in.

Damn. Maybe Kamishiro will talk him out of it.

Doubtful! Onii-chan was screaming crying on the ground sobbing his - oh crap, we're still live, aren't we?

Wait - should I not be filming this?

Uh - that's all for PJSK News everyone! Join us next time as we report what happens next to Shinonome Akito!

Byeee~!

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

Akiyama should have the article up soon. She should be editing it right now.

I hope Onii-chan won't be too mad that I said that..

Tsukasa doesn't really care about those things though, does he? Also, how did he make her cry?

Oh! He went like..

I AM A WORLD!! FUTURE!! STAR!!!!! DANCE!! AND!! SING!!!!!! in perfect English!

That sounds like him, alright...

[theshslpumpkinghost]

Rose Ch2 Culprit Theory!!

(Spoilers for Ch2 Ep12! (and literally every episode before that too)

(i know it probably isn’t her, but i wanted to post my theory regardless! Also, this is unfinished, I just wanted to post it before Ep13 comes out- I’m so sorry to anyone who reads through my stupid little rambles-)

(reminder that all of this is silly stuff my brain thought of while i was sleep deprived after ep12 so- none of this is probably relevant-)

I was looking at DRDT culprit theories for Ch2 and randomly though what if it's Rose-? 'Cause after they found the body, Rose was right outside the room, in the hallway- She was the one who found evidence that nobody else would have found, since it was hidden in the trash can, and more than that, it was evidence that specifically framed someone else. She mentions not wanting to see the body, so she's unable to help with the crime scene, unlike in ch1, where she helps by using her photographic memory to draw a picture of the crime scene before it got disturbed.

But WHAT IF the reason she doesn't want to go in is because she doesn't want to end up accidentally revealing herself as the killer- Like- First off the BDA thing, where 3 people who hadn't seen the murder needed to set it off- This isn't actual evidence, really, but i thought i could mention it- uh- Anyways! Another way she might reveal herself as the killer is being too- useful- Like, how Min volunteered to help Teruko investigate in Ch1, but it was actually just to make sure Teruko didn't figure out it was her. So- Rose could've made a fair assumption that Teruko or someone else could be suspicious- And so she used the excuse of not wanting to see the body as a way to get out of it.

The reason she might want to escape is because of her family- Who she put into debt and also got them out of it- So she obviously cares about them, ergo, motive for murder. (maybe she was reminded of this when Teruko told her the secret she got-? idk lol)

Plus, she mentions the grippy tape in the gym, and how she used it to be able to do a pullup- So she could've used it to get a better grip on the spinny thing during the murder. (I know it’s probably just a way for the tape to be introduced before the murder) She could've taken it from the gym whenever, and since she's the one who mentioned it was missing- Could be to get rid of suspicion. although she wasn't there when the tape disappeared from the gym, you can't rule out that she might have an accomplice- Or she could be the accomplice, either or-

Also, I've seen a lot of culprit Eden with accomplice Levi, but what about culprit *Rose* with accomplice Levi- Just a thought I had.

Rose culprit with Levi accomplice theorists wya

Another thing is the fact that she hides her face when talking to Teruko in the hallway after Arei's body is found- which means we can't see her expression. And since her voice is usually monotone, even when talking about stuff she cares for, we can't get any clues about her emotions from that either-

She's also the first one to mention that the evidence from the murder is probably hidden on the second floor, since it would be difficult to make elevator trips without people noticing it- This isn't *too* suspicious, but also, it could be. Because sometimes Danganronpa is so fucking sneaky and hides stuff in obvious places-

None of this is really concrete evidence it's her, even though she *does* try and push everyone back to assuming the murder happened at night, rather than in the morning like Teruko proved it did, during episode 12- And in Ch2 in general, Rose has been- kind of derailing the trial a bit. Not too noticeably, but a few things-

1- She *did* agree with Ace somewhat when he brought up Nico being the killer. Which is understandable, considering that they *did* lie and steal from her- But it could also be evidence of her trying to blame someone else for it without being overly suspicious.

2- She spends some time in Ch2 Ep9 trying to convince people that Arei committed suicide and not murder. Maybe a normal assumption, but given that they're in a murder trial, talking about a murder, and Veronika had already mentioned that Arei wouldn't have been able to snap her neck by jumping from the swingset- Plus the rule that if it *was* suicide, MonoTV wouldn't hold a trial. And since Rose has a photographic memory, she should've remembered that, right? She even mentions this- in the trial- She then brings up the possibility of assisted suicide, instead of continuing with the murder assumption like everybody else- Rose could've helped Arei kill herself, but this isn't a theory about that, it's about her being a murderer so-

Also, she hasn't fallen asleep once in T2 yet. Which is- strange considering she did in T1. And plus the fact that she possibly uses sleeping as a form of escapism. Maybe because she needs to contribute more to this trial for it to work, but it's still suspicious- I might just be reading too much into it idk- Maybe the reason she isn't sleeping this trial because she doesn't have anything to specifically try and escape right now. Unlike T1, Rose supposedly didn't see Arei's body, so she wouldn't be trying to forget it by sleeping through the trial.. But that's also not really evidence, mostly just guesses-

(Another thing- When the fish in the playground are brought up, she seems like she's going to say something- But then J interrupts and Rose just stops talking. Probably doesn't mean anything but I'm putting every Rose trial scene in here- )

She also doesn't have a reaction to the note being brought up, but she joins in after Teruko asks to see the note for the second time. She mentions how she and Whit figured Teruko wouldn't mind as much if Eden was the one who had the note- probably so Teruko could easily check if Eden was lying.

Rose doesn't talk for a while after that, but almost at the end of episode 10 she mentions that she doesn't have an alibi. Of course, this doesn't mean much, considering what happened in episode 12 where they find out that they got the whole time of the murder wrong- Which leaves almost nobody with an alibi. But I had to mention it so-

After that, she doesn't speak up again until Ace is mentioned as a suspect, and then she only mentions that Ace being on the second floor is suspicious. Which, again, normal assumption, but just let me have this- And after that, she brings up David's 'secret' of family depression not being on the board- Which starts David's whole Nagito arc that apparently lasted 2 hours-

Okay! Now on to episodes 11 + 12! Rose doesn't show up at the beginning part but she does show up when the others are talking about David's real secret. She mentions that no actual good came out of David pushing them to share their secrets- And then after that her only line immediately after David's reveal was just her talking about her memory again- And then after David and Hu's whole.. conversation, Rose mentions how David is 'Definitely the killer.' Which is, well, what everybody else assumed, too- I just think it's interesting how Rose only shows up in this trial when somebody else is being blamed.

After David's whole 'I killed Arei, blah blah blah' moment, Rose speaks up and says they should just vote now. Levi agrees, and he actually almost tells MonoTV to start the voting time. She's really pushing for just whoever seems the most suspicious at the moment- I mean, plenty of characters have done it, but it's still really interesting to me. Mostly because if Teruko hadn't stopped them, everyone would literally be dead. David's plan would've worked-

Okay! Now Ep12-

Rose doesn’t show up for a lot of it- again- But her first appearance in this ep was when Teruko realised her mistake. All she does is say that it was kind of a big mistake and that’s it. Nothing else about it from Rose. She doesn’t speak up during Arturo’s rant either. Rose is shown when Charles asks if anyone has any counterpoints against Arei being killed at 7:30AM, but she doesn’t say anything.

And then they go back to alibis, and like before, Rose still doesn’t have one. She never has one, because she’s always asleep- But that’s not evidence, really, because nobody (besides 3 people) even have an alibi for this-

She doesn’t show up during David’s monologue either, but then nobody really shows up during that besides J, David, Hu, and Teruko, so-

She comments on how scary Hu is after she interrupts David, but Rose still hasn’t contributed much in this ep- Although it was more focused on David and Xander, so that makes sense. When they talk about alibis again, Rose still doesn’t have one. Which isn’t surprising. After that, but before Levi derails the trial, Rose speaks up and mentions not having any clues and not knowing where to go from here-

But that’s all for this theory so far! uh.. I’ll probably finish it at some point- but i wanted to get it out before ep13 so- I’m so sorry to anyone who reads through this absolute rambling bullshit-

[julieverne]

When they'd first met, Maura had felt something inexplicable.

Irritation, sure.

But Jane found Maura in the morgue later, cutting up one of the Johns. Ate a whole Danish, propped in the doorway, robe draped over her skanky little skirt, makeup still plastered on her face, heels higher than Maura had ever worn. Her badge hung over the gown, and Maura didn't want to ask where she kept her gun.

But she did, and Detective Rizzoli had choked on her Danish and laughed, a sound so deep and pleasant that Maura let herself bathe in it for a moment, wondering if she would get an answer.

She never did, but instead she got the second Danish in the bag, sweet and glazed and full of complex carbohydrates.

She'd felt it then. A sense of being comfortable. She relaxed when Detective Rizzoli appeared for autopsies, and thanked her when she chased away that awful Crowe.

Jane always gave her a slanted grin, a raised eyebrow, and a promise that she'd ask the same of Maura one day.

--

Detective Rizzoli made the promotion to homicide she'd wanted.

"You know, this means we get to spend more time together," Jane told Maura, her voice low, as though they were co-conspirators. Something about Jane had Maura feeling like a giddy teenager, and Maura had never, ever been a giddy teenager. Maura looked up with her usual flat smile, seeing a flash of hurt behind Jane's eyes and knowing she'd caused it.

"Congratulations, Detective Rizzoli," Maura said, her voice and tone as flat as her smile. Jane shrugged and pulled away; she'd been reading a report Maura had been typing from over her shoulder, her surprisingly soft breasts pressing against Maura's back. If she turned her head, she'd be afforded a view she wasn't sure she could handle, not with the memory of Jane's warmth against her shoulder blades. When she'd almost reached Maura's office door, Maura relented.

"I'll miss you in those heels," she said, blushing and wishing she'd said anything else. Jane's grin was cheeky and her hand rested gently on the doorframe as she swung back to look at Maura.

"I bet my ass you will," Jane said, eyebrow raised, and Maura's blush deepened further. She'd thought she'd been discrete with her glances to the other woman's posterior, but apparently she'd been caught out. Jane's grin was knowing but not unkind, and Maura's mouth quirked up shyly to match her smile. Jane's eyes softened, and so did her mouth, and Maura felt that something inexplicable rise in her chest again. Jane tapped the doorframe twice, as though she was about to say something else, but instead she just tucked a corner of her bottom lip into her mouth and nodded three times, pushing away from the doorframe with her endless energy.

--

Maura was one of the first on the scene. Korsak beat her, cleared the room, covered Jane with his coat while the crime techs photographed the basement.

Jane was sobbing, somewhere. While Maura examined the other woman in the basement, already knowing what she'd seen, what had been done to her. She left Hoyt, bleeding, on the floor. The ambulance could deal with him, and he was cuffed and taken out before they arrived.

Korsak beckoned Maura over.

"She always said she likes you, and hell, I can't help her with these bear paws." He held up his thick hands. "And I can't wait for the ambulance."

Maura glanced over at the other woman. Catherine. She'd been sedated and one of Maura's lab techs was sitting with her, along with a detective. She'd been tied, and her bound hand been loosed.

So when Korsak drew back his coat, Maura gasped. She hadn't expected - tears sprang into her eyes. She touched Jane gently on the chin, making eye contact before Jane nodded and squeezed her eyes shut.

There was a reason Maura didn't doctor the living. She never knew what to say, how to interact with them. But she knew Jane. She slipped on fresh gloves and heard the ambulance. A few blocks away still, but she couldn't leave Jane like this a moment longer. Right now she was calm; almost catatonic. In a moment she might struggle and injure herself further. Dimly Maura was aware of Korsak shielding Jane from view, from cameras, from people, keeping Maura and Jane secluded while Maura worked as quickly as she could.

She gave Jane a quick sedative.

"This is going to hurt," she warned Jane, grasping a scalpel that penetrated the entirety of one of those thin, strong hands. Jane's jaw clenched.

"Didn't think otherwise," Jane said, some of her former bravado returning.

Maura prepared gauze, laying it on Jane's stomach over her shirt. She readied herself. When she was unable to avoid looking at Jane any longer, Jane's eyes were soft and full of something Maura couldn't read.

"Rescue me," Jane said, too quiet for Korsak. She wasn't angry or impatient, just resigned to her fate.

"The paramedics are here, I'm sure they have more experience..."

"No. You're the only person I'm going to let touch me."

"It's not-"

"In your job description. I know. But you're the only person who can see me like this and not think any less of me, because you couldn't care less."

Maura's brow furrowed, but she pulled the scalpel free, Jane's breath hissing out of her sharply, Korsak turning to check in, then looking away again quickly, giving them their privacy.

One down. Maura doused the hand in antiseptic and loosely bound it. She swallowed as she reached over Jane, crouched on the grimy basement floor in a dress that cost more than the house and land. She looked down at Jane.

"I could care less. But I don't." Jane's brow furrowed as she tried to follow the logic. Her eyes caught on Maura's chest as she leaned over her, and her breath caught as well. "I don't want to do this because I don't want to hurt you. I don't want you to associate this with me, because I think we were good colleagues, and we might have been more if you hadn't asked me to do this."

Maura pulled the second scalpel out, dousing Jane's right hand, her left already cradled to her chest. Jane sat up, trying to struggle to her feet, and Maura stopped her.

"I bet your Ma always used to kiss it better, huh?"

Jane froze completely, her dirty face streaked with tears, her eyes caught on Maura's lips like a beacon in the open sea. Jane swallowed harshly; Maura had been trying to distract her. With the sedative she'd be unable to get to her feet on her own. She could hear the paramedics assessing Catherine, readying to take her from the basement. She could hear Korsak explaining the state he'd found Jane in. She was running out of time.

She balanced carefully, then leaned in and kissed Jane's temple, feeling the sedative kick in, feeling the weight of Jane's body resting against her. She held her.

"There. All better," Maura said, her voice dull, but Jane just nestled deeper, her dirty face leaving marks on a dress that Maura never had the nerve to clean and the soft, white flesh beneath it in the space over her heart.

Jane had made her feel something.

--

"Your brother gave your mother my number. Not my work number, my personal number I gave you. For personal reasons. I feel like I need to reassert my professional boundaries."

"Well, I'm off-duty," Jane said, struggling to sit up. Maura helped her reflexively, the body beneath the gown warm against her hands. "So technically you're bringing work to me."

Maura chuckled and saw the way Jane's head shot up, looking at Maura like she'd won a prize.

"She called to thank me. Apparently you talked about me a lot?"

Maura sat in the visitor's chair at Jane's bedside, seeing Jane's eyes watch her cross her legs. They were just shins, but Jane eyed them like a perp in an alleyway.

"I might have been unduly harsh, when you were sedated," Maura said by way of apology.

"You said you cared." Jane's voice was low and almost scared.

"I did. I do. Oh, here." Maura dug in her bag for the chocolates she'd brought with her. Jane waited expectantly, and Maura realised uneasily that she'd have to feed them to her. She washed her hands carefully in the adjoining bathroom, then unwrapped a single chocolate. Jane's hands were covered in bandages, and she was on a morphine drip. She took the chocolate from Maura's fingers like Cleopatra taking a grape from a lover. Maura blushed and looked away as Jane chewed with her eyes closed.

"What the hell was that?" Jane asked, her voice awed.

"I told you about them - I thought you might like them." Maura wet her lips as she unwrapped a second chocolate, Jane's mouth open and ready for her, her lips brushing against Maura's fingers as she took it from her.

Already deeply blushing, Maura couldn't look away from Jane's mouth.

"I only meant some of it." Jane admitted when she stopped chewing. "I hate being vulnerable. I hate that Korsak saw me like that, I hate not being able to do anything for myself. It's why I told Frankie not to hand out my room number at the precinct."

Jane licked her lips, tracking down a crumb of chocolate. Maura leaned forward and wiped a second crumb away, surprised when Jane's tongue stole it from her thumb. She unwrapped a third, unsure what Jane was trying to say. The medication would have kicked in, and she might not mean it now either.

It had hurt, when Jane said Maura didn't care about her. Maura already cared too much. There was a constant tug in her chest when Jane was nearby. Seeing her tortured hadn't made it any easier. It had just made her prouder of Jane, more protective. Jane had shown herself to Maura in her most vulnerable moment, and Maura had gazed at her like the night sky through her first telescope.

Jane chewed thoughtfully.

"You're not exactly easy to get to know. But you pride yourself on being professional and detached. I went for your pride, but I hurt you in doing so, and that was wrong of me. I didn't want anyone else touching me because I couldn't have stood it. You were with me. You understood. You understand. You do, don't you?"

Tears in her eyes again, Maura nodded. Jane nodded too, swallowing hard. She blinked and laughed.

"You looked at me like that, and everything made sense for a single moment. You didn't pity me, or think of me as a victim. You were just happy to see me. The way you always are."

Maura thought back to the first time she'd noticed herself relax once Jane arrived at a crime scene, at an autopsy. She trusted her, and was pleased when she arrived.

But happy to see Jane? Surely not. She looked down at a woman who looked much smaller lying down, and she reached out with her bare hand and touched Jane's forearm. Jane's skin was warm and brown and welcoming, and a smile split Jane's face.

"I'm happy to see you too," Jane admitted. "Hit me."

"Huh?"

"Chocolate. Hit me."

Maura removed her hand from Jane's arm, knowing Jane knew she found human contact uncomfortable. But she left it there a little later, when the opiates had rendered Jane unconscious. For her own comfort as well as Jane's.

The older woman who came in a little later was familiar - Maura had met Jane's mother before. She went to get out of the chair, but Angela pressed her back down, then leaned over to kiss first Jane's temple and then Maura's own, her hand resting on Maura's shoulder. She knew, too, that Maura found touching awkward, but she was so physically expressive that Maura knew this was the bare minimum Angela could stand to give.

"You belong there, honey," Angela insisted, and Maura glowed.

She'd found where she belonged, and it was at Jane's side.

[carefulfears]

feel free to ignore if this question is too morbid dcjhfg but, what do you think it was like for scully to perform an autopsy on mulder's mother? i keep thinking about how wild that is and how we didn't get any reference to it afterward. she dissected his mom!! that's a new form of intimacy!!!

babes. babes. i think about this all the time.

(cw for mentions of suicide below the cut)

she dissected his mom. the thing about sein und zeit is that it takes everyone's usual roles (and especially methods of deflection) and breaks them down to the literal ground, makes it so much more corporeal (bordering on carnal), and punishing than anyone can bear.

scully is a pathologist, she's "death's best girl," she finds comfort in connection to the dead. in that moment at tena's house (another of mulder's homes turned into the scene of a crime), there's so much said in her "oh, no, mulder. please don't ask me to do this."

(when has he ever not asked of her, when has she ever not followed)

"i mean, it's one thing on a stranger, but you're my friend, and she's your mother."

this is scully's job. this is her role. this is what she does, in their lives. he comes up with the theory, she does the autopsy and finds the evidence to counter or support it. this is the one/two step of their years together. but just as his persistent ideology is failing, as is her refuge in the clinical.

the language is specific and purposeful, "you're my friend." that term means something to them, it means something in this story. it's not been long since they stood in his hallway, "you were my friend, and you told me the truth." she has memorized everything that he has ever said.

when he responds, "i know, but if you don't do it, i might never know the truth," it's all over. when has he ever not asked of her, when has she ever not followed.

this is not a stranger. this is a body that scully knows. this is a person that she last saw on surveillance tape, signing her son over to the devil, cigarette smoke framing her face. this is a person whose home she stood in, when scully was the only person anyone looked in the eye, the only person who could hear the violence in the next room. this is a hospital bed she held her crying partner next to, years ago.

this is the person who took the photos that have ground their journey, the ones in his home, maybe the one on the desk she writes her reports at. she will later find copies of those photos burnt in the photographer's trash.

the first time that scully met tena, it was at a funeral. it was to share hope. "i told your mother that you were gonna be okay. i just knew."

but now, it's been a long time, and that kind of faith is harder to come by.

"She hasn’t spoken to him since Monday night, when he’d told her he was going to take a couple of days. She’d seen him yesterday, though. Driving carefully parallel to the path where he usually runs, taking the long way home to catch a glimpse of him, fogged and out of breath, between the trees. Sometimes, she could admit to scaring herself."

-throat, eye and knucklebone by audries

this is not a stranger, this is a body that scully knows, and when she does what is asked of her, there are no surprises in the truth. tena took her own life and she did not leave a note, she took her "unsaid" words and answers to her grave.

(in pusher, it was when the gun was pointed at his own head that mulder didn't hesitate to pull the trigger. in demons, yet another home turned into a crime scene, twice over, as scully carefully walked up to see his gun at his jaw. in gethsemane....if the phone hadn't rung in gethsemane, would he have left a note?)

what sein und zeit makes painfully obvious, is just how fragile it all is. what a house of cards this quest is, this family is, scully's life is. in the end, it was one little girl's disappearance that built it, and another's that tore it down.

(this is what CSM warns scully against the next day, in closure. "out of kindness, agent scully. allow him his ignorance. it's what gives him hope." allow him his hope, agent scully. it'll break everything you have.)

scully's first appearance in sein und zeit is in the motel room in sacramento, when her annoyance at having to track her partner across the country to collect his homework turns into visible fear the first time mulder says "she's not dead," as the news report on amber lynn lapierre plays.

when mulder's phone rings, and his mom is watching the same news feed, there's more of a connection between him and his mother than there has been in years.

"I'm watching the news. That little girl in California...you're out there, aren't you?" "Yes, I am. Are you okay, mom?"

for nearly 30 years, the last remaining members of this family have sustained on repression and fantasy, respectively. when the tape plays on another family's loss, neither method of coping can withstand confrontation with the physical.

"A closed-mouth smile as he flicks through files on their cornered computer table. 'I am my father’s son.' Except that he isn’t. He is his mother’s son. She knows that with a hyper-specific intimacy, the way she could tell you the periodic table, the chambers of a heart, the location of the aneurysm that killed the fourth cadaver she’d cut open at Stanford. That is: she know through science and biology. Through blood and white gloves."

-throat, eyes and knucklebone by audries

when amber lynn lapierre goes missing, both mulder and tena lose the refuge they've built for themselves. it speaks to the core of this story, and this "quest": every single person on earth is valued as samantha should have been. every single loss on earth is connected, is a reminder and an opportunity.

ultimately, truth is unescapable, and ignorant hope (or avoidance) only lasts so long. mulder and his mother are suffering the same conflict, and she doesn't survive it.

scully is not exempt.

[preciouslandmermaid]

"as the tides turn" (c.m.)

summary:

The BAU, joined by Emilia Wren, are called to Florida to investigate a case where the unsub drowns their victims and then dumps their body at a secondary location. Can they locate and stop the killer before it's too late?

This story was written using the "showrunners challenge", so at the end of each chapter, I rolled a D12 and followed whatever prompt was listed...which resulted in only minor hiccups.

cw/tw: mentions of drowning. it's a case fic, so they're talking about murder and unsubs and all the usual things that happen during a CM episode.

(read on ao3) || fic has 5 chapters

CHAPTER ONE: "as the tide rolls in"

“What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams.” - Werner Herzog

Florida's oppressive, wet humidity ran its sticky fingers down the middle of Spencer’s back and cupped the nape of his neck in clammy rivulets of sweat. He shifted uncomfortably and swatted away an errant gnat that flew into his face. The rank of low tide and the sound of crying gulls surrounded the team, though he suspected they would soon be overwhelmed by white vans and clamoring reporters. This was, ironically enough, their few seconds of peace before the storm hit.

“Man was out walking his dog and saw her,” Deputy Roman said, “called it in right away.”

Hotch asked, “No other witnesses? And he didn’t approach the body?”

Roman shook his head. “I think it’s pretty obvious she’s been here awhile,” the deputy said while lifting the yellow police tape for Spencer and their newest member, Emilia, to enter the crime scene. Although considering Emilia was barely five feet tall, she didn’t need to duck as much as he did to cross the line. They maneuvered past crime techs taking photographs of the beach, and the body, and collecting samples of sand and seaweed.

“The unsub has familiarity with the tides,” Emilia said as she crouched next to the body, her short dark brown hair swaying in the seaside breeze, “he knew when to dump the body.”

“So, the unsub wants the victims found.” Hotch’s dark brow furrowed.

Spencer shot a glance toward Emilia, though his attention was swiftly drawn to the deceased—murdered–woman on the beach. She was Caucasian, likely in her early to mid-twenties, with blonde hair and dark roots. Her cheeks were puffy and ashen, and he could see her eyelids' delicate, blue veins. The deputy said the body had been here a while, but that couldn’t be accurate.

“A coastal area like this one would experience two tidal bulges,” Spencer said, “and it takes about six hours and twelve and half minutes for the water to go from high to low tide.”

Morgan crossed his arms and looked at the tall, blonde-haired deputy. “This is a small beach for residents only. How many go through here in a day?”

“This time of year? Not many, I’m afraid.” He rubbed his mouth. “Most of the residents in this area are snowbirds. They start flying to their second homes by mid-June.”

“Her body has started to bloat which means she’s been dead for at least seventy-two hours,” Emilia cut in, “and based on the tidal bulges, as Reid said, there’s only a six-hour window before the sea would’ve swallowed her.”

“We need confirmation from the medical examiner,” Spencer said, “humidity increases the decomposition rate.” He met Emilia’s honey-brown eyes framed by long lashes clumped with mascara. She tilted her head slightly in acknowledgment but said nothing more. A surge of relief swept through him. He had lived with himself long enough to recognize that sometimes his instinct to fact-check or correct, could rub people the wrong way, and put them on the defensive, and thankfully that had not happened with Emilia. Not ever, actually, now that he considered it. Usually, she’d reply with a soft and pensive ‘thank you’ whenever he’d share an anecdote.

Hotch said, “Either way, it’s clear the unsub killed her and then moved her here.” He took his phone from inside his blazer pocket. “Reid, head back to the station and start the geographical profile. We’ve got two bodies and two different dump sites that are miles away from one another.”

Spencer nodded.

“Deputy Roman, I need your people canvassing the area. If there’s a chance any of these homes are being rented while their owners are away that means someone could’ve seen something.”

“I think if someone saw or heard a woman being murdered then they would’ve called 911,” said Roman smugly.

Spencer opened his mouth to reply, but Emilia beat him to it.

“Our suspect likely drives a van or truck, considering they were able to transport a body,” she said, “have your guys ask about suspicious or unfamiliar vehicles within the past week or so.”

“Week?!”

“This unsub is organized and would’ve vetted the area beforehand.”

“Garcia,” Hotch said into his phone while walking toward the car, “we need catastrophic incidents in the area within the past five years.”

“I shall wave my magic wand and return with your wish granted, sir,” Garcia said, as chipper as ever before disconnecting.

“Wren–” he looked at Emilia, “I want you and JJ to interview the first victim’s mother.”

“Yes, sir.”

Spencer slid into the backseat next to Emilia. The leather interior stuck to his palms, though he was grateful for the rush of air conditioning that expelled in a rush from the vents and tousled his light brown hair.

Morgan twisted in the passenger seat, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head, and his attention on Emilia. “Nothing like returning to your hometown, huh little bird?”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes and Spencer’s body went taut and quiet. Hometown?

“First of all, we lived fifty miles upstate,” she said while leveling Derek with a flat, intense stare. “And it hardly constitutes a ‘hometown’ when I lived there for a mere two years when I was fourteen.”

Derek smiled. “Fourteen is an impressionable age. You could’ve been a lifeguard instead of an FBI agent.”

Her lips quirked. Derek had that easy-going charm to him that most – especially women – found either irresistible or endearing. He scanned her face, checking for the telltale signs of attraction: dilated pupils, quickened breath, flushed cheeks, or mirroring body language. It was instinctual to him. He had to consciously turn off the parts of his brain that profiled and analyzed. But, Emilia leaned into her seat, crossed her legs, and replied to him with a casual, and straightforward tone.

“I think my innate sense of morality and justice would’ve put me on this path one way or another.”

“Nature versus nurture.”

Spencer found his moment to chime in, “John Locke said that ‘the mind is like a tabula rasa, a blank slate, which is later filled by experience,’ and that we, with the freedom of our individuality, must fill our lives with experiences to gain knowledge and understanding. If we follow Locke’s philosophy, then we wouldn’t be born with a sense of justice built in, but rather experience hundreds to thousands of different moments and memories that shape our perception towards the world, our interpersonal relationships, and our relationship to the concepts of justice, morality, and ethics.”

“Says the boy genius with an 187 IQ,” Morgan teased.

“Hey, his mom was a professor,” Emilia said, rising to Spencer’s defense with a light smile which in turn made his chest glow with warmth.

Before Morgan could make a counter-argument, his phone rang and Garcia’s bright voice sang out over the speakerphone. “Hello, my beauties. I’ve got the deets on our first victim, Mary-Anne. She was majoring in fashion design, although, she took several of her general education classes at the local community college before transferring.”

“Nice work, baby girl,” Morgan said, “how’s the staff look? Has anyone fired or filed grievances in the past six months?”

“No terminations, although one professor was put on academic probation.”

“Keep digging, Garcia,” Hotch said, “until we identify our Jane Doe, Mary-Anne is the only link to the unsub.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Chapter Two ->]

Some general housekeeping if you are curious: 1) Every roughly 1k words, I end the chapter and roll my d12 to see what happened next. 2) I told myself that this fic would take place over a single case and would end once the investigation did (much like the in TV show). 3) credit to this challenge goes to Runawaymarbles (also sorta by sprintingowl) on Tumblr 4) I'd love to hear any feedback considering this was my first time writing a challenge :,) Enjoy!

I rolled my D12 and got the number 3 which reads: Fan favorite. Your most recently mentioned character (or named object) is now beloved by the audience. You must give it a bigger part in the story, a special destiny, or an important new romance or friendship. If you get this twice for the same character or object, the adoration cools and you must go back to treating the character or object normally.

[hazbinhappy]

NOW I’ll get back to matchups and requests :D anyways here is her redesign and some more facts ugh she’s so mother

I wasn’t lying when I said she was a sweetie and nice, but she’s still in Hell and is (unfortunately) Val’s daughter so she does have the tendency to try and manipulate things her way

Not that she’s a manipulator but she will take an opportunity if she sees one

Pretty privilege to max she will use it if she needs something (she feels guilty on the inside, but only whines and complains to Velvette or the models about it); often seems like she’s fishing but she doesn’t like how easy it is sometimes

As much as she is a photographer, she will be a model occasionally! Not often, but she will stand in if needed

She ended up being a big snacker when she was alive because she was a caffeine addict so she never truly felt hungry (that did translate into death and it got so much worse. This girl has not had a drop of water in DECADES so girl is dehydrated and rarely eats)

She actually like Alastor. She finds him “an interesting creature” and wants to know more about him than just the true crime case she’s heard about (Vox hates that she is acquaintances with him but he’s just a jealous bitch cause only one out of the 4 of the them got to keep contact with that weird deer)

Okay a rewrite though is that her soul isn’t owned, BUT that doesn’t mean she didn’t make a deal. Her and Velvette made an agreement that they’re both binded too.

She does have a couple souls under her belt but they’re just workers for her

Her sweetness really fucks with people because they think she’s using them (she’s not, but she won’t be upset if she can get something)

Val and her twin in being a bit ditzy 😅 she’s not dumb, certainly has more brain cells than Val, but she is occasionally a bit slow

She doesn’t utilize all 4 of her hands like Angel or Val and that’s because she completely forgets that she has them (as if it’s not extra weight there) but when she remembers she uses them to just hold her phone or purse

I think I mentioned she had shit sight and it’s still true, she refuses to wear glasses (she wants to differentiate herself from her father as much as she can so she’ll take the poor vision as a photographer plus’s she goes based off of light and movement 80% of the time the other 20% is her actually moving the model or set pieces)

Okay I just learned but apparently Rosy Maple moth are the smallest of the silk moths and it’s very fitting for this because I made her like half of Val’s height due to the fact that in life and death he’ll always be/feel superior to her no matter what (when they genuinely fight it’s like a whole fight so it’s a bit funny to see someone so short fight with someone so tall)

like he infantilizes her, he’ll always see her as his princess (i humanize him a bit too much but those are the scariest villain y’know. The ones who have a family and put on a front for other and be monsters behind the scenes)

Anyways he never laid a single hand on her, but she wasn’t immune to him being sassy or saying demeaning and degrading things when he was mad (he was mentally abusive with her but not on purpose)

I could go on forever about her relationships with the V’s

Velvette and her are actually really cute behind doors; femme x femme

They feed into each others obsessions like no other so their areas of the tower are messsyyyyy

Vox and her are a bit weird because she doesn’t really need to see him and he’s close with Val

But she loves fucking with him though it’s fun to when she’s feels mischievous and bitchy

If she ever has a good relationship with Val again she’d be messing with me 24/7 like no tomorrow

She refuses to do overly sexually photos for Val and his workers, she lets the people she own do that. She will, as she did in life, stay as far away as she can

[aurora-australis-tumbles]

Oooh, you’re doing prompts!!!!!!!! I’m feeling very drawn towards 9 for Phrack since I know you’re okay with modern AUs and I would love to see your take on this prompt, or maybe 10 as an alternative! Thank you! 💕

Of course! And thank you for indulging my love of Modern AUs. ❤️

Also, I'm always open to prompts, I just don't always have these lovely lists. It's kind of the only way I get anything written these days. 😂

Anyway enjoy!

#9: Taking pictures when the other’s not watching

-------

It starts with Phryne.

(Doesn't it always?)

She’s somehow spirited her way into the middle of his most recent crime scene, a lounge act where a magician’s assistant has found herself suddenly and unfortunately in an unplanned double act with herself.

She’d feel bad about sailing past the new crime scene photographer (a fresh-faced boy named Matty who reminds her so much of Hugh when they first met that she’s rather tempted to get a new assistant just to see if history repeats itself) except he has the utter temerity to call her ‘ma’am’ as he tries to stop her.

(She tries not to take too much joy in the way he flinches at her predatory smile after he does.)

When she tries to take a photo of the murder weapon, however, she is stopped by much sterner stuff.

(Even if he is not nearly so stern as when they first met.)

“No personal photos at the crime scene, Miss Fisher. I’m not sure why I have to remind you every time. It’s why we have an authorised photographer.”

“They’re not personal, Jack, it’s not as though I’m taking them of you.”

“All the same, phone away please.”

Phryne huffs and makes a big show of dropping her phone into her purse and waving her now empty hands at him in the snippiest manner possible.

“Happy?” she asks.

“Ecstatic,” he replies, so dry it should be served in stemware.

Her smile is even more predatory at that, but Jack never flinches.

Later, he can’t decide if he’s more surprised or impressed to find the photos on her phone all the same.

“How…?”

“It’s all in the hands, Jack.” She waves them at him again, less snippy, more salacious. “Magic is all about misdirection. Look at where I’m not and not where I am, and all that.” He raises an eyebrow, but does not otherwise comment.

“Prestidigitation,” she whispers cheekily, and he rolls his eyes.

“Look,” she adds, in that overly cheerful tone that always means trouble for him. “I even got a good one of you. I suppose I did take a personal photo after all.”

She shows him. It’s in profile, and she thinks he looks especially handsome.

He thinks he looks especially unauthorised.

“A lucky shot,” he mutters and he is an idiot for not realising before he does so that it will be like waving a darkroom red light in front of a bull.

And the worst part, the absolute most galling part, is he can’t figure out how she keeps doing it.

There are shots of him at every crime scene after. Some close up, some far away. Sometimes he’s doing something interesting. One time he was trying to remember his shopping list. It doesn’t matter, they all go in her book.

Oh she’s keeping a book now, didn’t she mention?

A photo album of his (her?) greatest hits. He grumps about it a few times, until she reveals, softly and in that unguarded manner she has right before she falls asleep, that she looks through it when he’s out of town and she’s missing him.

He doesn’t grump about it after that.

He does, however, start to try his own hand at clandestine photography.

Phryne thinks it’s adorable.

(But not adorable enough to let him succeed.)

She sees him, every time, and at the very last second hides behind a post or a constable or, one time, Jack himself. He’s not quite sure how she accomplished that one. It becomes a dance of sorts, between them, a waltz where they both know the steps but he is moving in 3/4 time and she is in duple metre.

She’s almost hoping he makes it, one of these days. She likes it when he surprises her, but she likes vexing him too much to make it easy.

It goes on for a while, but that’s ok, Phryne loves dancing.

She’s less keen about accompanying her aunt to Brisbane.

“Two weeks,” she laments, throwing her clothes in a suitcase. “And board meetings every single day.” She sighs. “Goodbye, fun, I’ll miss you.”

“And I’ll miss you,” he remarks, not looking up from the chair where he’s reading.

She smiles, sweetly at first, and then coyly.

“Too bad you never got any shots of me, Jack. You could look at the photos when you get lonely.”

“Oh,” he remarks casually, “I’ve got a whole book of them.” At her stunned expression, he adds, “didn’t I mention?”

Phryne abandons the packing.

“Show me,” she demands.

Graciously he pulls a photo album from his briefcase.

(If she wasn’t so shocked she’d have spared a moment to snort that it’s embossed with the words Our Precious Memories on the cover.) 

She’s not sure it’s so precious.

It’s full of her.

Specifically, photos of her at crime scenes going back weeks, months. How…

“Prestidigitation,” he whispers as his face breaks into a grin.

She looks at the photos again. Something is niggling, something not quite —

“You’re in some of these!” she shouts, and he shrugs, utterly unashamed. 

“Magic, or so I’ve heard, is all about misdirection. Look at where I’m not and not where I was.”

“But I can see where you are,” she insists, jabbing an elegant finger at one of the photos.

“True. But where I was, about a year ago, was writing young Matty’s letter of recommendation.”

The penny drops along with her jaw, which hangs open as she takes this information in. Just a little open, of course. A very ladylike amount, she would later insist. She supposes Matty isn’t quite so much like Hugh afterall. 

She is… impressed. She can admit it. Or she would if she wasn’t about to be very, very busy.

“Abracadabra,” he murmurs in her ear right before she makes all their clothes disappear.

Later, much later, she looks through the book again, smiling at all their precious memories.

“It’s going to be so much harder now,” she warns him. “Now that you’ve tipped your hand. Much, much harder.”

“Phryne,” he says, with so much warmth and playfulness in his voice she’d swoon if she was standing. “Never ever assume I only have one card up my sleeve.”

She just shrugs, noncommittally, the corner of her mouth quirking in time with her shoulder. It’s a bit soon, she knows, but possible. And she does so love it when he surprises her.

“Who said I was talking about the photographs?” she asks, too innocently to be believed. 

It takes a moment for him to cotton on, but when he does — a soft ‘ah’ escaping his lips before they find hers again — it’s pure magic. Not surprising, but she loves that too.

(Prestidigitation indeed.)

-------

OTP Moments Prompts ❤️

[bugeyedfreaks]

To Mojo Jojo: How many evil schemes do you make to try and defeat the Powerpuff Girls? (You made so many that I lost count)

Mojo Jojo: [rubbing his chin thoughtfully] Hmm. Interestingly enough, Mr. Powerpuff Girls Guy Number Zero Six, I too have lost count of the number of schemes I have schemed! My brain is indeed very large, and I am of course very intelligent, but the number of plans and plots that I have plotted and planned is quite a vast number indeed… so vast, I suppose, that if I were inclined to calculate the exact amount, I would have no choice but to consult–

Blossom: [swooping in with a grin] –an expert?

Mojo Jojo: [wearily] I was going to say my personal database, but it seems I have unfortunately summoned Little Miss Know-It-All.

Blossom: [beaming] Thanks, I sure do know a lot!

Mojo Jojo: The intent of my comment was to insult you, you know.

Blossom: I’ll take it as a compliment instead. So! To answer ppgguy06’s question, when it comes to the total amount of Mojo’s plans–

Mojo Jojo: Please. You may think you know all there is to know about me, your greatest villainous foe, but all you and your annoying sisters ever do is try to thwart my genius plots. You mean to have me believe the unbelievable notion that you have counted them as well? Ha! It isn’t as if you have some of log or record of–

Blossom: [proudly whips out a huge accordion folder bursting with papers] I own records logging every plan that Mojo Jojo has enacted upon the city of Townsville.

Mojo Jojo: WHAT?!

Blossom: Yep! I’ve kept track of every single stupid scheme of yours, from the massive plots to the petty thefts, outlined and detailed in full.

Mojo Jojo: Give me that! [snatches the folder and starts rifling through it, picking through each plan record and muttering to himself] Oh, and I see these records are rife with your usual smart alecky comments. Just look at this one. [clears his throat] “Mojo Jojo once again attempted to rob Townsville Jewelry Store early Friday morning, pursuing a plot to purloin all of the precious pearls he could plunder. Luckily, I (with additional support from my sisters) was able to cut him down to size with my usual super powered polish and charm. Seems like he’ll have a hard time trying to pry his way out of his latest prison sentence, or out of his new pair of metal bracelets for that matter.” And you took the liberty of entitling this plot of mine “Pearls Before Crime?”

Blossom: [shrugs] It had a nice ring to it.

Mojo Jojo: [going through the other plans] Ugh, it seems as if most of these are similarly named with awful puns.

Blossom: They’re awful plans, what do you expect?

Mojo Jojo: [grumbles at her comment as he continues looking through the files] I certainly did not expect this level of organization on your behalf, at least. Look at all that is included in these documents! Blueprints? Organizational charts? Photographs of the crime scenes?! Hmmmm. Seems like an awful lot of material to collect. [grins smugly] Obsessed with my evil genius much?

Blossom: You wish, monkey boy. I have files for every villain that we fight. As any good leader should, I keep track of all of our encounters with evil in order to detect any villainous patterns and form the best counterattack plans against our foes. Your plans tend to get a little more involved, so this file just happens to be larger than the others.

Mojo Jojo: [looking pleased with himself] Well, naturally…

Blossom: [shakes her head] But I think the wrong question is being asked here. What we really need to ask isn’t about the amount, but about how many of Mojo’s plans have actually been a success? And… hmm… let’s see… [takes back the folder and pantomimes pulling out a document, gasping in mock surprise at her empty hand] Wow, imagine that! None exist!

Mojo Jojo: Rrrrgh! You will not exist when I am through with yo– agh! [lunges at her, but trips onto his face as she gracefully swoops out of the way] Curses!

Blossom: [chuckles] Well, even though the question was originally for Mojo, I hope I helped, ppgguy06! Unfortunately the one thing I can’t help with is how terrible his schemes are.

[alan-duarte]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Axis Investigation PARTIES: Emilio @mortemoppetere & Alan @alan-duarte SUMMARY: Emilio delivers more than Alan was expecting. Plans to evict a poor innocent tenant through persuasion are thrown away. CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions of murder and gore

The answers he’d uncovered about Alan Duarte’s business rival weren’t entirely what Emilio had been expecting. In all honesty, most of the shit he found out on cases like this one were incredibly boring. Everyone was always hiding something, but it was usually something mundane. A mistress, a lovechild, a decades-old accidental crime. Enough to make them do what you wanted them to do, but never enough to actually entertain.

Tobias was different.

The secret bank account had been interesting, though not necessarily a smoking gun. With Javi’s help, Emilio had managed to gain access to the records from that account, a list of charges that led him to a storage facility in Worm Row. Still not too terribly exciting… until he’d opened the container. Weapons, drugs, and a freezer full of shit that might have made someone with a weaker stomach than Emilio a little sick. But to him… it felt like a damn jackpot.

He wasted little time in calling Alan to Axis, feet propped on his desk and a smug expression on his face. When the other man entered the room, Emilio tossed him a sealed folder. “There’s your leverage,” he said. “Should be plenty enough to give you what you need. Photos, bank records, even some shit from his cell phone. Think you mentioned something about a bonus?”

—

“Good morning to you too,” the werewolf slipped a hand in his pocket, his nose wrinkling while he looked around the flat. No dog again (which was a true shame), but the place was still a damn mess. Smoothing out the fabric of his woolen navy suit, the realtor pulled a chair forward, removing his jacket before he took a seat. “I see your memory is quite impressive,” the dry comment came as Alan tugged onto the wax seal, breaking it off. “Let’s see what we got, and then we’ll see about that bonus.” 

There didn’t seem to be copies of his marriage certificates, which was more of a relief than he’d care to admit. He didn’t want people digging into his personal history, he didn’t want people looking at him, because it was unlikely they’d like what they’d see. Rubbing at his cheek, Alan tried to conceal his relief, and directed his attention toward those bank records the other collected. It all seemed normal enough until you looked long enough at the details, the bank account numbers, the repeated patterns. Huh. That wasn’t right.

As he began inspecting the photographs, Alan took a second too much to realize what he was looking at. Fuck. What the actual fuck was that. Sure, the guy was shady but this was a whole other level of fucked up. Putting his hand to his mouth, he glanced away, his eyes staring into the void in front of him (or rather the stain on the floor) while he collected his thoughts and tried to keep his stomach’s content under control. “What the… This is from his place ?” He didn’t want to buy a crime scene, that was always complicated, especially as he planned to tear the building down. “What are we talking about here? Is he some sort of hitman? Do these even exist?” It felt a bit ridiculous but why not. Apparently werewolves existed, hitmen weren’t such a shocking thought. “What does it mean?” 

—

“When I need it to be.” In all honesty, Emilio liked Alan. Most of his clients were annoying; Alan wasn’t so bad. There was the added bonus, of course, that he could be an ass to the realtor and not have to worry about Alan getting his feelings hurt because of it. Instead, the man was an ass back. It was a much preferable result than what most people went with. “I think you’ll like what you see.” At least, he was pretty sure. Alan had wanted leverage against his rival, and this would certainly give him that. What he did with it after the fact was of little concern to Emilio. 

He watched Alan react to the photos. It was a little jarring, if he was being honest. Up until now, everything Alan had done — every action, every reaction — had been the picture of control. This was different. He seemed… affected by the photos. It served as a strange reminder that not everyone lived a life like Emilio’s, where gore and death were commonplace. When he’d stumbled upon the storage container, he’d barely even blinked. Other people were different. 

Removing his feet from his desk, the detective leaned forward. “Not his house,” he replied. “Storage container, not far from here. If I had to guess, I’d say gang related. Seems like more of a fixer than a hitman, I think. Hitmen don’t care if somebody finds the bodies.” Of course, this was still a little out of Emilio’s wheelhouse. The kind of crime he dealt with was usually a little less… human than all this. But no matter what species the perpetrator was, the concept was the same. The only difference, he figured, was that Tobias probably wasn’t eating anyone. “It means I did my job. Take it to the police and get it arrested, take it to him and use it against him, I don’t care. Just leave my name out of it.” He paused for a moment, then added, “But he’ll probably kill you, if you go to him. So maybe don’t do that.”

—

He pressed his palm against his cheek, as if he expected the warmth to bring color back to it. Tossing the photographs back into the envelope, Alan looked at the private investigator. He generally tried to give the impression that he was in charge, but worry was hard to hide then. Whatever it was Alan would have to deal with, it was a lot more than nostalgia or family heirlooms. With a sigh meant to let him recover and regain composure, the wolf sat up in his chair and set the kraft envelope on his thighs, linking his fingers together. 

“Gang related,” he repeated, like it suddenly made a lot more sense. It didn’t make fucking sense. Sure, their town wasn’t a small one, and they were close to the Canadian Border, but a fucking mob? “Dios mío, qué es esta locura,” he was not too unfamiliar with what people were capable of, but this wasn’t something he ever had to deal with. In the military, violence was a matter of homeland safety or so they said, never a matter of making money (ha, right). Legal violence, he called it now. “I wasn’t planning on mentioning my sources,” he commented, matter of factly. Alan played with his cards close to his chest, and he wasn’t chatty, not unless that would play to his advantage. “Oh, he’ll most likely try to kill me,” the correction was not made on purpose, but the realtor was so convinced of not being such an easy kill that he let his slip. “I’ll be careful,” he added, reaching into his jacket for his cheque book. “In the meantime, what was promised is now due to you,” he pulled out a new pen from his jacket, making it click with more pizzazz than needed, if only to annoy the other a little. “I figured you’d want a new one,” his lips stretched into a playful smirk while he filled out the blanks, adding 15% more to the bill, for the swift work. “That’s for you,” the pen went to the penholder, and the cheque on the desk. “I’ll add a little comment on Yelp when this all is settled.” Discretion was needed, after all.

—

Huh. So, in spite of his clear unease about what he’d seen in those photos, Alan still wasn’t convinced that this less-than-harmless business rival would be able to successfully kill him. There was something undeniably interesting about that, though Emilio was careful not to let the intrigue show on his face. The realtor remained something of a mystery, and Emilio would be lying if he said he wasn’t itching to solve it. Just… maybe not right now. And definitely not in a way Alan would be aware of. If this particular case had taught him anything, it was that you never knew what someone might be hiding. The last thing he wanted was to give Alan a reason to try to kill him. He’d never get repeat business that way.

“Like I said, as long as my name stays out of it, I don’t care what you do. I have enough trouble without inviting whatever this is into it.” He didn’t have time to worry about gangs or mobs when he was busy trying to take out clans and hoards. The latter was something he at least knew how to deal with. Something trying to take a bite out of you was a lot more familiar than something taking a shot at you instead, when you lived a life like Emilio’s. Raising a brow as Alan produced a new pen from his pocket, Emilio let loose a half-amused huff of air. “Uglier than the last one,” he commented. “I don’t know how you’re making them worse.” But he was glad to be getting his paycheck without any kind of a fuss. The news certainly wasn’t what Alan had been expecting; sometimes, people tried to use that as an excuse not to pay. “Great. What would I do without a Yalp comment?” He picked up the check, taking a quick glance to make sure the amount was right (or, more than what they’d agreed upon; Alan wasn’t lying about that bonus) before slipping it into his pocket. “Pleasure doing business with you. Feel free to keep Axis in mind for all your detective needs.” His voice was dry, a parody of an advertisement. He thought Alan might find it funny, at least.

—

"I hear you loud and clear," considering who Alan was now dealing with, it seemed out of the question to have anything to connect poor Tobias' fate to him in any way, including the detective. The way things had been going, he was confident he could trust the other's ability to keep his mouth shut. 

"I picked it specifically for you," he didn't. He had a box sitting in his trunk and he always made sure to carry one with him, but he wanted to indulge the other with another joke. Call it a branch from the olive tree. He liked the other's discretion and knowing how efficient he was made it all the more interesting to Alan, who would make sure to keep him in mind should the need arise again.

"Likewise." The cheesy catchphrase made him pause, and he pressed his lips together, tongue in cheek as if to give him the silent, judgemental treatment for that, before letting his lips relax into a small yet amused grin. "Alright, I better leave before you reveal all your comedic talent to me," with a scoff, he snatched the envelope from his lap and grabbed the jacket from the chair, heading toward the front door. "If there's a next time, let your dog out for me, huh? This is criminal, Cortez." 

—

“Great.” He was confident Alan would adhere to the agreement. If nothing else, the realtor had proven that he could be discreet when he needed to be. And in this case? He probably realized he needed to be. If Tobias was connected to some gang that would seek vengeance when Alan acted on the information Emilio had provided him with, it’d be a lot easier to track Alan down through Axis. Keeping Emilio’s name out of the mix would cover both their asses. Alan had to be smart enough to realize that.

Though not smart enough to pick out decent pens. Real shame, that. Emilio snorted, rolling his eyes as he plucked the pen from the cup and made a show of inspecting it. “It’s terrible,” he declared, dropping it back into the cup. 

To anyone who knew him well enough to recognize it, the amusement was clear in his eyes as Alan stood. “I’ll save some material for next time,” he promised, still dry. All in all, the case went better than he could have hoped for, even if the answers weren’t what either of them had been expecting. At least no one had punched him this time. Huffing an amused laugh at Alan’s parting words, the detective nodded. “I can do that,” he agreed, “so long as you stop pushing these ugly pens on me.” Yeah. Definitely not his worst client.

[morganmaietto]

Find the word tag game!

Thanks for the tag @verba-writing it took me a bit to find these words. I choose from several writings some I’m probably never going to post. But the last one is my current WIP called: The Mirror Effect. My words were drink, alarm, deep, circle

Drink:

“You seem stressed.” Elena, her close friend and coworker said as she printed some newspapers out. “I am. I keep seeing them.” “Again? Well I mean that's the norm for you. I wish I could.” “I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.” Hannah sighed. “You could use a drink, I know let’s go to Tony’s Bar.” “I can’t. We got work tomorrow anyways.” “That sounds like a good idea actually.” Mrs. Eaves, they’re boss said. “What about my notes?” Hannah asked. “You need to relax once in a while dearie. I’m your boss that’s actually giving you permission to drink at a bar on a work night. You’ve all been working hard these past few weeks. I think a break is in order.” “Yes! For once I feel like I’m not a disappointment.” Elena cheered. Elena was actually Mrs. Eaves' daughter. “I wouldn’t go that far.” Mrs. Eaves said jokingly. Hannah smiled at them. “You know what? Yeah why not, I’ll come along too.” “Yay! But guess what? You’re paying since you’ve been avoiding going out with us at night.” Elena said. “Wow. Okay then.” Hannah smiled. “We still have to wait for Andrew, he’ll be very upset if he misses seeing Hannah drinking.” Mrs. Eaves said. “Where is he anyways?” Hannah asked. “I think he went to look for you actually.” Elena said. “Why? I was at a police station all day, nothing bad would’ve happened to me.” “You know he still cares for you.” Mrs. Eaves said. Hannah sighed. “He really showed it. I’d rather stay home if he’s coming.” “Aw what? You can’t back out now!” “We’ll have a girls night to ourselves okay? Just not today.” Hannah left. “I can’t believe they suggested bringing my ex along… what the hell were they thinking?” Hannah thought.

Deep:

Later that night Nick picked them up and they went to the crime scene. “So where exactly does this kid live?” Nick asked, looking at Rebecca from the mirror. “She can’t remember. And her parents never made it public.” “That’s a little suspicious.” “Why do you say that? They probably just wanted to grieve in peace.” Hannah said. “But why? Wouldn’t they think their daughter’s alive somewhere? They would want their information public so if someone found her they would be reunited.” “I’m sure the police have it written down somewhere.” “We do. But still. Something about that doesn’t feel right to me.” He pulled to the side of the road. “It’s walking now. It’s pretty deep in there so I would wear some bug spray.” “Let’s just go.” Hannah said getting out of the car.

Alarm:

And then it was morning, her alarm clock interrupted the amazing dream. Sarah groaned, she had a photo shoot this morning and was very not prepared for it. She quickly got dressed and made herself a cup of coffee to go. Her foster mom was already there waiting for her. “You’re late. As usual.” Sarah learned it was best not to comment on her snide remarks. “Don’t disappoint me.” Was all the grouchy lady said as she dropped her off. Sarah ignored her for the most part but gave her a slight thumbs up when she heard her drive off. The people there were all very nice and helped her feel slightly less uncomfortable. Still she did her job and got impressive shots thanks to the professional photographer and editor. She thanked everyone for their time and left. She sent a text to her foster mom rather than calling her, she also learned not to call her the hard way. She waited for a response for a few more minutes but one never came, so she decided to go get a coffee from the cafe next to the photo company. She noticed the long line and thought better of it. She looked at her phone, no answer yet, so she decided that it would be okay to wait in line. She listened to customers talking amongst themselves and people ordering their coffee and food. Though the line was long it went fast and before she even knew what to order she was up next. The cashier immediately recognized her. “Y-You’re..” she stuttered. Sarah smiled and nodded, but shushed her. “Sorry..” the girl cleared her throat. “What would you like to order?” Sarah looked up at the menu “Can I get the vanilla iced coffee with extra vanilla and skim milk, oh and also I would like that little pastry right there, is there any strawberry?” “The strawberry mini donut and a vanilla iced coffee.” Sarah nodded and thanked the girl. Sarah decided to sign a little slip of paper for the girl and give her a nice tip since she was genuinely so nice and didn’t immediately scream her name when she recognized her. When got her order and gave the girl the tip and signature she acted all giddy and immediately realized that was unprofessional, Sarah laughed at her apologies and reassured her. She felt a slight buzz in her pocket, her foster mom finally answered and was nearly there, so she waved to the girl and went back outside to wait for her.

Circle:

That afternoon she kept her promise. Taelor was sick again, this time she claimed the sun was burning her. Mom kept her home just in case. Now Lucille entered Susans gate and was knocking on her door just as loud as she did to theirs. She heard the grouchy women shuffling to the front door with a loud “I’m coming!” Susan yanked the door open and gave a curt “What?” “I’ve come to return that book to you.” Susan looked at her right hand. “Nothing can be done now.” She said shutting the door. Lucille knocked again, when she got no answer she gave up. What to do now. She felt her phone vibrate, it was Blair calling her. Lucille answered as she walked back to her house. “Hey.” “Luci. There’s something weird going on.” “What do you mean?” “I couldn’t find anything on the forums I’m in about the book you’re talking about.” “I kind of figured. I talked to Susan just now about returning the damn thing and she says nothing can be done.” She said as she walked through the front door. “I’m really worried about you. Everything points to darkness with what you’ve described. What does your tattoo look like?” “It’s like a round mirror with vines surrounding it in a circle, now the vines have thorns.” She described looking at her hand. “You need to see Ms. Stars.” “The psychic?” “She might be able to help you.” “I’m not really into that stuff like you are though.” Lucille put down her bag in the kitchen. “Just try I’ll come with you next weekend. I have a birthday this weekend or I would do it this weekend.” Lucille sighed. “Fine. Only if you’re coming.”

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Alright I know I got two to do but let's do these in chronological order and start with 1-6, the OG finale. The original battle against Hope and Despair. Where Makoto and co face against the mastermind behind this scheme and fight for their freedom.

While I don't like how 1-5 is handled, what it does do well is set up for 1-6 decently well and the final investigation where it all goes for broke, either the cast find all the mysteries and escape from Hope's Peak or they all die. And yeah compared to other Chapter 6s where the information is spoon fed to you in the trials or in A2-6's case thrown at you like a tsunami, but yeah this is the most fun for a Chapter 6 you are gonna have as you feel like you are reaching the end of all the mysteries surrounding the school.

Makoto and Kyoko have some cute interactions at the beginning and we also find out that she's the Ultimate Detective, though let's be real you saw this coming. Heck my friend going through Trigger Happy Havoc already guessed by Chapter 2 that Kyoko's hidden talent is the Ulitimate Detective by how she acts and the way she can easily solve crimes. We also find out her relationship with her father and honestly, this was a missed chance by Junko to frame Kyoko as the Mastermind since her dad is the headmaster, she has a estranged relationship with him, and as such her motive for doing this is quite obvious.

Heck I think most people would have guessed Kyoko being the Mastermind due all the evidence and the fact she spends so much time with Makoto means that if its revealed like that, it would be a complete shock and horror to Makoto. Especially since Makoto and Kyoko's relationship is very much a slow burner, as Kyoko didn't trust anyone at first but Makoto's pure optisism and warm heart eventually won her over. The fact he willingly took the fall for her, is something that affected her deeply as Kyoko didn't need to go and rescue Makoto on her own, but she did it anyway to make it up to him.

I remember watching the Let's dub of Trigger Happy Havoc and they added a scene in Chapter 6 where after Kyoko asks Makoto to leave so she can be with Jin's remains theirs a small scene where Makoto can hear Kyoko quietly crying over her father's death. Obviously she didn't want Makoto to hear that and that's why she asked him to leave. It doesn't happen in canon but its a nice touch notherless.

And I also like how all the cast believed everyone but them set it up via photos which had them as the photographer. This however also exposed Junko since her face was the only one not shown while Mukuro's face is visuable to all to see. And this was a easier thing to debunk then Yasuhiro thinking Kyoko is a ghost which is the most stupid opening statement this franchise has EVER had.

Makoto's character development is more subtle then others, but 1-6 does show how far he's grown as a investigator because at the beginning of the game, he would pass out upon seeing a dead body and had to be subtly guided by Kyoko along the way, but now he's grown to the point that he notices the fact the morgue doesn't have the correct number of lights, meaning a dead body was used twice and given the Monokuma file, he deduced that it was Junko which lead to him believing not only is Junko alive, but she's the mastermind. And this by the way is something not even KYOKO noticed, and she's the Ultimate Detective for crying out loud.

The Junko twist was even funnier because the first time the West was aware of Danganronpa was via the Something Awful's Let's Play, a popular meme at the time was Yasuhiro in the Ancient Aliens pose saying JUNKOS as it was a meme that Junko Enoshima, who died in Chapter 1, was the mastermind, and lol and behold the JUNKOS meme was correct. Being a living meme has always been in Junko's code. Also its kinda a hint that I've been around the Danganronpa fandom for sometime now as that happened in its prehistoric times.

So everything up to Junko being revealed was peak as you really do feel you are applying all your mystery solving knowledge to uncover all the hidden secrets the school has and even figured out how the Mastermind faked her own death. And then Junko herself was revealed...and the trial took a swandive for me.

What I do I think of Junko? Long story short; I don't like her one bit. I feel that Junko feels very out of place in Danganronpa since this is a franchise where characters are complex, they all have 4th dimensional reasoning for their actions, and even something simple could be more complex then you think. So in theory the Mastermind must have good reasons to go against the school but no all we get as a generic Doomsday Villain who just wants to jack off to Despair. Having such a Ressaince Era Disney Villain doesn't really work for this franchise in my opinion as Junko is such a tonal difference to everyone else, she sticks out like a sore thumb. Now those villains work when they have entertaining and charsamatic personalities but Junko doesn't really dig it for me, the personality shifting while reflecting her chaotic and unpredictable nature is also one that doesn't match how Monokuma has acted up until this point and also what most people picture the big bad mastermind to be like.

Plus the fact that she's somehow responsible for the end of the world feels...stupid. Like really, really stupid. I remember before Goodbye Despair came out, it was a popular theory that Junko lied about the whole thing and when the survivors escaped, they were brought back to civilisation and Junko was arrested for her crimes. Something I feel is also how people feel about 3-6 and its ending so its poetic justice there. And even when future installments add onto this and explain how she ended the world, it STILL feels very out there and requires literally everyone around Junko to have their brains switched off while doing so. But what makes me really not stand Junko is how almost literally every antagonist, both canon and fangan, has to trace back to her. AI Junko is obvious, Monaca had to be groomed by Junko, Tsumugi is just a Junko weeb, Utsuro and Akane were part of the end of the world club like Class 77-B was, Akira also was a big fan and some other lesser known fangans also ride on Junko's coattails and it really annoys me that everything, and I mean everything has to come back to her. I know she's like the emboidment of Despair, but I just feel that it works better if Despair wasn't organised but rather these people found ways to despair on their own. After all if Despair is supposed to be chaos, why is there organisations that spread despair, should it be decentralised and just be people acting out and this is why the world cannot contain it?

Despair to Future Arcs does handle this very well by showcasing that the world is very broken and was just waiting for a revolution, plus Junko was adjusted massively so she has a massive axe to grind against the school and her insanity in the Class Trial was due to her literally be on drugs at the time. Like maybe Junko is a very charismatic character, but she doesn't vibe with me at all. She might be one of the most iconic villains in fiction, but I just don't think she's that interesting personally.

Mukuro has to be most shafted character ever as it took a fucking Tower Defence game Danganronpa crossed over with for Mukuro to FINALLY get official art to her, as they really want to keep it hidden she's the 16th Student. Guys its been a decade now and Junko is heavily promoted as the villain, I think the statue of limitations has passed now. Because yeah the difference between her and Yamato is at least LINUJ does something with Yamato before he dies whilist Mukuro is stuck in her Junko form until she dies.

And yeah it feels very cliche that all the survivors chose Hope, sided with Makoto and told Junko to fuck off as it feels cheesy and overcomplicated. My idea is that this is where the FTEs come in as if you spend time bonding with the characters, they would choose hope but they wouldn't if they weren't that close to Makoto. It not only highlights Makoto as a character but it also puts more control on the player as whenever or not Makoto and co get a happy ending depends on YOUR choices. Especially because I see Class 78 as the most disorganised and untrusting of the canon classes due to how many antisocial people there are in there so the fact Makoto is able to connect with them, and encourge them to fight back against Junko, really highlights his best character traits and be more satisfying then what we got.

I will say they nail the dynamic between Makoto and Junko perfectly and really show why these two are opposed to each other. And also why neither can win against the other. Makoto wants to see the goodness and kindness in others no matter what they are like, but Junko thinks she's pure evil so there is none there. Junko also cannot break Makoto because he always bounces back and since he's a normal guy, he doesn't have the same pressures as his fellow Ultimates do which were easier to Junko to exploit and break. It's really up to the others to choose whenever to side with Junko or Makoto, and in the end, they chose Makoto.

The state of the Tragedy though, as unbelievable and stupid the whole thing feels, is a chilling factor that the stakes of Makoto and co aren't just tied to them but to the world and how every death must have droven the world into more and more agony as Junko uses her dear classmates as pawns to squeeze the last drops of hope from the world. And yeah though Danganronpa 3 ruins it by having the Future Foundation show up like Uber taxis to pick up the survivors I did imagine the group surviving on their own, fighting back against marauding bands of despairifed people and the horrors of the post apocalyptic landscape that could have and has inspired many brilliant fanfictions, until Future Foundation finds them and they join their cause.

Especially because bear in mind, Danganronpa wasn't meant to be a franchise but a standalone title so everything in Trigger Happy Havoc was meant to be final and it was left unclear if Makoto and co would survive outside or not. Of course we know it sold decently enough in Japan to warrant future titles but there was no way when Kodaka first made Trigger Happy Havoc, that would be the case.

Another thing to note there is a unused ending where all the cast manage to escape. Now I don't know how this is triggered but this is later reused in Killing Harmony if you manage to be a expert parkour and get through the Death Road at the end of Chapter 1. But just know its there in the game's files.

So yeah while it might shock people 1-6 is so low. It really doesn't surprise me since while its a decent ending, that's all is to it, decent. Not good, not bad, just okay. And given how Makoto is as a character, I feel its most fitting ending for him.

Now since I skipped a day I know what today's is and hoo boy...this one is gonna be a wild ride as I have a LOT to say about the next one. And some facts that had they been implanted would have knocked the chapter MUCH lower down for you on terms of rankings.

//Yeah, Kyoko being the Ultimate Detective is a secret so obvious I wonder why they even tried to hide it. But one thing I need to quickly say is that Junko probably couldn't have framed Kyoko as a Mastermind simply from the fact that nobody, not even Kyoko herself, knew about it.

//It would have been met with some reasonable doubt considering no one had any way of proving who he was to Kyoko, but...at the same time, it's still reasonable I guess. Because this is by far the dumbest group of survivors in the series so far, and yes, that includes DR2's group, lol.

//And yeah, my god, I almost forgot about that opening twist. I think the main purpose of it was to put seeds of doubt in everyone else's intentions for the investigation only. If those seeds are sewn during the moment where everyone really needs to work together, then it REALLY affects how much investigation the group are capable of.

//But yeah, it really doesn't make sense as a gambit because it's solved almost instantaneously, and isn't given a second thought. Although, Junko mainly used it as trying to kill two birds with one stone. On top of the doubt, it's also the critical clue that suggests that everyone knew each other before the events of the game, and Junko was trying to push them in that direction.

//So it worked out in one way, and not so much in the other. But I think it's very creative of Junko there, because it's like "You thought that I was trying to use these photos to cause Despair by making you all think you were betraying the others, but IT WAS I! STOLEN MEMORIES!

/Also, wow, is that JUNKOS stuff really true? That's hilarious if it is.

//Alright, but its time to rag on Junko, and yeah, I honestly feel like if I'm going to formulate a response, I will kind of have to paraphrase your points first. But in general, I still stand that Junko is one of the best, even if she's not THE best, villains in the Danganronpa series.

//But only if you look at her more direct involvements beyond Danganronpa 1, and besides the many people she influenced.

//Also, yes, sure the series typically features deep, complex characters with nuanced motivations, but "typically" is the key word. Let's be real the range between the characterization of some of these morons in this series is like night and day. Some are some of the most fantastic characters in media and literature, others are among the worst pieces of shit you've ever seen.

//Junko does come across as a generic villain driven by an obsessive love for despair, which makes her shallow and tonally inconsistent, but I think even she manages to avoid being firmly stuck in the latter. Even with Danganronpa 1 alone, she's not THE worst, she's just...weirdly unintimidating and stupidly cartoony.

//The most ridiculous part of it is that Monokuma isn't like that AT ALL! Despite the fact that Junko is the one playing his character, and despite the fact that Monokuma's tone constantly shifts between being a silly billy bear and a psychotic murderer, he somehow pulls it off better. When Junko takes the stage, it's not even the fact that it's uncanny to see Monokuma's behavior through a human appearance, its the fact that Junko doubles down on it and makes it so non-serious somehow.

//This has always been one of my biggest issues with Danganronpa as a series and the way it tries to portray the power of Hope and Despair. Junko claims to love Despair as decentralized chaos, and the fact that even she can't control it.

//But...she CAN!

//It's completely contradictory to Junko's own statements because the way that she wields Despair as a weapon against others, and what she ultimately does that leads to the Killing Game and the collapse of society is just Despair becoming overly organized around Junko instead of arising from individuals acting on their own.

//It's just a contradiction, in and of itself, because no matter how much Junko spouts that she loves the unexpected twists of Despair, EVERYTHING she does goes 100% according to plan without fail.

//I've come around to Junko mainly thanks to how she's portrayed in the sequels. Especially Game 2. By Goodbye Despair, Junko’s death becomes the ultimate irony. She transcends her mortality, influencing events from beyond the grave.

//This positions her as less of a cartoonish villain and more of a haunting, almost mythic figure whose ideology survives her, adding a layer of dread to her character. The concept of Despair continuing to propagate without her direct involvement aligns better with the notion of chaos as self-sustaining.

//But that's a discussion for another time, and yeah, I can agree that I was not impressed with Junko at all when I played Danganronpa 1. Still aren't.

//As for Mukuro, as you might have seen, we have been having discussions about her, including the fact that her name Mukuro literally means "corpse."

//Which is the only thing in Danganronpa 1 that she's good for. They REALLY wanted to drive home that this character is nothing, and yet they gave her such an awesome backstory and cool concept, which just gets wasted in favor of this stupid valley-girl tyrant.

//It's honestly amazing that Mukuro is one of my favourite characters in the series from Danganronpa IF ALONE! I mean, look at Mukuro's resume across the whole series:

Danganronpa 1: Spends all of the game disguised as her sister, dies, and is only popped up again later when her corpse is recycled, while she herself is given next to no characterization beyond being Junko's sister; which feels like a cheap justification as to why Mukuro would willingly help her out.

Danganronpa 3: She's literally a human dog incarnate to Junko, bends over backwards in the face of abuse, and constantly wears one of two faces: "I am a non-character who is emotionally distant" or "I want to fuck my twin sister so badly."

Danganronpa Zero: She's...okay here? This is mostly showing off her badass capabilities and most of what she does is murder the Steering Committee and the Madarai brothers, without being much of a major character. She does get a cute moment with Makoto though.

Danganronpa Killer Killer: She appears in a flashback as the person who murdered everyone in Hijirihara's middle school and is something of his first love, but the only way she's really presented is with a bunch of emotionless doppelgangers which...what the fuck even?

Ultimate Talent Development Plan/Ultimate Summer Camp: She takes the appearance of Junko, and does not drop that guise even after three years at the academy, which Junko attends alongside her. There is legitimately no reason why she wears the outfit, pretends to be Junko, or anything like that. The literal only reason she's not herself here is because Chunsoft could not be bothered to pay Komatsuzaki to redo her sprites, and they didn't want to create a whole new character.

//Mukuro as a character just gets fucked over SO BAD by the writers. The only reason she managed to make it into ShiroPro is because there's still a keen demand for her among the audiences, and fuck me, I wish they DID something with that beyond a bonus novel, as good as it is.

//She not just stuck in her Junko form until she dies, she's stuck in it now and forever, and I doubt we'll ever get a spinoff where she isn't wearing it, assuming we get a spinoff AT ALL.

//The idea of using the FTE's as a means of beating the game is fun and all, but ultimately, that just complicates things. And it makes getting the real ending a hassle, because if this is our surviving group, oh my fucking god, half the people here are IN-FUCKING-SUFFERABLE!

//Toko and Byakuya get much better later thanks to UDG and DR3, while Hiro tries, but fails. But in Danganronpa 1, I utterly DESPISED all three of these people from beginning to end. Byakuya I was a bit more lenient with, because he'd already gotten his ass handed to him in a previous case, but Toko and Hiro were just...so dumb, I can't with either of them.

//To be fair, the thing with the Future Foundation is not as bad as you make it out to be. Because the Killing Game was being broadcast; everyone KNOWS where the students are, but because Junko set up unstoppable defence mechanisms around the school building, anyone who tried to step up to the plate probably got gunned down. So the moment Junko dropped the defenses after she died, I'm sure they were all ready and waiting for them, because they'd been trying to save them this whole time.

//Yeah, I'm pretty sure the unused ending was originally designed as a secret ending that you can get quickly, and I don't remember what the original way of triggering it was. However, they did reuse this later in School Mode and DR:IF.

//And yeah, I guess that does it. I am looking forward to seeing what you want to say for SDRA2 Case 4, but I understand you could say "had they been implimented it would have knocked it down." But the fact is they weren't, and we're stuck with what we've got, and this is where I've chosen to place it.

//So let's look forward to that.

-Mod