#THE SPEED AT WHICH HE MAKES DEDUCTIONS

[mariasont]

spencer reid masterlist

smut = ✧ clean (ish) = ♡ angst = ✩

newest to oldest

series: IN VERSE AND VIOLENCE

character archetype one-shot masterlists

shy!media-liaison!reader

bimbo!receptionist!reader

translator!reader

one shots:

✧ craving like a lungful you ask spencer a question about breath play. he gives you a lecture, a safety demonstration, and a mind-shattering orgasm. in that order.

✩ we reap what i sow you fight, you burn, you break apart, and then you pull him back in — again and again, as if love is something that can't exist without wreckage

♡ schrödinger’s relationship spencer never needed to define what this was, until you did. now, the box is open, the outcome inevitable, and he has never been so happy to lose an argument.

♡ strictly medical reasons it started as concern. a few check-ins, a handful of visits, just to make sure you were healing. but somewhere along the way, the line between duty and something deeper blurred, and spencer wasn't sure he wanted to redraw it.

♡ green means go spencer got exposed to anthrax, and you're not taking it well. instead of admitting that, you watch him eat terrible hospital jell-o and make fun of his life choices.

♡ reid the room spencer has never met a bad time to discuss aviation disasters. and before your survival instincts can stop you, you're kissing him just to make it stop

♡ dimple deductions when morgan & jj notice spencer reid acting suspiciously happy, they do what they do best — profile him. unfortunately, spencer's biggest tell is your dimples

♡ heart nebula spencer tells you every atom in your body was once part of a star, but you think he's the celestial wonder worth studying.

♡ reading between the lines spencer teaches you how to speed-read

✧ the hypothesis spencer and aaron want your help settling a debate of arousal

✩ pulse points spencer rescues you from a case and has a hard time grappling with his feelings

♡ cinnamon sticks you and spencer are in a secret relationship and the team is this close to figuring you out because spencer just knows too much about you

✩ worth it you help early seasons spencer through a relapse

✩ messy spencer is determined to get you to let him in as your depression takes a bigger hold than you imagined

♡ schoolboy-esque spencer and hotch spend the day competing for your attention

♡ thump, thump in which you and spencer get stuck in a cramped closet together

♡ fangirl you're the newest member and you have a slightest obsession with dr. reid and his works.

✧♡ looking after you you have called off sick for a few days now and spencer has been "looking after you". spencer gets caught red handed when morgan and garcia drop by

✩ ♡ be so stupid you make a mistake while on a case nearly getting spencer killed, morgan has some choice words and spencer is ready to beat his ass over it

✩ ♡ when the swallows come again spencer blames you for maeve’s death…or does he

♡ i want it in ink spencer finds your secret tattoo… with his initials

♡ arachnophobia you compare spencer to a spider in an attempt to flirt

♡ brooding goth!bimbo!reader wants to sketch spencer but he won't stand still!

♡ ✩ beyond the grave spencer fakes his death and comes back into your life like nothing happened

♡ sweater in which you struggle with your body and spencer helps you

✩chloe or sam or sophia or marcus in which spencer choses the drugs over you

♡ sundress season spencer helps you out with some research and gets more than he bargained for

♡ climb you like a tree you tell spencer you’re going to climb him like a tree… not meaning it the way it comes out

✧ hands, hands and hands spencer and you compare hands

[yokohamapound]

Ooh, a new BSD blog! :D How about the reactions of Dazai, Ranpo, Chuuya, Akutagawa and Fyodor when they see their female S/O in fancy attire for the first time? Like if they're going to some formal events together as a couple.

Hmm, it's almost like you knew I am addicted to fancy clothes...this sent me on a deep dive through my extensive Pinterest board.

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Edogawa Ranpo, Nakahara Chuuya, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Fyodor Dostoevsky

Contents: fem!reader, possessive, controlling Fyodor

Dazai Osamu

Dazai is the type of man to enjoy seeing you in everything you wear, especially when you're puttering around the apartment in just one of his his shirts, but seeing you in formalwear is something special.

Maybe it's another award ceremony for the Armed Detective Agency, a fancy gala that requires you to wear something more upscale than business casual. Dazai has a suit he can fall back on—probably something in a dark blue or a shade of camel, because black reminds him too much of his time in the Port Mafia.

He's waiting in the living room for you to come out of the bedroom, periodically whining for you to come out of the bedroom and pay attention to him.

"I'm going to die of neglect out here," he calls forlornly. "And I always wanted us to die togeth—"

The door slides open, and Dazai cuts off his wailing, looking over his shoulder. There's a moment of silence—yes, actual silence from Dazai—as his gaze moves slowly up your legs, his eyes getting progressively wider as he takes in the slinky little number clinging to your curves, how the neckline reveals the arch of your throat. Your make-up, those smoky eyes and glossy lips...

"I don't want to go," he blurts, shuffling over on his knees and wrapping his arms around your waist. "Let's stay home. I'll pour you sake and feed you grapes."

Edogawa Ranpo

Ranpo doesn't tend to make a big deal about what you wear. He notices of course, because he notices everything, but he'll only comment if you're wearing something particularly cute or if he's deduced something interesting from your choice of attire, which usually goes like:

"Are you wearing that skirt 'cause you wanted me to notice you waxed your legs?"

"Ranpo, even if you know something, it doesn't mean you have to say it."

"What? You wanted me to notice and I'm noticing. It's not my fault you're not subtle," he says, grinning around his lollipop.

"Right, because I'm the one that's not subtle."

He's fiddling with his tie as the pair of you get ready for a formal event thrown in the ADA's honour (normally he'd complain about going to something so boring, but Fukuzawa promised him there'd be a buffet and lots of people wanting to praise him) and complaining that he can't tie it and he doesn't want to wear it.

"Oh, you big baby," you chide playfully, sauntering out of the bedroom, heels clicking as you fix one of your earrings in place "You wear a tie every day."

Taking the ends of the tie, you start to weave it into a simple Windsor knot, glancing up to see Ranpo gawking at you, his pretty green eyes wide open. For once, his brain isn't processing information at warp speed. It's crickets in there, like he's short-circuited.

"That good, huh?" you ask, tightening his tie. "No deductions, smart boy?"

"Uh..." Ranpo falters a bit as you draw him closer by his carefully knotted tie. "Nope."

You give him a kiss and release him. He's grinning like a Cheshire Cat as he follows you to the door.

"Hey, is there room for snacks in your clutch?"

Nakahara Chuuya

If you're Chuuya's girl, you'll never want for the finer things in life, but that first, first time he sees you all dolled up is very memorable. Even if you have cash of your own, he would have handed you his shiny black card, pressing it into your hand with a kiss and a grin.

"Let me treat ya. Don't even look at the prices."

After some credit card BDSM—that plastic rectangle got used and abused and it liked it—you came back to the penthouse laden with shopping bags, your hair freshly styled, a mani pedi, and a facial. By the time Chuuya comes to pick you up, you're dolled up to the nines.

Chuuya walks in, calling out for you, only to stop dead in his tracks when he sees you. You've got your back to him, carefully fixing the edge of your lipstick in the vanity mirror, when you spot his reflection.

"Hey, babe, almost ready," you say, turning to face him.

A slow grin breaks out across Chuuya's face. He reaches up and pushes his hat back, as if to see you better, his blue eyes wide.

"Fuck me, doll," he says, his voice coming out rough. "You look incredible..."

You make a show of checking your beautiful antique watch. "I don't think we have time for that right now, but when we get home..."

Chuuya lets out a groan, pulling you toward him by the hips. You won't let him smudge your fresh lipstick, so he leaves a love bite on your throat instead, like a promise for later.

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

Akutagawa swears by formalwear (even if his taste in formalwear is over a century out of date), so he's no stranger to being suited and booted. Perhaps the two of you have been tasked to infiltrate a high society soiree as part of Mori's plans, or perhaps you are his undercover bodyguards while he attends one himself.

Akutagawa dislikes clothes shopping, so he flatly refused to accompany you to buy a dress for the occasion. This is probably for the best. It's a lot less stressful to shop with Gin and Higuchi than it is with an irritable, murderous Ryuunosuke dogging your heels and glaring daggers at the sales assistant.

Which is to say, he has no idea what you are wearing until you show up to the gala. He's watching Mori from near the wall, his hands thrust into the pockets of his long black coat. Disinterested.

His pale grey eyes sweep over you at first, mistaking you for another of the wealthy partygoers.

Then they snap back, going wide. Akutagawa stands there as if he's been locked into place as you saunter over to join him, a flute of champagne in each hand.

The way the dress moves, how it flows or clings to the various planes and curves of your body, how you move while you wear it, as if you've become a new, elevated version of yourself.

"Sorry I'm late," you say, handing him a champagne flute. He's surprised enough to take it without muttering that he doesn't like champagne. "The boss did say to arrive separately."

"...what are you wearing?" he finally manages to say. "You look—"

"Ridiculous? Yeah, I know, but this is what we have to wear to these stupid things. I can't even get away with hiding a gun under this thing."

"No—"

Too late, you've already moved away toward the buffet to grab a couple of hors d'oeuvres for you and him. Akutagawa finds his voice a little too late.

"You don't look ridiculous."

Fyodor Dostoevsky

I can guarantee with 100% certainty that Fyodor knows exactly what you're wearing, because he took you to the exclusive boutique in order to purchase it—after he had you model several dozen gowns for his appreciation and approval. He had to spend all that money he stole from the Guild on something, after all, so there were shoes and jewellery into the bargain.

There are staff to pamper you: a hairstylist, a nail tech, and a make-up artist, all under strict orders not to speak to you or dare look you in the eye as they primp and doll you up.

"Doll" being the operative word, because you look like a porcelain doll by the time they're done with you.

Airy layers float around you as you carefully pick your way down the sweeping staircase, ankles wobbling in your slightly-too-high heels, giving you that vulnerable, fawnish air that Fyodor likes so much.

He stands at the bottom of the stairs, cool violet eyes watching every tentative step. His masterpiece is complete.

"Myshka," he purrs at the sight of you. "You look perfect."

He offers you his hand, cold fingers closing around yours as you stumble off the very last step and into his arms. He makes a soft, slightly mocking sound of amusement in the back of his throat.

"Careful, darling," he chides, his hand settling firmly, possessively in the small of your back. "I can't have you falling for anyone but me."

The humour carries a note of truth. Fyodor's finger traces along the line of your jaw, curling beneath your chin and tipping your face up toward his. His breath ghosts over your lips.

"I will have to dress you this way more often."

AO3 | Other Blogs: Bleach | BNHA | Naruto | JJK

[thatnonameuser]

The Red King holds a Bleeding Head

A Wonderland of Yanderes - Masterlist Chapter 1. Heartslaybul Part 8.

Going down the rabbit hole that is your mirror a third time feels a little more normal. Even though traveling through it to begin with is the definition of crazy, you’ve started to get used to it. Just like the last two times you awaken to your bedroom, you feel smothered by that sensation of being forced under something heavy and lying on a fluff cloud. Your mirror ripples and gleams a bright white light that beckons you forward. 

You’re not exactly prepared for this, but you don’t have any time to. You throw off the odd feeling blankets and make your way to the mirror, which is sparkling in its usual white light. 

You take a deep dream breath to steady your nerves. You want this trip through the looking glass to be different this time. Instead of you stumbling through the mirror world completely blind, you need to go through determined to find answers. 

You’re smart enough to recognise the pattern. Whatever happens there seems to happen in your dreams, to some effect, have happened in real life. The painted roses, the cards soldiers, and Ace and Deuce, being beheaded by the Queen for breaking the rules. There’s a pattern and if it keeps up tonight, then tomorrow during the duel something is going to happen that will be similar to your dreams. 

Plus, there’s also the King of Hearts. He and Alice were the only ones who could see you so far, and Winston was the darling of the Queen. There had to be something that he knew that could help you. And if your dreams were really sending you back in time to meet them, then he had to know something that can help you. Even if it was a tiny detail, you needed to know.

Plus. If your deduction was correct, then Crowley had done jack all since you arrived to send you back home, then maybe you could find something out from someone like you. A darling that’s terrified. If it’ll lead back home, it's worth a shot, right?

Now invigorated with courage, you place your hand on the glass, and it ripples. And you’re pulled into wonderland.

You’re somewhere unfamiliar. As in it doesn’t look like the rose maze anymore. In fact, this place looks very different. 

The rose garden is beautiful, the hallway you’re in now is ominous. Even with the gaudy red hearts. The black, white and red are smothering here. The hallways narrow, but ornate. It’s covered with heart-covered and heart-shaped vases, picture frames, and statues. The hallway’s lit up by heart shaped lamps that glow gray, meant to give off light but feel the room feel so dark. The manic and exaggerated shapes and the monotony of the overwhelming crimson red makes you feel a little tremble. 

You take hesitant steps down the hall, scanning them for anything helpful or clues. 

“This is…new.” And so far what’s new makes you feel chills. “What is the mirror trying to show me n-”

A deafening roar of <Off With Their HEADS!!!> echoes through the halls and interrupts your thoughts and makes you jump in surprise. The roar makes the decor shake and rattle, some fall and shatter. 

You gulp nervously and your heart speeds up. This doesn’t feel right.

Another roar fills the air <SILENCE!!> makes you hasten your footsteps. Whatever’s happening you're missing it, and you need all the help you can get right now. 

You run down the hall to nowhere, finding no doorways, until the hall ends. It’s a single door, knee high and heart shaped. 

“How the hell am I supposed to-” Another roar fills the hall and breaks a nearby lamp. “Alright, I’m going!” You shove it open and crawl through, and it shrinks around you just to make things worse, After a mild struggle, you finally get through, something better be on the other side-

Something grabs you by the back of your pajamas, and you hauled up to be faced with the King of Hearts. 

And he looks angry. <What are you doing here?!> He whisper-yells, shaking you by your shoulders. 

“I-I-” 

You don’t get to put a word in, and shit must’ve hit the fan hard when you were gone because Winston starts ranting. <What are you, the Cheshire Cat!? You were there one moment and gone the next! I’m stressed out of my mind trying to keep a girl alive and you just keep popping up to make things even more stressful!!!> He pauses for a moment, to recollect himself, <H-How did you even get here?!>

“I used the door-” You turn and point to find no door or wall and instead find a sharp decline into a certain death behind the haphazard judge’s bench. “Nevermind” You quickly finish as you take a nervous step back from the ledge. 

<Well,  it doesn’t matter you have to->

<Winston, sweetheart, who are you speaking too?> The voice that pipes up is mockingly fond. As if they’re entertaining a child speaking to an imaginary friend. You look past Winston, to see a stout woman that looks suspiciously like the Queen of Hearts.

No seriously, her mocking, smiling face looks so punchable, that it reminds you of Riddle. A heart shaped with high cheekbones, and a glare that rivals Riddle Rosehearts, her black hair is tied up into a rose shape, slick backed, smooth and orderly. Her dress is extravagant even in the field of black and white, red undertones over taking the dress. Her crown is larger than Winston's, cementing to you that she is in charge and he’s unwillingly along for the ride.

She looks like a real person this time. Are your dreams progressing? Becoming more detailed?

Winston looks at her incredulously, you can hear him mutter, <C-Can’t you see her?...> Pointing in your direction confused. 

<There’s no one there, Winston. Are you imaging things again?> The King of Hearts spares you a conflicted look, before finally agreeing with her.

<I must be…..> He says after a few long moments.

<Of course sweetheart. How could you survive without me?> She chuckles to herself, and you feel the urge to punch someone again. 

A soft voice snaps you out of it. <Um…Your Majesty?> You finally notice Alice from her place down below. She looks a mix of exasperated, confused and terrified as she stands in the defendant’s chair. The Queen redirects her ire back to Alice as soon as she raises her voice. She screams like a banshee and roars like a violent loud animal. 

You take advantage of the noise to speak to Winston. “Winston I-”

He interrupts you, losing himself to his ramblings, <I’ve finally lost, haven’t I?> Winston laughs bitterly. <You’re not real, you’re just a figment of my imagination…>

“No. You haven’t and I’m not.” You push, desperate to make him see reason, “Alice has seen me before, I’m real!” You hurriedly whisper-yell. 

<Then if you’re real then you have to help Alice and you have to help me->

<HAPPY UNBIRTHDAY TO YOU!> A cake and teapots, and all the fixing that remind you of the buffet yesterday at Heartslabyul. The Queen and nearly everyone in the room are excitedly celebrating while Winston and Alice look exasperated. Seemingly exhausted from the shenanigans that are ensuing before you.

“W-What’s happening?” You raise an eyebrow in complete confusion. Yesterday an unbirthday party made sense because it was a party at a dorm then a trial room with a death sentence. 

Winston sighs in abject misery, <A trial.  I did it to save Alice from losing her head, but this nonsense is a trial. And I thought back home was crazy.>

You perk up at his words. Back home means that he’s not from wonderland so if that’s the case…Just to be sure, you ask. “You’re not from here?”

He looks at you curiously, still halfway between believing you’re real or not, <I-I’m from London, England. I came here by accident and have been stuck here ever since.>

“You know where London is?” You feel hope bloom in your chest, “Are you from Earth?”

<Yes, but->

You interrupt him in your budding excitement, “Then you have to help me! I’m stuck here, like you and Alice!”

<Regardless of whether you’re real or fake, I-I can’t help you! If Mary finds out, I tried to escape again, heads will roll! >

You haul the king up by his shirt. “Would you rather be stuck here forever?! If there’s a way out, we need to take it!” You can ignore the ‘being stuck here ever since’ part for now, because if he and Alice (who are real in this world) come from Earth and know about a way back, then that means there’s a way back to your world from Twisted Wonderland. Alice goes home at the end of the story, so there is a way back home for you in this world. And you need that way out. You just need to get to it. 

<I’ll help you on one condition.>

“Anything!”

<Help Alice. I can’t let another person die.> And then he shoves you. And then you're falling. You don’t even get the opportunity to scream as you’re pushed. Falling off that deathly edge, and hitting the floor hard. 

“Ow….” Damnit Winston, if you weren’t stuck in the same situation as him, you’d curse him out

<Miss, you’re back!> You slowly open your eyes to see Alice standing over you in worry, still completely black and white. <W-Where did you come from?>

“A place like you.” Alice lights up at your words,  “How’s your trial going?” only to deflate five seconds later. 

<It doesn’t make any sense, this trial doesn’t follow any rules.> You climb to your feet brushing off the imaginary dust off your dream self. 

“No, it does.” You’re forced to admit. “They’re just horrible rules.”

<Well, this really isn’t-> Whatever justifiable statement is cut off by the Queen being undistracted by the unbirthday celebrations. 

You don’t even know what happened next. 

One moment, Alice is pointing out the Cheshire Cat, her words, on the Queen’s head, and the next the Queen is a mess of jam and her torn flag, with a new bump on her crazy head. And Alice is holding the mallet and jam when the Queen finally clears her eyes. 

Winston bangs his head on the judges bench in defeat, at the sight of the mayhem.

“OFFF with-” the Queen interrupts herself, as Alice hurriedly stuffs her face with two pieces of something you don’t recognise. Her eyes go wide for a moment, as  her muscles twitch and her body contorts in places. She then grows over a mile high. Because of how rapidly she grew, you end up on the giantess Alice’s shoulders. 

<Oh, are you alright?> Alice asks, concerned. You give her a thumbs up in reply as the nausea in your gut trembles, before giving way. Now calmed, knowing one of her few friends here are okay, Alice focuses her attention on the tyrant whose red face has gone pale. <And as for you, Your Majesty….’Your Majesty,’ indeed!> The mushroom that Alice ate causes her to grow as tall as the trial room ceiling is high. You cling to her shoulder with your nails, not wanting to fall from this height. What crack did you smoke last night to dream this? Anyway,  Alice takes her moment to finally tell off the pompous queen, with all the confidence that a seven year old can have. 

The queen shrinks back in surprise at the seven-year old’s new size, and Alice chooses this to be the time to finally tell off the tyrant. 

<Why, you’re not a queen. You’re just a fat, pompous, bad-tempered old ty…tyrant…> As if Alice couldn’t get any more unlucky, the mushroom’s magic wears off as she starts to lay down the facts. Her confidence dies as she shrinks back to size.  You tumble off of Alice’s shoulder as she shrinks smaller and smaller. And the longer she speaks, the more the Queen’s glare gets more and more murderous.

<Mmhmmhmmhmm….> You, even at this distance, can see the fear painting across the King’s face and worry on Alice’s. This isn’t good, and the longer the Queen holds that note the more grim those looks become. You embrace the shaking girl. You can hear her whimpers of ear the longer this draws out. <What were you saying, my dear?>

A cat pops onto the head of the Queen, reminding you of Chenya even with the black and white, who parrots the, now shaking, Alice’s words. <Well, she simply said that you’re a fat, pompous, bad tempered old tyrant!> The cat cackles, as the Queen’s face turns red, contrasting the black and white.

<OOOOOOFFF with her head!!!>

You watch as the card soldiers jump from their seats to descend on the two of you as Alice clings to you for dear life, as the card shoulders dive to deliver her to her death sentence. 

But before the avalanche of card soldiers obscure everything from view, you can hear the King of Hearts beg his wife and captor to spare the poor girl. <Darling she’s just a child!>

And then the world blurs.

You’re back in your bed. Alice isn’t in your arms anymore, instead it’s Grim.

Why won’t anyone stop the queen? Someone could have stopped her.

AND THEN YOU COULD’VE GOTTEN YOUR EXIT!! FUCK!

Great. Winston had promised to help you if you helped Alice. And now you can’t go back till you go to bed! And that’s if Alice hasn’t gone home or lost her head yet! YAY!

You groan before sitting up, not expecting the violent pain in your neck. You then hiss in pain, just barely managing to massage the flesh locked under the collar. 

What a great way to start the morning. 

But there was some good news. The tyrant queen will get called out for her tyranny. That’s something to look forward to at the duel today. Still doesn’t make you feel any better though. 

“Ugh, Great.” You rub the exhaustion out of your eyes, to be face to face with Grim. 

“Hey, ____! Ah, good, you’re already up!” 

“Didn’t exactly have the best sleep.” Maybe you should tell grim about your dreams, just in case. But that’s a later thing, “Ready to get these collars off?” 

“Yeah!”

Back at the tyrant’s castle, er, Heartslabyul, the residents have all gathered in the magical battlegrounds within the rose garden. Why someone built a magical battlefield in the middle of a flammable rose maze must have been a tyrant themselves, because why someone didn’t bring up the flammable part at some point during the dorm’s construction was a question you’re not stupid enough to come up with an answer to.

Speaking of tyrants, Riddle must have gone on a power trip stoked by his tantrum yesterday. Because the number of students wearing collars, minus or plus Ace and Deuce pick one, has to have doubled in one night. Seriously, a good quarter of the audience has to be wearing collars. 

And because of said collars, this duel is going to go south real fast. Because Riddle’s already fucking cheating with his signature spell. Seriously, magic nullification should not be allowed in duels like this but for some reason it is.

But back to the duel of the century, for just Heartslabyul. The dorm residents have been gossiping since your group’s arrival….

“Did you hear? They say someone’s challenged Dorm Leader Rosehearts to a duel!”

“Riddle Rosehearts? Seriously?! Whoever it is has gotta be outta his mind. Riddle will have his head off in five seconds flat.”

…about how stupid this decision was. You mean, you agree, but they’re the ones living under a tyrant. Have a little positivity, everyone. 

Thankfully, there are few who have held onto the aforementioned positivity. 

“Still, it’s the first challenge since Rosehearts took power. I’m pumped!” In your opinion, the dorm should be like that guy. That guy has a little faith.

Also, Trey apparently didn’t warn Cater about the duel that was probably going viral on Heartslabyul’s Magicam, because he looks completely shocked as you told him about the shit preparing to hit the fan.  “You’re saying Ace and Deuce are challenging Riddle for the dorm leader’s seat?! Please tell me you’re kidding!”

You sigh, “I’m not, Cater. Wish I was.”

“We tried to stop ‘em.” Correction, Trey. YOU tried to stop them, he sat there and did nothing like with Riddle. Seriously, the bystander effect is strong with Trey; it's like he’s afraid of saying something when he needs to. Did Riddle’s mom traumatize him too!?

Cater looks positively miserable at the revelation. “Of all the stupid ideas…I just hope this doesn’t make everything worse.”

“You and me both.” Trey agrees, but now you're both curious and concerned. Just how much worse is worse?

Crowley’s clearing of his throat silences the crowd’s chatter. Kinda concerning that he's more focused on two students dueling a dorm leader than the rampant abuse of power that’s going on in this dorm, but whatever it’s not like negligence is a crime or something. Though it probably isn’t given your experience so far. 

“We are about to commence two challenges for the dorm leader position at Heartslabyul House.” He announces as grandiose as possible. “The first challenger is Ace Trappola, the second challenger is Deuce Spade. The current housewarden they have challenged is Riddle Rosehearts.”

“Now, in accordance with the duel rules, please remove the magic-sealing collars as they would provide an unfair disadvantage.” Oh, you were waiting for that.

Riddle snaps his fingers and the collars dissolve away into sparks, leaving behind red marks around Ace and Deuce’s necks. Given Ace has been stuck in that thing for two nights you can’t imagine the relief he must feel. “Ah! FINALLY, the dumb collar is off!”

Yours and Grim’s are still on though. Oh, did he just forget that you and Grim were collateral damage to yesterday’s rampage? You can feel your rage rising. 

“Enjoy your moment of freedom. The collar will be back on soon enough.” Riddle’s cocky smirk looks so punchable, and you feel an itch in your fingers. Still cockiness might be his downfall. 

But before that…..

“Hey, Rosehearts!” You call out, “ Just to point something out,” You say as sarcastically and humorlessly as possible, “could you please remove mine and Grim’s. We’re not even in your dorm!” Riddle sighs, as if you’ve been bugging him about this for hours, before finally unlocking the literal weight around your and Grim’s necks. And you breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” The ‘Asshole’ part goes unsaid, for fear of making this worse.

Now, that the cone of shame on your neck is gone you can let them return back to the pre-duel banter. “Carry on.” You say with a dismissive wave of your hand.

Riddle hmphs, returning his focus back to his two challengers. “I could hardly believe it when I heard you two intended to duel me. Is this a joke?”

There’s a “Do I look like I’m joking?” from Ace and a “I’d never propose a duel as a joke!” from Deuce. They’re not backing down now. 

“Hmph. Have it your way. Let us get this over with.” Indeed, let’s get this over with, because you might have a room to clear out when this eventually fizzles out. That doesn’t mean you won’t cheer for Ace and Deuce, Bravery is still something to praise even if it’s on par with stupidity.

But like before, Cater intervenes when he really shouldn’t, “Uh, Riddle, what do you want to do about today's afternoon tea?”

“A foolish question. You know that the rules stipulate I take my tea everyday at 4 PM sharp.” Oh, so he’s cocky that he can finish this in, what, thirty minutes. 

“It’s just that it’s already past 3:30….”

“And you fear that I will be late? All the more reason to end this promptly.” So he’s very cocky. You can only hope it will be his downfall. 

“It appears I have little time to waste. Rather than facing my opponents in succession, I will take on both at once.” Oh. Wow, he’s…..he’s arrogant if he thinks that. Well, Ace and Deuce are probably screwed. 

The cheers of the dorm residents fill the air as stiff and empty as they were yesterday. 

“You can do it, Dorm Leader!”

“Knock ‘em dead, sir!”

You can see Trey shake his head to your  right, so he still hasn’t said anything. Coward.

“Cowards,” you hear Deuce say, and you agree, because you’re looking right at one. To say that you don’t want to hurt his feelings after a hard time, when you’re letting him force that hard time onto others is the definition of cowardice.

“Myah, I got a bad feelin’ about this.” You squeeze Grim tighter. 

“I do too, Grim.” 

“Hey, at least we got a plan!” A plan that already hangs on by a thread, Ace but you’ll accept his confidence. 

“Headmaster, please give us the signal.” Riddle’s already sure of his victory even before it starts, and he might be right, but a part of you wants him to suffer, just a little.

“When the mirror, I’ve thrown shatters upon the ground, that is your signal to begin. Ready…Go!” 

“You guys can do it!” You offer them some encouragement, but….

“OFF WITH YOUR HEADS!” You saw the way this battle ends from miles away.

If you're being generous, you’ll call that another deja vu moment. This insanity of constant ‘beheadings’ is starting to become grating. But, you hope the ending of the calling out part comes sooner rather than later. 

“That was…..fast.” You say glumly, it’s sad that they failed so quickly but at least they tried. It had to be, what, 5 seconds into the duel before the collars locked on and it was over. Saddening, upsetting but expected. 

Well, now what?

“Visualization is key to spell casting.” Crowley starts an unhelpful speech about magic. It’s not really helpful in this situation, because if Riddle has his way from now on Ace and Deuce are going to be wearing those collars till Riddle graduates. “The better you are at accurately visualizing your magic’s effect, the stronger and more precise it will be.”

“They lost in less than ten seconds, you’re not helping Crowley.” You point out the explicitly obvious, because it doesn’t fucking matter about how visualisation is important when a. They lost before they cast a single spell, and b. They can’t even use their magic to practice now. “Still, it would appear Mr.Rosehearts has finely honed his magic.” Ouch, salt in the wound. Stroke the tyrant’s ego even more too. Crowley’s just batting zero right now. 

“Myah…They didn’t stand a chance.” Grim bemoans at the loss. 

You sigh, “Well at least they tried….” it wasn’t really an attempt even but at the very least. You force a smile on your face as you approach your two friends, “You guys did your best, or were going to your best..” You add unhelpfully, before giving them each a gentle smile. . You might have to just let them stay it seems.

Ace opens his mouth to reply but someone else does to add their unhelpful commentary. “Hardly. They didn’t even last five seconds.” You can hear Ace and Deuce growl as you turn to face the cocky tyrant. 

 That cocky, self-righteous brat keeps adding his unwanted opinion. “That was all you had, and still you thought to challenge me? You must be utterly humiliated.”

You glare at him, “You won already. Stop rubbing it in.”

Riddle’s too high on his high horse to seem to be aware of what happens below. “I guess my mother was right. A man who cannot follow rules is a man who cannot achieve anything.” You’re going to put a knife between that woman’s eyes if you ever meet up. Mommy undearest’s parenting has screwed him up so much that he’s doing the same thing to the people he lives with.

If Ace or Deuce actually won this battle he probably would have been run out of the dorm.

“Tch…We agree that rules should be followed. But forcing others to follow nonsensical rules like the ones you’ve enacted is tyranny!” 

“Then you agree that breaking the rules is wrong. And in this dorm, I AM the rules.” Is…is he serious? Did he miss the second part of Deuce’s sentence? “Therefore, those who cannot abide by my decisions deserve not the heads they use to complain!”

You had enough of this.

You’ve bit your tongue bloody, thanks to this brat’s tyranny.  You've been inconvenienced again and again because of his pretentious and frankly ridiculous rules.

 Screw manners, screw survival, and screw this red-haired little absolutist pain the ass! “But that’s not right! You can’t just use the rules to do whatever you please!” You yell in fury. 

“I am the one who decides what is wrong and right-”

You cut him off. “And you’re also a pain in the neck and the ass, that pretends he’s the perfect student that can do no wrong, because mommy said so!” His eyes widen in shock as you finally, finally go off the leash you tethered to yourself this entire time. And you’re not done. “How can you be so blinded by your own delusions that you can’t even see how unreasonable it is to follow, frankly, the most STUPID of rules!?!” You can feel your cheeks warming and the blood in your ears roaring in boiling hot fury. You can feel someone try to calm your rage with a hand, Deuce’s, on your shoulder. You’re pissed and tired and angry and what does he do?

He continues talking like you didn’t say anything. “If there were no penalties, no one would follow the rules.” You;re going to punch him. 

“You!-” What he says next cuts your thoughts and words off completely.

“What sort of pitiful education have you received, that you cannot follow such simple rules? Clearly, you were born to parents with no great magical capability. As a result…you lack even the basic education necessary to attend a school such as this. It’s quite sad.”

You blink, taken aback. The rage in you is stunned into pacification. 

He did not. 

He did not just say that about you.

“You-” You can’t even string your thoughts together completely stunned. You can forgive someone being unreasonableYou feel something different from rage, something stronger, boiling inside you. 

“You little…” Deuce releases you, prepared to pummel the tyrant into the ground but…..

“You shut your spoiled little mouth!” Ace dashes forward fist raised and-

He punches Riddle clean across the face. 

Hard enough to knock Riddle off his feet. Ace quite literally beat Deuce to the punch. 

So many voices speak up in shock and surprise at Riddle, the untouchable dorm leader, finally eating his just desserts. Right in the face too.

You don’t say anything, staring at what’s about to unfold, with a blank expression.

“That’s all I can take. Forget Riddle. Forget the duel. I’m done.” Just like Alice in your dreams last night, calls out the now stunned red sovereign.

“That hurt! You…p-punched me?!” Riddle’s genuinely stunned. Is stunned by his house of cards finally starting to collapse around him? You can’t bring yourself to care. 

Ace spits some facts. 

“Kids aren’t trophies for their parents to flaunt. And the accomplishments of a child aren’t determined by the worth of their parents. It’s  not your parents’ fault you became a tyrant -or anyone else’s. You’ve been here a year and haven’t even made a friend who will tell you you’re outta line. And that’s on you.”

“What are you even talking about?” 

“Yeah, maybe you had some rigid upbringing from a relentless helicopter-mom. Is that all you are? An extension of her? Can’t you think for yourself? You call yourself the ‘red sovereign’. You’re just a baby who’s good at magic.”

“Baby…? Did you just call me a ‘baby’?! You don’t know anything about me! You don’t know anything about anything!” But despite the honest truths that Ace is trying to make the pretentious tyrant hear for what has to be the first time in his life, Riddle refuses to listen.

“Nope, sure don’t. And I don’t need to. Your attitude tells me all I need to know- that you’re nothing but a spoiled brat!” Ace doesn’t let up on the lecture Riddle probably needed to hear last year. 

Riddle’s face is starting to turn pink from his blind anger. “Shut up, shut up, shut UP! My mother was right! And that means I’m right too!” Riddle practically roars in anger. He’s shaking from barely repressed rage. 

Trey steps between them to prevent what has to be a near disaster, trying to pacify the screaming tyrant. “Riddle, calm down. The duel is already over.”

“Mr. Clover is correct.” Crowley  The challenger has been disqualified due to physical violence. If you do not cease your conflict now, I’ll have you written up for breaking school rules!” But even with the threat of breaking his own personal rules and being a rule breaker himself doesn’t soothe his rage. It doesn’t matter here anyway, because as long as no one is willing to stand up to-

“Ace is right, though! I’ve had enough of Riddle!” A voice in the crowd shouts, and he throws something small aimed directly at Riddle’s head.

An egg cracks in Riddle’s hair. Egg goop trails down his face. You fight back a laugh with all your willpower. Well, color you impressed. The card soldiers aren't completely useless, brain dead drones. 

For half a second everyone is frozen solid. And then the egg practically cooks on Riddle’s face as he searches for the offender, completely infuriated. “Who did that? Who threw that egg?!”

And this time, the silence feels both suffocating and glorious. At least the cowards have finally stood up for themselves, at least a little. Unfortunately Riddle, instead of taking the obvious hint the egg to the face was, he laughs. And it’s not a composed one.

“Heh heh…Ah ha ha ha!”  It’s an insane one.

Riddle snaps at all of the now cowering dorm students“You say YOU’RE fed up?! I’M the one who’s fed up with all of YOU!” 

“No matter how strict I am, no matter how many heads I remove, you keep breaking the rules! All any of you care about is doing what YOU want to do! If the guilty party won’t come forward, then I’ll pass judgment on all of you!”

“Clearly, none of you value your heads! OFF WITH YOUR HEADS!!!” Like a tyrant gone wild, collars lock on to every single one of the residents' necks, save Trey and Cater, sealing off their magic.  You’re getting real tired of hearing that. 

The Heartslabyul residents scatter like headless, heh pun unintended but fitting, chickens. “Bwaaah! Let’s get out of here!” “Urrrgh!” 

Riddle, reassured that his tyranny will last,  shoves past Ace to rub in his ‘victory’ to Ace.“How do you like that, hm? Now no one can do a thing to me! Do you see now? My strict adherence to the rules was clearly the correct path!”

Crowley still does nothing to calm, or now that Riddle’s actually broken some rules, to punish Riddle for this insanity. “Cease this improper behavior now, Mr. Rosehearts. I expect better from you!”

“Crowley, could you maybe actually do something!?!” You finally point out the utter stupidity of him not doing anything while Riddle literally abuses his power. 

“Uh…Trey, if he keeps using his spell…This could get ugly, fast!” You barely hear Cater over the chaos.

Trey does, still trying to separate the fuming  Riddle away from Ace and a catastrophe. “Riddle, stop this!”

Ace might be perspective but he’s incapable of reading the room when shit really starts to go bad. “Wow, way to totally prove me wrong here, pal! I call you a baby and you immediately throw a temper tantrum!”

Riddle’s face goes deep crimson. “Retract your comment immediately, or I shall skewer you where you stand!” He yells. 

This might not be good.

Ace doesn’t let up “No way. I ain’t retraction’ squat.”

Face red, eyes full of rage and mania, Riddle’s reached the point of fury where words are impossible and yells of anger are the only sounds that can be made. “YEEEAAARGH!!!”

“Dude, this is bad! You’ve G-2-G, now!” You feel a hand on your wrist, Cater's, dragging you away from the rampaging tyrant.

And then you're blinded by the debris.The earth shakes for too long as the rose bushes are yanked out of the earth, the fragile yet heavy bushes floating high in the air. Ripped up from their earth , roots and all, and float in mid-air. The roses and their thorny brambles writhe under Riddle’s magic.

Debris and dirt float through the air, alongside the rose bushes. 

“W…Whoa…” You take a nervous step back, “Shit.” 

“The rose trees! They’re floating!”

“This is some serious magic!”

The roses and their brambles might not be the strongest weapon, but Riddle’s magical strength is powerful, as you watch the roses and branches become arrows, perfect for tearing flesh from bone and crushing the rest. 

“Mighty roses, tear this brute to pieces!” Riddle yells, completely blinded at his anger. The roses, thorns and all fly like arrows aimed directly at Ace. A deadly shot, if it lands.

“Ace! MOVE!” You dash forward, but a pair of arms are around your waist holding you back from the barrage of arrows aimed at your friend. You look around frantically and you see who’s stopping you from helping the first friend you made here. It’s Deuce. When did he get next to you? Nevermind. “Lemme go! Ace needs help!” 

Deuce shakes his head with a remorseful expression. “I can’t let you get hurt!”

Since you can’t get to Ace, “Crowley! DO something!” You yell at the Headmaster who’s done jack diddly since Riddle’s tantrum progressed into hemorrhage. All he’s done here is politely ask Riddle to stop, and Ace might actually die if Riddle keeps at this. 

“Cease and desist at once!” Crowley doesn’t do anything, but yells at him to stop, and Riddle’s already too angry to listen.

But it’s too late for any one to push Ace out of the way, 

“ACE!” You can’t even shut your eyes as the roses and brambles come down. You take back every thing you’ve ever said about Ace, and this world if it means you don’t witness him being killed….

…..By playing cards?

Instead of roses and their thorns tearing Ace to shreds….playing cards fall from the sky.

“Huh? I’m still alive?” Ace is as stunned as you and everyone else here. 

Deuce is probably as stunned as you, because his arms go limp, and you practically tackle Ace, “Are you okay!?” Your arms and legs are jelly from adrenaline, but you manage to stumble over and check him over with trembling hands. 

“Y-Yeah,”He answers and you sigh in clear relief.  What’s with all these playing cards?”

“All the rose trees turned into cards?” Deuce is right, All the roses and their brambles are gone. Instead it’s all playing cards. And nothing more. How did that even happen?!

Wait. Deja vu again, this keeps happening. Cards falling against an innocent. But there’s no time for that. 

Because Riddle’s face is murderous, and his grip on his magical staff is so tight it could have snapped in half. He raises it again, prepared to recast as “Why didn’t you-”

Deuce dives in between you and Ace, to act as human shield but Trey stops him, shielding you all from Riddle’s view. “Riddle, stop this right now!” Oh, so NOW Trey decides enough is enough, murder was the last straw. Wonderful. 

“Wait, is that Trey’s ‘Paint the Roses’?! But…how?!” You can hear a confused Cater, and thank goodness, because Trey saved Ace’s life. 

“All the magic sealin’ collars are gone!” Grim’s right, You didn’t even notice in the mayhem. Ace and Deuce, and probably all the Heartslabyul residents, all have their magic-sealing collars removed. 

“What did I tell you? My magic can overwrite characteristics for a short time. So I used it to make ‘Riddle’s magic’ into ‘my magic’.” Trey’s explanation lets you breathe a sigh of genuine relief. At least now, Riddle is defenseless.

“You can do that? That’s some kinda loophole!” And a lucky loophole to test on someone about to die.

Meanwhile in Crazy town, Riddle’s discovered his magic’s no longer his own. “N-no…Off with their heads! I SAID, off with their heads!” Every attempt Riddle makes to cut off everyone’s magic just causes more and more playing cards to fly out. But depending on how short the time Trey’s magic can work, that might not be for long. Especially with how many times Riddle tries recasting. 

Trey finally puts his foot down. “Riddle, stop. Can’t you see how you look right now?”

You can’t believe that this is what it took to finally open the eyes of the residents. Ace nearly being murdered because Riddle’s ego got bruised. At least now, their eyes have been opened to the true extent of Riddle’s cruelty. 

Which they decide to vocalize in the presence of the tyrant with the bruised ego. They’re not very smart. are they? 

“He…he was really gonna do it!” “He is completely out of control.” “He’s like some kinda monster!”

Thankfully, and unfortunately, Riddle isn’t focused on that. Instead, he’s more concerned with the fact that his magic isn’t his anymore. And Trey is the reason. “What? Was my magic overwritten by yours? Does that mean your signature spell is stronger than mine?!” He demands, turning on the only one who ever really defended him in his madness. 

“Of course it doesn’t. Riddle, take a deep breath and listen to us.” Trey tries to reason, but it’s too late for Riddle to be reasonable, with him already lost in the throes of his anger.

You start to feel a chill up your spine, like back in the mines with that monster. But why are you-

Still completely unreasonable, Riddle’s still deaf to Trey's words, “Are YOU going to tell me that I’m wrong too? After all I’ve done to protect the rule of law?! Do you know how much I’ve suffered for this?! I…I refuse to believe this!” That chill gets worse, and the ominous and malicious feeling you’re getting from Riddle gets worse. Something much darker. A line of dark blood drips from Riddle’s nose. Wait, that’s not blood. Blood isn’t….black.

You might be angry about earlier, but unlike Riddle, you haven’t lost your wits. You can tell when things are nose-diving into a downward spiral at terminal velocity. Because the longer Riddle spits his mad ravings, the more of that black stuff comes out.

You normally wouldn’t do this, mostly because you want to punch the bastard. But that inky stuff has to be a bad omen. “Riddle, you need to calm down.” You try to soothe the raging beast, even though you’re sure that this is a bad idea. “You don’t want to be a rulebreaker, right? So just calm down and we’ll talk this out.”

“Wha-OW!” Ace looks at you as if you’d gone insane too, but you elbowed him harshly in the gut. 

Riddle’s angry glare falls on you. And you could see the veins starting to twitch under his skin. If he gets any more angry, then he might have a stroke. “ I! AM NOT! A RULE BREAKER!” He yells, his own rage leaving him breathless. “AND YOU! OF ALL PEOPLE! HAVE NO RIGHT TO SAY THAT!”

“I’m just trying to calm you down, you don’t really want to break the rules by hurting anyone, do you?” You hope he doesn’t actually want to hurt anyone. Plus, you’re really not ready to witness someone’s death. 

Riddle’s face is so red, it looks like it might explode. And his glare could kill you and cook the remains with how fiery it is. 

He snaps, his voice laden with venom. 

“YOU! DARLINGS LIKE YOU! ARE WHY WE NEED THE RULES! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SAY THAT TO ME!”

…..What.

Did he just- 

No way, he just did. He did. 

Shit. Shit...SHIT. 

FUCK YOU, RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS!

You did NOT go through all that shit for him to reveal it to everyone here in a fit of rage. No fuck him, fuck this, whatever shit he has going on can wait because you need this bastard’s neck to be the other way round. 

You feel fire burn under your skin. You’re gonna-

“Wait, wha-” You hear , and you don’t even have the ability to freeze up in terror. Because you gotta disperse the potential nightmare of Ace and Deuce finding out. Even if they don’t believe him, the doubt will remain. So you’re basically fried. 

“It’s nothing!” You frantically yell to cut off whatever Ace or  Deuce were going to say as fast as you can as you feel your heart speed up in total panic.  You’ll be lucky if they think this is a psychotic rambling of a raging tyrant. This just keeps getting worse and worse for you. 

If Riddle doesn’t get killed in this madness, then he owes you an apology and you owe him a big, fat fist to the face. 

Meanwhile as you prepare for your own mental breakdown, Crowley maintains his complete and utter uselessness, even though he probably has the power to stop this. “Cease immediately, Mr. Rosehearts! Any further attempt to use magic will leave your magestone completely tainted with blot!”

What is blot?! 

And why is Riddle-

“But….I’m right! I’M the one who’s right! There is NO! POSSIBLE! ALTERNATIVE!” Thick, black inky substance  comes out of his eyes and ears. 

“Riddle, stop!” Trey’s words can’t pull Riddle out of his madness and likely never will. 

Because all that black ink dripping out of nearly every pore, staining his skin and clothes, pools around him for only a few seconds. Before it engulfs him, swallowing him whole. 

And like a caterpillar metamorphosing into a horrific butterfly…..

…..he comes out a monster.

Like a horrible chrysalis bursting open, Riddle comes out changed. 

His skin is so pallid, the color could have been mistaken for bone. A red flame is positioned over his right eye, glowing an unnatural color. The ink that bleed out of his skin sticks to his arm and face like tar. And most identifiably, he’s dressed like the Queen of Hearts. Sort of, if she was beheaded and her body was thrown in her beloved rose garden to be torn apart by the hedgehogs. (A fitting fate in your eyes)

The tyrant has changed to match his predecessor, both over-controlling monsters. 

But that’s not the most terrifying part of it. 

There’s also the giant hulking beast tethered to Riddle’s back.  And that’s the most defining feature. Because that thing matches your dreams of the Queen of Hearts. The monster is dressed in a dress nearly identical to the one from your second dream. She’s even carrying a rose bush, torn from another world’s ground.

This is not good. And you’re suddenly very afraid of what will happen next.

The possessed? Riddle cackles, “You are fools to defy me! You are not welcome in my world. In my world, I am the law. I am order made manifest!” His voice is warped and distorted as if someone otherworldly is speaking through him.

“The only response I will accept from you is ‘Yes, Dorm Leader Riddle.’ All who defy me will lose their heads! Ah ha ha ha HA!” 

“Dear me, what have I done? I’ve allowed a student to overblot in my presence!” What the fuck is overblot!?

“Crowley? What the HELL is overblot!?” You demand an explanation to this madness, because Riddle is both a monster, and has a massive monster connected to his spine. Seriously, what the shit is this!?!

“Overblot is a dangerous condition that mages must avoid at all costs. At the moment, he is overcome by negative energy and has lost control of his magic and emotions.”

“Okay but what does that mean?!” 

“Please explain!”

“To put it in layman’s terms, he’s in evil berserker mode!”

“If he keeps releasing magical energy, we could be looking at a loss of life here- his included.” 

“WHAT!” You feel your eye twitch, “CROWLEY! WHY DIDN’T YA JUST TELL ME ALL THIS SHIT WHEN I GOT HERE!!” It can’t be that hard, can it? How hard is it to give the unfortunate transfer student from another world or dimension a simple crash-course of ‘hey, here’s some things you should know about our world!’, for crap’s sake. 

“Ms. ____-” 

“Nevermind, Crowley! We’ll deal with the evil giant monster thing now, I’ll freak out later!” And freak out you will. Riddle outed you, overblotted and could kill someone or multiple someones if this shit goes south. Forget punching him, you’re going to beat him so bad that smug arrogant face of his will be unrecognizable when you're done with him.You are fucking tired of this shit already, and when you think it’s bad it just gets worse.

“Yes! The well-being of my students is my top priority. Therefore, I must evacuate them immediately.”

“Y-You’re not staying?”. You say weakly. Was the bar for headmaster requirements in hell? Yes, there is a giant monster/dorm leader attacking the running and hiding Heartslabyul residents but this is a MAGIC school for shit’s sake. “No, but as for Mr.Rosehearts, we must restore his consciousness before his magical energy runs dry.” Damnit Crowley! “For as bad as losing him would be, there are scenarios that are far worse…” WHAT’S WORSE?!?!

“Listen well: I need all of you to seek help from the other housewardens and members of faculty.” But how the hell are going to all evacuate and summon the other housewardens if Riddle is-

While the exposition dump was happening, the beast behind Riddle follows his body movements, and still fueled by all the anger that caused this whole mess to start in the first place, raises the rose bush like a club, prepared to strike down one of the unfortunate Heartslabyul students.

Ace and Deuce finally allowed to use their magic, do what they’ve wanted to do since yesterday. Strike the pretentious dorm leader down.

“HIIYAH! TAKE THAT!�� A strong magical gust knocks the beast’s weapon away from its original target. And annoys the furious Riddle. 

“Huh!? Trey, Cater and Crowley look and sound bewildered at the attack, but you feel a rush of pride. 

“I summon thee, cauldron!” Deuce takes advantage of Riddle’s change in focus to strike. With his infamous cauldron spell. Riddle manages to dodge it, but at least he’s not attacking the students any more!

“MYAH!” Grim leaps out of your arms to join the attacks, sending a wave of blue fire along with Ace and Deuce’s own attacks. 

Now even more pissed ( a surprise to be honest) Riddle fumes at their lack of submission. “What do you fools think you’re doing?”

“Um, hello?! 911? We’ve got an idiot emergency!” Cater’s internet talk doesn’t fade in times of high stress.

Grim, acting unlike his usual selfish self, actually points out the most frightening part of this, “You DID hear that part about how reeeal bad things are happenin’ with him, right?!”

“That’s why we need to stop him now! I don’t want that on my conscience!” Yah, Riddle straight up sucks but risking the deaths of others to save yourself from certain death is cowardly, and unlike the rampager, you’re not a hypocrite. 

“And I’m not givin’ up till I hear him say, ‘I was wrong and I’m sorry.’”

You’re convinced, “Yeah, he owes me an apology for the shit he put me through!!”

“All right, let’s do this. I can overwrite his magic for a little longer. In the meantime, do what you can! Headmage, please evacuate the other students!”

“Wait! This is dangerous!”

“Are you S-R-S, Trey? You can’t beat Riddle!”

“So what, you’re not even gonna fight unless you KNOW you can win?”

“Yeah, he’s right. That’s weak.”

“This is the only way we can think of to snap him out of this!”

“Yeah…I don’t want to lose him. There’re too many things I’ve left unsaid.”

“We just have to do this, whatever it takes!” You might not be able to do magic, but you’ll help….somehow. 

“Ugh, I do NOT like or subscribe to this, but fine!”

Ngh…I’ll be back as soon as I’ve gotten the students to safety. Stand firm until then!”

“Such defiance, from every last one of you! I shall take all of your heads!”

“Riddle’s body can’t take much more of this. We need to stop him before it’s too late!”

Things are going…..well enough. 

Because how in every layer of hell can you describe this? At all? It’s not everyday that you watch a magician go into berserker mode and try to kill his ‘underlings’ or really equals he’s un/knowingly been abusing for who knows how long?

Here’s the good news. 

Trey’s magic makes the fight easier for them. Replacing Riddle’s UM makes the battle actually possible. 

Cater’s Spilt Card, makes the perfect distraction ones, that he can use as human shields as Riddle strikes.

Even Ace, Deuce and Grim’s inexperience manages to turn the tide. Wind, cauldrons and fire join a barrage of more sophisticated and more complicated spells of the third-years is the perfect combination of brute strength and complicated strategy. 

But here’s the bad news. 

Riddle’s fast. Very fast. 

For every one spell the others cast, Riddle can cast two. and moves twice as fast to replace every one Trey replaces. Which should be impossible with all of his magical energy and life force being drained away but it seems whether he’s a horrific monster or a tyrannical dictator, he’s still a magical prodigy.

What your friends need is a distraction. And they need one fast. And while you might not have magic, you’re not completely powerless here. 

Why? 

Because Riddle’s earlier pique was kind enough to dislodge plenty of stones that once were the floor of the battle ground. Small and light enough for you to carry. Large and heavy enough to leave a nasty bruise or a nice headache.

All you hope is that you have good aim. Because this better land right in the face. 

Even with the hail of magic sending wind, ice, fire, cauldrons and other magical bursts in Riddle’s direction, you’re safely hidden in the background and the beast attached to him is otherwise preoccupied with the aforementioned magic, so it’s easy to sneak away. 

You wrap your hand around one of the loose stones of the destroyed battlegrounds, and sneak behind the bushes till you’re a good distance away from the others with a broad distance away from him and that monster. “Hey Rosehearts!” You yell.

He turns to you with a death glare that could actually cut off your head. But as soon as his gaze has fallen on you, you throw the stone as hard as you can.

It hits him square in the forehead. 

Riddle doesn’t even have the time to cry out in pain, as he and the phantom monster stumble back, dazed.

“HA! Take that you controlling bastard!” Sure, you’re saving his life in the process, but considering he just outed you, kicking his ass through this is actually one hell of a relief.

Everyone takes advantage of the distraction you made to send another barrage of magic against Riddle. Still dazed from your strike to his head, probably combined with the damage the overblot was taking on his body, he’s much slower. 

So now, every strike lands without fail, and Riddle barely has time to retaliate now. And that changes the tide of the battle. 

With every new strike, the monster’s body starts to distort and parts of its body start to writhe and twist. The darkness glowing underneath starts to distort and warp. The roots holding it to Riddle's body start to sever. The monster’s distorted roars start to soften, turning weaker. 

“Is it over?” You ask. You feel safe enough to go closer, now that the monster’s body starts to sway and collapse. Riddle looks like he’s about to pass out. “Is he going to die?”

“He better not. He still needs to apologize to me!” Ace 

You sigh in relief for half a second. And the blot around Riddle swarms him. 

You don’t know what switched on within you. You hate this guy. You want to see him suffer a little, or more specifically a lot.

“Henchman!” 

So you don’t know why you ran when you did, or why you grabbed Riddle’s wrist like a vice right before his body disappeared into the mess of dark ink. You grabbed on as tight as you can,  just as the monster finally burst. 

Thick ink, scalding hot like Riddle’s burning rage, hits your skin and burns your face. You scream in reflex, and your mouth burns from the hot, bitter ink entering it. You choke on the blot. It burns. It coats you, covers you, drowns you and your vision swims. But your grip doesn’t let up. 

“_____!!!” You hear many voices screaming your name. But you can’t see them. The burning black ink falls like rain, obscuring your friends from view.

All you can feel is that overwhelmingly painful and smothering burn of the ink…but the last thing your senses pick up on before you pass out isn’t the burn on your skin, the bitterness in your mouth, or the voices of your friends.

It’s a voice.

“I…was wrong?! But that’s…impossible…”

A sad, anguished voice. The sad, anguished voice of Riddle Rosehearts.

“Isn’t it….Mother?”

[meanbossart]

ASK COMPILATION #385032: Shape-shifting genitals, mouth-mashing skillsets, who taps out first in the bedroom and the 17 different types of meat this guy eats.

I TRIED TO MAKE THIS A BIG ONE. Thank you everybody for your patience!

The truth of the matter is that I need one dramatic light-source or I will perish. HOWEVER...

Yeah, they seem the type to leave it purposefully ajar for the thrill of it. As well as the excuse to bring hell down upon anyone caught trying to steal a peek.

YES, actually! I've had the concept for a comic or two that's precisely about interactions they've had while younger. Comics take a lot of work, and there's a LOT of things I want to do, but that is definitely in the plans.

Yes! Or rather, as a shapeshifter, I believe she doesn't bother with them 99% of the time, possibly never, even though she has the habitability to form them if she so wished. The Orin DU drow knew was always doll-like in appearance when nude, and he did not particularly mind it or fantasized about anything different.

I believe this is both a preference in Orin's part (and across many shapeshifters, if I recall correctly) as well as a strategic choice.

And thank you so much!

[MORE BELOW THE CUT]

I don't know, kissing isn't that hard LOL I think they're pretty even-leveled in technique but Astarion is the tonguier one.

ALL IN DUE TIME, MY FRIEND, ALL IN DUE TIME...

Maybe 😊 🤫though I'm not sure how useful his powers would be in that context.

That said, Indeed! The irony of this match isn't lost on anyone. I'm sure Astarion would have some thoughts about the convenience of it.

I know this is more of a jokey message, but I don't think Astarion would be cool with that sort of thing, and DU drow most definitely wouldn't ask 😂

Whatever works, as he would probably say!

Astarion got drunk through DU drow on occasion while he still fed on him, yes LOL I don't care if that makes sense or not, It's a hysterical concept and definitely factual in my canon. To be fair as well, DU drow is a huge man and has to drink a LOT to get properly wasted - so Astarion wouldn't have to consume a whole lot from him to get on a similar level!

Post a few particular post-campaign events, Astarion gets drunk through strangers' blood that were either piss-drunk already or have been fed alcohol forcibly by the pair.

He likes thick stews, braised pork, and meat-pies the most. Don't ask me when or why I've decided this but he likes octupi as a every-once-in-a-while treat - I think he mostly enjoys the experience of eating it more than the taste.

For drinks, he likes beer, red semi-dry wine, and mead the most. He also likes a GOOD whisky - none of the copper-coin garbage they serve at most Inns.

Hi! Incredible question. DU drow can go indefinitely but when he stops he knocks out in record speed. There usually comes a point where Astarion flops over and lets him do all the work.

You know how, shortly after you find out about it, if you tell Astarion that you're frightened of your origins you get that really heartfelt bit of dialogue about how yourself and him are so much alike, and how he feels similarly powerless before Cazador as you do toward your father? Well, I never got that, because DU drow was too busy squinting into the horizon and contemplating the logistics of his conception which prompts Astarion to, essentially, say something along the lines of "Okay, if all you want to do is discuss your dad's cum I'm out"

So, like that.

They didn't smash in the graveyard! I'm hoping to either write a short thing about it, draw something inspired by how the scene went down in my head, or, ideally, both!

That IS kind of a wild comparison but I'm guessing you know about my origins, LOL.

Not... Quite. I'm reluctant to say more because I would like for it to be a surprise that I bring you all through art (even if you can make a pretty accurate deduction based on what has been said so far) but suffice to say that this is the flipside to the Bhaalist DU drow AU.

I don't think I could find the time 😭😭😭 but that's a hysterical idea and I would gladly mash together a bunch of clips if someone else was willing to highlight them!

Hello and thank YOU for humoring me in my nerdy little forays!

I hadn't heard about Model/Actriz but I had a little sneak-peek and, indeed, this might just be right up my alley LOL

It's hard for me to remove these characters from their intended universe so I have a difficult time picturing what they would listen to if the options didn't all sound like string-y bardcore music. I'm sure there are more genres to speak of in DnD lore, I'm just ignorant of them!

That said I do have some thoughts about which of them even enjoy music at all.

REALLY enjoys music: DU drow, Jaheira, Misc, Karlach, Wyll.

Modestly enjoys music: Gale, Shadowheart, Minthara, Halsin.

Generally doesn't enjoy music: Astarion, Lae'zel.

No notes just canonical character information being shared

I forgot what this one was in reference to for a moment and I was so aghast.

I really, really hope you weren't hoping for me to give you work-out advice because both, if you were, you've come to the wrong man.

But if you're just wondering about lore here, I think it's a solid 50/50. I think he's predisposed to a really well-built physique because Daddy Bhaal said so AND he's incredibly active and incidentally does a lot of manual labor. If he's had a few too many sedentary days in a row (which is rare) he pretty much has to tire himself through at-home routines or he goes a little cuckoo-bananas as well.

And thank you for being interested in my little freak!

He's pretty thoroughly desensitized, and thinks far too little of Orcs and half-orcs to be intimidated by them, even when that lack of fear is downright stupid. He's not impervious to fear, however, despite how hard he tries to be - Myrkhul, Grym, the giant Steelwatch, the brain, and even Cazador AFTER he snatched Astarion away were all encounters that made his blood run cold to varying degrees. I think it takes an unfamiliar foe for his sweat to run a little cold.

(Ironically, Raphael had no such effect on him.)

[generalsdiary]

Ratio and Aventurine are Sherlock and Watson coded but not in the way you think. Where one might assume Ratio would be Sherlock because of his intellect and analytic approach to life and the comments he makes, allow me to switch the perspective. Aventurine is an addict. To what? To feeling like shit and endorsing it, to having low self-esteem, to rejecting everyone in a way so no one gets too close and realizes how vulnerable he is, how much he yearns for love. He hid it away so well that he himself isn’t aware anymore of how much he wants it. to be loved, appreciated, and seen as more than just his luck- much like Ratio wants to be seen for more than just his achievements (poor man ain’t aware of how much he wants it either). Aventurine plays this perfect little role of a charismatic, lucky, fun-to-be-around persona. And that’s all it is, a play, a stage act.

let us switch gears back to Sherlock and John. Sherlock is also an addict, depending on at which point in the timeline, it is nicotine, drugs, crime cases, and similar. Here is where the point lies. Who is the one that pulls Sherlock out of that shit, out of the drug den, to hide his cigarettes away? John. We think Sherlock functions fine… before John, sure. After John, after Mary dies; oh no, Sherlock is not well without him. He can barely function, (yes, Mary’s death comes also in account here, but I won’t get sidetracked), living in a mess, doing drugs again, smoking, treating himself like shit and like he is worthless. So, who reminds Sherlock of his worth, of his genius, of the fact that he is human and not just a performance act that he puts on of deducting others? John. Both Sherlock and Aventurine throw these spectacles, these performances, these acts of a grand image, they play it and they dance to the song that others sing, moving to the melody that strangers decide; playing into whatever image that is painted of them no matter how untrue it is, ex. Aventurine will play a gambling alcoholic as much as you wish although he is more than that, and Sherlock will play the killer, the crazy ‘psychopath’ that kidnapped those kids and poisoned them, and he is also more than that. The difference is that Sherlock performs his knowledge and analytic skills, unlike Aventurine who keeps those cards close to his chest- that is how he survives, that is how he survived, his instinct, his trauma making him aware of a lot of things in his surroundings and aware of everyone else; carefully analyzing everyone to ensure his safety. Aventurine is better with his tongue, knowing what to say and when to say it, with much better people skills- that is what got him this far after all; so, he performs with flashy promises, with fun games- gambling with his own life because what is it worth to him anyway anymore? it circles back to his ‘the only survivor trauma’. Sherlock was ready to gamble his own life (S1E1) and who stopped him? John. Well, more like who saved him. The drug addiction that Sherlock has is a bit downplayed and it always ends fast within the episodes, but in its own way, it is also his gamble, him not valuing his life as much as he should.

yes, in a way Ratio and Aventurine can both be Sherlock. But it is not about Sherlock, as much as it is about Watson. And exactly what Watson brings to the table, to their relationship. In the case of Johnlock, Ratio is very much Watson. The one to tell Aventurine his life matters, the one to go along with his plan of deceiving Sunday- because Aventurine had this great plan, a huge gamble. sound familiar? The usual thing about Sherlock with big plans, ex. exposing Mary after getting shot, going to Magnussen’s to sell Mycroft’s PC. And who follows along even when they don’t agree? John.

to take into account Johnlock in the later episodes/at least the second season, when they are closer- we are brought up to speed on where Aventio are. it is a well known fact that Aventio knew each other before the first scene in the hotel of them interacting. So, they have a history, and their period of getting familiar is over. They know each other. we only see John openly criticizing Sherlock later in the series, be it insulting him or calling him out on his bullshit. The same thing happens with Aventio, where Ratio is the one to openly state his thoughts and criticize. While yes, one may argue that that is in Ratio’s character to behave as such, if we recall the scene between Ratio and the MC, he doesn’t behave that way if unprovoked. And Aventurine wasn’t provoking him, hence the conclusion. As much as Ratio seems like the black sheep here, the odd one out (which he is don’t get me wrong), in this perspective it is Aventurine who is that. and yes, Ratio walks on eggshells around him, apologizing for his harsh words. these two aren’t the perfect puzzle pieces for Johnlock, they do differ in the way they walk in public and who leads the way, and of course the point of this isn’t to make them overlap, but to draw parallels. And while writing this, truly a lot of opposing things came to mind, where both couples differ in such vast ways, all four being complex, rich characters- it pained me that Aventurine and Veritas would be compared to Sherlock and John only in the way that the “genius” matched the “genius”. smh.

Now the way Ratio is Sherlock is very simple, he doesn’t consider himself human- more like, doesn’t allow himself to be human, to feel, to connect, to breathe; when he is too much of a human – and the main reason he wasn’t accepted into the genius society. Poor Ratio, cursed because he wants to help and spread knowledge, what a mean fate struck upon the burned out gifted autistic asexual kid. To switch to Sherlock (also very autistic asexual coded), he is the most human out of them all, (I believe Eurus calls him that but I don’t recall the exact quote, also pointed out by Mrs. Hudson, John, and Mycroft), trying to be this analytical machine when his caring bleeds through his skin, evaporating through his pores, his love for John and so many others making him pull himself apart and do anything to protect them, ex. killing Magnussen, giving himself to Smith to a guaranteed death, faking his own suicide to protect Lestrade, John, and Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock who, much like Ratio, wishes to be strict in his way of life, but cannot help wanting to explain and help others, and Ratio here differs by wanting to help everyone improve while Sherlock is willing to help only after the person has shown some amount of will, intelligence, proved themselves in some way (Irene Adler) or he so rarely happened to like them (ex. the kid that was at Mary’s wedding). Although, their shared way of calling others around them idiots is neat. I’d say this is their main connection and outside of it they are extremely different characters, which is why further comparison is pointless and shallow if you just want to compare characters because they are quote on quote the clever one.

Case in point, Aventurine is Sherlock because Ratio is John, and the one that saves him. The one that grounds him, and Aventurine NEEDS him. He needs Veritas. And Sherlock needs John. Therefore, Aventurine isn’t Sherlock without Ratio, much like there is no Sherlock (be it books, movies, or the show) without John. It is more about the relationships between them than the actual characters, and that, honestly, makes it even more beautiful.

[eardefenders]

Sherlock & Co - Mailbag Episode 1 Transcript

00:00-00:30 Intro Music

*Typing Sounds*

0:36 Sherlock: What are you doing?

0:37 John: I’m collating the questions from the fans. Ah-well, d’you know actually they might not be fans. They might just. *pause* I don’t, I don’t know, listen, but, uh, ah, you know not actually, you know-

0:48 Sherlock: -Like you?

0:49 John: What?

0:49 Sherlock: They might not actually like you.

0:51 John: Us. The show. Anything. What do you mean ‘not like me’? Why would they not like me?

0:57 Sherlock: Well…you can come on a little strong…sometimes, I suppose.

1:02 John: In what way?

1:03 Sherlock (voice slightly high): You’re just, rather, keen. (voice normal, reassuring even) Nothing wrong with that of course.

1:07 John (sarcastically): Oh, great, thanks.

1:09 Sherlock: That’s something people add after making a crude observation on another’s character.

1:14 John (warily): What is?

1:14 Sherlock: “Nothing wrong with that of course.”

1:17 John: So you just added it because you thought-

1:19 Sherlock: It would soften the blow.

1:20 John (sarcastic): Lovely. Very kind.

1:23 Sherlock (clearly missing the sarcasm): Quite alright.

1:24 John: Okaaay, we got some Q’s from the L’s, and now its time for us to provide the A’s. That’s, uh, that’s questions from the listeners and for us to provide the answers.

1:36 Sherlock: Yes, I cracked the code, Watson.

1:39 John: Right! So! Beau from California wants to know where they should go when they visit London.

1:44 Sherlock: Er, sorry, uh, I thought this was about crime?

1:47 John: Whaddya mean?

1:48 Sherlock: I thought there would be questions regarding criminal activity?

1:52 John (lightly sarcastic): Oh, right yeah, sorry. Um, there is one here from ‘PsychoMurderer69’ who wants to know if he should stab his next-door neighbor.

1:58 Sherlock (seriously): What’s the length of the blade he’d have access to?

2:00 John: Jesus Christ.

2:00 Sherlock: Does the neighbor show signs of possessing any self-defense skillsets?

2:04 John (interjecting over Sherlock): Alright, no, where should Beau visit in London, please?

2:09 Sherlock: Um, uh, St. Dunstan in the East. Little Venice. Spitalfields. Brick Lane. The Vaults! Neal’s Yard is rather charming as well, I suppose…pleasing colors on display.

2:20 John: Right, great. Colors. See, that wasn’t difficult, was it?

2:23 Sherlock: South Kensington Ice Rink.

2:25 John: Yeah, lovely. I- Sorry, where are you going?

2:26 *Sound of door opening.*

2:27 Sherlock: I just said.

2:27 *Audio Cut - Vaguely outside sounds.*

2:28 John (sounding like he’s struggling to balance): Heeey, folks its, woah, woah, Ja-ah,*sound of skate blades scraping deeply in ice* Jesus, aw, bloody hell, ahahaaah Christ. *sounds of the mic rubbing as he presumably falls down, a sharp intake of pained breath* Ahh.

2:35 Sherlock (sounding at ease): Get up, Watson.

2:36 John: Ah, oh yeah, thanks for the advice. Uh, um, hey folks-*under his breath*ah, God- Sherlock, can get *sounding unsteady on his feet* easily distracted when he’s not w-w-what’d’you call it. Uh. Totally onboard with something. So he wanted to *sounding unsteady again* go ice-ce skating. Uhum *clears throat*, uh there’s a-a rink. Temporary rink open in South Kensington right now so we’re skating- hey-oh, ooo-getting up some speed now. Oh here we go. Ha ha hah! God is this what Canadians feel like? Oy oy! *laughs proudly*

3:10 Sherlock: Very good, Watson. You’ve got the hang of it.

3:11 John: Hahah, yeah well I wouldn’t go that far, but I’m not smashing my ribs into the ice, uh, for the time being. So-woah! Shit!- *clears throat* Right! Another question!

3:21 Sherlock: Go for it.

3:22 John: “What are your favorite hobbies?”

3:24 Sherlock: *with relish* CRIME. Deductions. Observations! Intricate studies that focus my mind. Feeding my hyper fixations, which often stem from crime and the desire to understand it.

3:37 John: …Riiiight. Yeah, I think the listener Sherlo8 in Poland, uh, I think they meant more like, um, you know, I don’t know. Golf?

3:48 Sherlock: Golf? *chuckles* I don’t golf. I live in Baker Street.

3:52 John: No, I-I know, but, um. *deep breath* Right, okay. My hobby is-

3:58 Sherlock (interjects): Podcasting.

3:59 John: Well, no. Uh, that’s my job.

4:00 Sherlock (skeptically): Is it now?

4:01 John: My hobbies. Uh…so I like to play football. I like films and tv. Ummm I’m very partial to a board game. Uhhhh… Oh! Ok! So here’s a confession. I have the flight tracker app. I’m not saying I’m a, a plane spotter, but um… I like to, yeah, just check in with that. Y’know? See what’s overhead? Where it’s come from, where it’s going. Picture the kinda people that uh. *sigh* Oh I don’t know, going from swha-Rome to Mexico City, y’know? Th-th-the weary business men and women tucking into their inflight meals, families that have created a whole crate of memories that they’re going to talk about for decades.

4:42 John (dramatically): The lovesick Italian man flying out to see his Mexican sweetheart. His heart bursting with excitement and fear that the stewards who keep complaining about some bloke in Row G, c-

4:49 Sherlock (interjects): Trains.

4:50 John: Hm?

4:51 Sherlock: Trains. I like trains. And, dinosaurs.

4:56 John: Ok. Great! Well, haha! That’s wonderful! We did it, another answer to another question. See, I told you it’s bloody easy- *sound of an ice blade scraping the ice too hard/wrong, a loud hard thump, the mic is rubbing terribly against clothing, sound is muffled* Oh, God!

5:07 *Audio Cut-Vaguely café sounds*

5:09 John (pained): Ahhh *sucks in air through his teeth* Oh that stings. *sounds like he’s holding his face*

5:15 Sherlock: Yep, they’re loaning us their frozen peas.

5:18 John: Oh what, they’ve got frozen peas in this place? Why aren’t they fresh, meals are twenty quid?

5:21 Sherlock: Uh, do you want the frozen peas or not?

5:23 John: Yeah! Yes, please, give’em here. *sound of a bag of frozen peas being shuffled around, John’s voice is muffled* Oh, yeah. Oh hoho, that’s the stuff, baby. Oh yeah. Ahhhhhhhhh. 5:39 Sherlock: Just to confirm,

5:40 John: Uh hunh?

5:40 Sherlock: they are paying for this? People are…paying for this audio?

5:46 John: Yeah, mate. Oh! Ah God! Ooo! Ouchie, ouchie, ouchie, ouchie…

5:49 Sherlock: Understood. Well, people can be rather odd, can’t they? Nothing wrong with that of course.

5:55 John: Uh, d’you mind? I see- I actually know what you’re doing with that ‘nothing wrong with that’ lark. So, right! Next question, ‘How did Archie get his name?’ says May Van der Hayden in New Zealand. Ah, well mate, I didn’t have much say in the matter. *clicks tongue* Um, I bought him as a birthday present for…uhhhh. M-my ex-girlfriend. Um, e-e-ex…yeah, y’know she was. She was-she was the bi- big one. The one I l-lived with and planned t’m-my life. Around. Sort of thing. Um. *clicks tongue* B-bought him for her, she chose Archie. Um. I-I don’t know why? Ha. And then she chose my friend who had a Range Rover Sport. So, yeah, she left me and the dog. *clicks tongue* And I left the dog to help the Ukrainians. Now I’m back. *clicks tongue* Got a dog and a master detective. Uh, lucky me. *awkward chuckle*

6:55 Sherlock: I feel your answers should be more concise.

6:58 John: Yep, thank you for that input. May also asks, Sherlock, seeing as you have handled cases for other countries, have you ever handled any in New Zealand?

7:07 Sherlock: Yes.

7:08 John: Oh! Lip, lip. Now numb. Ah, ah. Can you expand on that please?

7:13 Sherlock: Yes, but you’d have to stop recording or redact it from the podcast.

7:17 John: Aw, what’d be the point of that?

7:19 *Audio Cut- Sounds like they’re on the tube now*

7:23 John: Question here from Chloe Davies in Canada. Hi, Chloe. Sherlock, your hugging machine, is it based on that of Temple Grandin?

7:31 Sherlock: Er, she sent me some early designs, yes. I needed to tweak its pressure loads to clench my shoulder blades.

7:40 John: That’s the way you like it, is it? Hugwise?

7:43 Sherlock: Yes. Any sensation below the diaphragm causes me to stress.

7:47 John: Good to know. Uh, Nick Licher or, er, Licker. Uh…let’s go with Nick Licher. He asks, “Why did Sherlock need your shoelaces?” Yeah, why did you need my shoelaces?

7:58 Sherlock: I was conducting a thorough cleansing of our garments following the proximity to duck poo we had undergone that day in the park. *sucks in air sharply* The shoes contain the most potentially harmful pathogens. I removed the shoelaces for deep cleaning.

8:11 John: Okay.

8:12 Sherlock: Okay? Is that it? For potentially saving you untold hours and days on the toilet?

8: 19 John: How so?

8:20 Sherlock: E.coli, Watson.

8:22 John: Yeah, but on my shoelaces? Mate, I wasn’t going to chew on them. Right, Adrien Kaiser from Minnesota. “John, if you miss an upload should we just assume you and Sherlock have been arrested or are dead?”

8:32 Sherlock: Yes. As assumptions go, those options would be some of the likeliest. Wouldn’t you agree Watson?

8:39 John: No.

8:40 Sherlock: Why not?

8:40 John: Well, I don’t know. Maybe my laptop breaks, maybe we don’t get an adventure that week, I’m ill, your ill, a long list of things that aren’t dead or arrested, Sherlock.

8:50 Sherlock: It was Adrien that said it, not me.

8:52 John: *heavy sigh* Arlo asks, as a Shakespeare fan-him, not me- he asks what my favorite play by him was. Uhhh, um, I love Romeo and Juliet. Bit of um, a sucker for romance, me. *awkward chuckle* Hamlet’s too long, should’ve streamlined that a little. I’m uh going to go Romeo and Juliet. Or Julius Ceasar. Good drama in that one, I think. Kind of can’t understand what they’re saying, but uh I hold my English teachers at school responsible for that one, I mean also why are we reading them? Yeah, they’re meant to be performed, come on. Uh, next question. Soma asks “what’s your favorite tv show?” Uh, I loved ‘Band of Brothers’. Um, but, of course, an ex soldier would say that wouldn’t he. Um, psh, yeah, ‘Band of Brothers’. Or, something light and millennial, like, um, I don’t know. Fraiser? Or, uh, Will and Grace?

9:46 John: Sherlock? Favorite tv show?

9:48 Sherlock: This is us.

9:48 John: Really? I never saw it.

9:49 Sherlock: No, Watson! This is us! Quick!

9:52 John: Oh, bollocks, Oh! The doors are closing! Ow!

9:53 *Audio cut-sounds of a tube station/outside*

9:54 John: Misha asks,

9:56 Sherlock: Mmhm?

9:57 John: “Do you have a sweet tooth?” Well, I can tell you, Misha, that yes, he bloody does! Sherlock?

10:02 Sherlock: Yes, I bloody do. *awkward chuckle, sharp intake of breath* Yet, my diet is highly unpredictable and more often then not tied to my mood

10:08 John: Yeah, I can vouch for that. One minute he’s slurping down some borscht on a whim. Next minute, he’s going ten straight days eating tomato penne pasta.

10:16 *sound of a building door opening*

10:19 *sound of the door closing, presumably they’re in the foyer of 221 Baker Street*

10:19 John: *sigh* Uhhh, just trying to find uh…

10:23 Sherlock: Yet more questions?

10:23 *sounds like they’re removing their coats*

10:25 John: Yep. Uh, ooo, questions, right, last one. Uh, “Doctor Watson, hope this question doesn’t make you uncomfortable. Do you use a cane for your leg injury? I use a cane myself due to joint pain from Ehlers-Danlos syndrome. In fact, one of the canes was hand painted by a family in Ukraine during the war.” Well aw! *delighted chuckle* Aw that’s nice. Um, no I don’t use a cane. Uh, I had some surgery, and I was very kindly along with a few others flown out to Florida for some rehabilitation and then back to the UK for some hydrotherapy courtesy of the Ministry of Defense. Uh. Then they sacked me. So, heh, booooo. *chuckles* So, no. I’m actually cane free. But, uh, I have had moments. Especially climbing these bloody stairs *sounds of him stepping heavily up stairs* where I’ve wanted something like that.

11:15 Sherlock: Finished?

11:16 John (slightly out of breath): Finished.

11:17 *sound of a door opening, presumably 221B’s*

11:17 John: Right, say ‘Bye, Listeners’.

11:19 Sherlock: ‘Bye, Listeners’. You know, you do have a rather silly gait. *pause* Walking style. *sound of a door closing* The cane may have been needed. You do look weird when you stroll. Nothing wrong with that of course.

11:32 John (under his breath): For God’s sake.

11:33-12:03 *audio cut to end theme. It’s Mad Prodigy but a different part not used in the main show with a bit of piano.*

END

[r3trorogue]

A note on transformers Bumblebee:

Bumblebee has been my favorite transformer since the time I could walk and talk. So much so that I have his G1 form permanently inked on my body. That being said, I do have a slight issue with how he’s portrayed a lot of the time.

Bumblebee by most accounts (through mostly deduction and context clues) is almost certainly a cold-construct. He’s usually younger among the Autobots, in a time when the all-spark had already stopped creating sparklings. However: he’s not a child. Cold-Constructs on most accounts we’re build to function as adults starting from the time they were brought to life.

I see a lot of media treat him like a child because he tends to be more playful, and since the first Transformers Live-Action Film, has been frequently depicted as mute. His voice is often replaced with radio, or with an approximation of Cybertronian that tends to sound like beeps and whirs. I don’t think I need to point out how problematic it is to depict a mute character as a child or childlike because they communicate differently than other characters. (They directly call him a “child” or “child-like” or comment on his youth)

Bumblebee has always been a playful character. He’s been the one audiences are supposed to love and relate to because he loves life and he loves humans. He’s playful, he enjoys having fun, he’s bright and cheery. Sunshine personified in a lot of cases.

I think a lot of times that overshadows a lot of the nuance of his character. He, like the other Cybertronians, has lost his home and majority of his people to war and violence; war and violence that he has fully participated in and contributed to. In G1 when Optimus goes a little off the deep end (in his cop era) Bee is the one to point it out and to suggest letting cybertronians live, cooling down, taking a step back. When we see him (as a ghost) interacting with Starscream, he advocates for Starscream to step up and become a better leader. Bee has always been a champion of not necessarily peace, but of finding a better way. He looks for alternate options to conflict, he tries to convince the people around him and himself to be better, to embrace their new lives and circumstances. Bees strongest character trait is that he’s compassionate, he cares about all of the beings around him.

Being compassionate doesn’t mean denouncing violence or being complacent. Bee gives and receives his fair share of violence. His shorter stature and lighter frame has never prevented him from throwing down. In fact, we see him alter his fighting style to suit his needs as an Autobot. He uses manoeuvring, precision, speed, and espionage to give him an edge. Bee is a brilliant autobot. As a Scout he’s part of Special Operations, his entire job is information gathering which requires a certain level of tact and espionage. He’s a skilled soldier, standing among the elite of Optimus’ forces. Optimus trusts arguably some of his most important tasks to Bee. Optimus, as a leader, would only choose the best and right not for a job. He can’t afford to make mistakes or give out jobs to those who are unqualified. That sort of thing would end the autobot cause. Bee has gotten their through his own work and merit.

We lose a lot of that part of his character in media and more recent runs. He’s been delegated to this fun-loving child-like character. He’s the comedic relief. He’s not taken seriously within these stories (Earthspark Excluded) for the appeal of the audience. They take away his multifaceted nature for the sake of spectacle and likeability. I feel like somewhere along the way we lost the depth and nuance to his character. I don’t think hardcore fans or those who are tired of seeing bumblebee, would mind his presence if we reintroduced that sort of nuance. I also think it wouldn’t hurt to show off some other transformers once in a while, Bee shines in the spotlight, but other characters could too. I’d also add making sure characters are true to who they are when depicted in movies and shows. My biggest gripe with Transformers: Rise of the Beasts (a movie I love) is that they quite literally took Jazz as a character and gave him Mirage’s name and power(ish). Jazz being my second favorite transformer, I was so sure when the first trailer came out that based off of the personality and look that it was going to be Jazz and I was devastated to see that they’d labelled him as Mirage. But I digress: let characters be multifaceted. Putting them in a box makes them fall flat and doesn’t work. Bumblebee, and all transformers, deserve a little more thought out into them than that.

[perfectlovevn]

Hi <3 been a while since ive been into this game but fortunately the mind infection is back!! anyway back to questions

out of curiosity, do you have any programs you'd recommend to make visual novels?? if so it'd be much appreciated :3

do the milos like any card games or board games? how competitive would they end up being?

and finally, from a friend i've introduced to the game: "are is eris, milo, and ryan based on anyone specific or just ocs?"

hope you have a good day and keep making good stuff!!

Yipppeee you’re back!

Yaay I love talking about game dev. Renpy is pretty flexible and beginner friendly, though if you wanna do more complex stuff it’s good to know a bit of python. It’s also free, which is a plus. There’s also tyrano builder but it’s a lot more restricted and costs money. However requires basically no coding. People have also made visual novels in rpg maker though I don’t have a lot of experience with that. Finally if you wanna delve more into coding or know how to code there’s unity and godot. People have made visual novels in them though it is kinda like buying an entire art studio so you can sit inside and draw with crayon: basically while it can be used to make vns there’s a lot more utility for other options too.

Premilo I think would probably play less intensive games like goldfish or crazy eights or something. I think he’d like more cooperative games like spirit island or cute games like sushi go. I think he’s actually pretty lucky too in some of these games.

Violence Milo is highly competitive but I think instead of strategy games he’d like ones that are more reaction time like Speed. For board games it’s similar- he might like monopoly too and rage over it.

Manipulation Milo would be the best at social deduction games like Old Maid, but he’s pretty good at strategy too. Like to always win at things like Werewolf or even Catan.

Eris, Milo and Ryan are specifically made for this game so they are ocs, though I took inspiration from a bunch of different things. Valli, Desmond and Seph are from different ocs that I had previously from other ideas though.

[ko-fanatic]

Leave All Your Love And Your Longing Behind | Chapter One: Double Vision Turning Triple

Rating: Teen and above Pairing: JayVik Characters: Jayce, Heimerdinger, Mel Medarda, Salo, Mylo, Claggor Content warnings: Vomit, References to Suicidal Thoughts/Actions, Very Minor Reference to Self Harm (blink and you'll miss it), Slight Well-Meaning Ableism, Co-Dependency, Anxiety, PTSD, Trauma Summary: Jayce gets spat out by the Arcane, again, after all was said and done. All he knows is that he needs to find Viktor. Things here are... very different. A/N: I’ve fudged ages a little bit to make the narrative a bit smoother for what I want to do. You can probably take that as the Arcane being weird, if you wish. And yes, Jayce is already irrevocably in love with Viktor as it’s post-series Jayce. You’ve heard of slow-burn, get ready for light-speed incineration. AO3 LINK

After what Jayce and Viktor believed would be the end, the first thing he could feel in the darkness was burning. From his stomach, a path scorched along this throat and out of his mouth, lungs seizing as he choked and coughed on viscous magma. For all its discomfort, it struck Jayce as familiar.

Unsettlingly, horrifyingly familiar.

He remembers his time in that other universe, how it felt to be hurtled through timelines and threads of everything that could, would and has been. How it had turned his stomach upside down and his thoughts to static, unable to focus for a good few minutes, at least. Then, he’d opened his eyes to that post-apocalyptic hell. The culmination of all the flesh and blood that’d spilled on Viktor’s path to… “evolution”. Hell. 

However, rather than opening his eyes to blackened, twisted metal and death, what greeted him when he finally managed to pry open his eyelids was… a sunlit room. Granted, with a puddle of bile and whatever else that had managed to stay in his system during his not-so-merry jaunt through time and space, but it was still bright and warm.

Lifting his gaze, he could see a blue sky through an airy window, framed by white, gossamer curtains. A desk that was standard issue and groaning under the weight of books - notebooks and textbooks - schematics and blueprints. A neglected pot plant sat on a high shelf above, flowers shrivelled and leaves beginning to turn brown, but not quite dead yet. Something forboding beat in his chest, a little off-rhythm with his heartbeat, feeling like his guts were going to upend once more but pushing through the sensation. 

There were three walls painted a pale cream colour, offset by one navy to make the place seem a little less devoid of personality, but Jayce knew where he - probably - was. 

An Academy dorm room. 

He’d, of course, had his own apartment during his time there, but he’d had acquaintances and classmates who’d lived there, and it was just so reminiscent. 

The deduction was not at all aided by the uniform hanging from the wardrobe door. 

So he was at the academy, in a dorm room that seemed to be his, despite having never roomed at the academy in his stay. The posters on the wall were just too… him for this not to be his room; sketches, his childhood drawing of himself with his hammer (which definitely didn’t leave an awful taste in his mouth), and various memorabilia from magic shows and the like. At least he knew that, brain leaking out of his ears or not. 

Jayce stumbled to his feet, bracing himself on the wall as to not eat wood flooring soon after waking up. 

“Jayce!” A too-familiar voice called as it knocked politely on the door, “Are you alright, my boy?”

Blinking away the double vision, knowing that it was best to open up and see what the Arcane had in store for him this time, he shuffled his way to the door and twisted the handle. 

If it weren’t for his distinctive voice, Jayce wouldn’t have known it was Heimerdinger at the door. Not because he looked different at all, but because the short Yordle was fully eclipsed from view by a mountain of papers and books. In fact, Jayce had no idea how he’d managed to knock at all, let alone so politely. 

A brief spark of a memory glitched through his consciousness. Viktor clutching boxes upon boxes of metal and gears, before he’d needed to switch his cane for a crutch, debating whether to “knock” (read: kick the door) with his good leg and be forced to balance on his bad, or vice versa. 

He’d reminded Viktor that he could do it, and the other man genuinely hadn’t considered the idea before he’d said it. For a genius, he could be… Not stupid, never stupid, even in Arcane-tainted madness. He could be silly. 

Jayce caught the pull at his lips and dragged himself back into this unfamiliar present. 

“Uh… Fine! I’m… fine,” He attempted to assure, but he didn’t sound all that convincing. Evident when Heimerdinger dropped the stack he’d been carrying - with an impressive thump, one might add - and raised an eyebrow at him. 

“You’re usually up and about by now, and when you missed the first meeting on the agenda, I thought I’d come looking for you,” Heimerdinger explained, “Very unusual behaviour from you, my boy. If you’re ill, you only need to say and I can continue on for today.”

“Meeting…?”

Jayce ran a hand through his - much, much shorter - hair, scratched at his shadowed-but-not-bearded jaw a little, trying to catch up. Heimerdinger was treating him like…

“I can cope without my assistant for a day or two, Jayce, Godsend though you are,” A small, gloved hand reaching up to rest on his forearm in something so painfully fatherly and caring, “You’re pale, and you’re equilibrium and balance are obviously off. Take the day.”

“No!” 

Jayce stopped himself in his tracks, coughing into his fist at the yell that came out unbidden. That probably didn’t help his case; the yelling or the embarrassed coughing. 

“With respect, sir, I don’t need the day off, I’m fine,” He smiled, playing off the small piece of spoon-fed information he’d likely get, “My alarm clock didn’t go off, and I was disorientated from being woken up by your knocking. I’m very sorry, it won’t happen again.”

Heimerdinger looked him over, slowly, before sighing and nodding in a vague approximation of approval. 

“Very well, I’ll wait for you to perform your morning ablutions and dress yourself for today. No need for the uniform, you’ll recall, as we’re mainly going to be off-campus today,” Heimerdinger reminded, as far as the older man knew. 

Off-campus? So, presumably, that left supply shopping, personal errands, or council work. He should probably dress a little nicer, just in case… 

Heimerdinger cleared his throat, Jayce snapping out of the trance enough to watch as the man unclipped a well-loved clipboard that had been fastened to his belt, and passed it over. An agenda. Helpful. 

-*-*-

Working in a lab with Viktor meant that one learned to be as quick as possible when getting ready. Not because Viktor was mean, or demanding, but because of how excitable and surprisingly impatient he could be. Jayce was similar in that regard, the two of them often going days with only the basics of hygiene and self-care in favour of more planning, more theorising, not breaking their concentration for anything. 

Viktor drank sweetmilk and ate a truly horrifying amount of sweet things - baked goods, chocolate, and every fruit that was in season. Jayce drank black coffee that Viktor had tried once and nearly spat straight out, making the most adorable “blegh” sound and sticking out his tongue once he managed to choke it down, looking far too much like a grumpy cat. A probably inappropriate joke likening it to self-harm was made, and Jayce snorted so hard he gave himself a nosebleed. 

It’d probably been something to do with them both approaching the 100-hour mark without a wink of sleep. Still, it was a memory that he still held close, rose-hued and warm. 

Walking alongside the professor down the expansive, winding hallways, he still had yet to see Viktor. Back to the academy days, strange universe or not, he was expecting to hear some comeback or quick wit, or spy a mop of unbrushed hair as he took a “surprise nap” on a desk or table somewhere. 

He’d even been scanning the benches for his lanky frame, in case said “surprise nap” had taken him out in the hallway. No luck, however.

He was almost surprised by the amount of walking and the amount he was expected to carry. If he was Heimerdinger’s assistant also in this world, then maybe the man gave him a bigger, more physical share of the work. It hurt to imagine Viktor attempting to run around, trudging up and down the many staircases while his weak spine bent from the load he carried. 

Another flash of his other life, Viktor’s eyes shying from his own, arms crossed uncomfortably as he talked about his journey from people-pleasing and too “accommodating” for his own good, to self-advocacy and willingness to protect his admittedly fragile health. 

“Heimerdinger was very willing to support me, actually,” He’d chuckled, bathed in lamplight, a wicked twist of humour to his eyes, “At least, after I fell down the stairs.”

Swallowing hard, Jayce kept his head up, striding through the distortion as if there wasn’t any.

“I, uh… Suppose Viktor will meet us there?” Jayce ventured, deciding to try and prod a little more. 

Heimerdinger, however, simply gave him a confused glance. “I don’t know, lad, I’ve no recollection of a Viktor,” He hummed, “A friend of yours?”

A friend of ours, he manages not to say, breath a little too short to work with, everything swimming again. Cracks and fissures sprung through his mind, a recollection of the lifetimes upon lifetimes that Viktor had found him in. Smiling lips and soft eyes… A lack of runestone bracelet.

“He’s… He’s the best student the academy has ever seen…” Was what he did say, unable to keep himself from divulging that, speaking a little too openly for a world he wasn’t meant to be in but hoping that might make Viktor… appear? Like Heimerdinger was… He didn’t know, doing a stupid prank? As if the man would. 

“Jayce, there is no Viktor in the academy, as far as I’m aware,” Heimerdinger fiddled with the hem of his gloves, “And I would be aware of someone like that, if he managed to impress you so. Still, if your new little friend is that bright, he should certainly apply! I trust your judgement in these things.”

He hesitated, for a beat or two. 

“Morality of lying about being a student to - presumably - talk to you aside, of course.”

Viktor… wasn’t here? Not a student of the academy, even? Because Heimerdinger would know Viktor, with the man’s voracious consummation of knowledge and his sheer intellect, Heimerdinger would have to notice that. 

Did that mean that Viktor… Never got out? That he was still in the undercity, with poison in his lungs and pumping through his veins? That the violence and the dank still surrounded him, swallowing up his light?

That he could certainly be dead already, if that were the case.

He doubled over, books and papers dropped and scattered like debris and rubble, feeling like he’d been shoved off his feet, slammed into a wall.

His hammer dropping onto his leg, a mirror image to Viktor.

“A-Actually…” A big gulp of air as he tried not to vomit on the other man’s head, “Professor, I really don’t…”

“Feel well?” 

Soft replaced sharp, Heimerdinger’s careful, nurturing tone somehow a little louder than the screams in his head. 

“Go on, my boy, take a few days off, I can manage,” He assured, “I’ll pop by later, just to make sure you’re alright, but go rest and drink plenty of water.”

“I will.”

Barely ten minutes later, sprinting through the streets of Piltover and towards the bridge, Jayce couldn’t help but think that breaking promises was becoming an awful habit of his.

-*-*-

Heimerdinger could, despite all rumours to the contrary, get on perfectly well without Jayce. He had the agenda clipped to his belt as he had this morning, dropped the mountains of papers in his office, and had got himself to the meeting room with time to spare. He was glad that the perpetual over-worker had been persuaded to look after himself, even if he had to turn an alarming shade of green before he finally retired to bedrest.

However, Councillor Medarda was quick to point out the change of routine.

“Good morning, Professor,” She greeted with her typical smile and disarming humour, “I see you’ve lost your shadow this morning.”

“Yes, Jayce was quite unwell - I managed to shoo him off home,” He explains, taking his seat with a little effort. 

Jayce only tried to pick him up once, but the memory still comes up occasionally when he has to hop up there. Awkward apologies and a puppy-ish will to help that just made him such an endearing person. This morning he was… off. Quiet, and sullen. 

Perhaps he was missing this new friend he mentioned! A quick attachment, certainly, but that actually put another worry he’d had for his assistant to bed: his lack of close friends. 

Jayce was certainly friendly with others, but the more Heimerdinger observed him, the more shallow the connections seemed. Far be it from him to badger his employee about such matters, but as he mentioned before - Jayce was endearing. He wanted the boy to be alright, and his overworking habits combined with few close social connections were worrying. As were other things.

“Jayce, my boy, what are you doing?”

“... Just people watching,” He’d said, eyes cast down over the balcony…

Yes, a friend was just what the doctor ordered! When Jayce was a little less dizzy and such, he could introduce the pair of them, perhaps! He’d be very interested to see the person who managed to captivate him so.

“Fellow council members,” Salo, of all people, began, expression grim, “We’ve uncovered yet more unsanctioned engineering work in the undercity, with the same graffiti as the others.”

Salo passed a handful of pictures to Hoskel, gesturing for him to look through then pass them along.

“This seems to have been a big project, requiring manpower and hours without interruption,” Salo continued, “Along miles of pipeline, as well as naturally occurring cracks in the rocks which lead lower. You are all aware of the system that was put in to migrate the factory fumes lower than the populated areas? Well, it seems our work didn’t meet someone’s standards.”

He spat the last word as if it were a curse, rolling his eyes and looking the most ticked off Heimerdinger had seen him… perhaps ever. 

“The sketches being passed around are of the devices themselves, including the graffiti -”

“I believe the young ones call it a tag, Councillor Salo,” Heimerdinger very helpfully corrected, met only with a slight narrow of Salo’s eyes before the man carried on. 

“Including the tag scrawled on them, but we also have a composite of a possible suspect, seen hobbling away from the scene by a witness.”

Heimerdinger accepted the pictures from Councillor Medarda with a nod of thanks, before parsing through them. 

The sketches of the device itself was… lackluster, seemingly not done by someone with a scientific or engineering background, but even so, it’d be hard to discern specific functions without seeing one for himself, in person. 

The copies of the tag were… odd. On one half was a crudely sketched, blue monkey, all big ears and separated jaw, a cartoonish, angry frown on its face. The other half was some sort of… reptilian creature in the same style. A lizard, or perhaps a salamander, in a green so pale it could have passed for white.

The composite wasn’t much to go by, a filtration mask covering half of the person’s face, but a few key details were available. A tousled mess of brown hair, interrupted with streaks of blue, red and purple; three piercings on each ear - one lobe and two cartilage, symmetrical; hazel eyes ringed with dark liner; a mole peaking out from the golden metal of his mask, beneath his right eye.

While they had nothing of his mouth, nose or jawline, it was… quite a few distinguishing features to go off. Which led to three avenues of thought: the suspect wasn’t smart enough to cover them up (unlikely), the suspect was just that cocky (more likely), or thirdly…

For some unfathomable reason, the boy wanted to be caught.

“Councillor Salo, you said the suspect was… hobbling?” Councillor Medarda inquired.

“Yes, he walks with a cane and a limp.”

-*-*-

Chest heaving, Jayce’s frantic running was finally halted, his lungs feeling fit to burst and legs weak with exhaustion. A blockade of people stretched in front of him, so dense he couldn’t pass without shoving. The need to just keep going was strong, almost reminiscent of the pull of the runestone in Viktor’s hand, his own clasped around like a lifeline.

“We’ll end this, together.”

He was about to start pushing through, when he took a second to actually observe the situation. 

The undercity was bright, almost bustling, and not in any way it had been before. Clean streets, adequate lighting, air that was almost as fresh as above. 

Nothing like the few stories Viktor had divulged, nothing like what he’d witnessed as a council member. 

He then took stock of those around him, seeing… braces, wheelchairs, canes, crutches. If he started shoving his way through, he’d definitely hurt someone, and while some desperate, slathering part of him didn’t care…

“Excuse me!” He all but yelled, trying to duck and weave through any opening he could, just to get a little closer, just to possibly stumble across Viktor in the sea of metal and mobility aids. He needed to get closer, had to find him, had to -

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Jayce’s momentum was stopped by… a scrawny teenager with a bad haircut. Firm on the ground for someone so lanky, squaring up his shoulders despite the general height and size difference between them, “Do you have a ticket?”

“Ticket?” Jayce echoed, trying to stamp down any instinct to just push the kid out of the way, “No, you don’t… I’m looking for someone, I need to see Viktor.”

“You and everyone here, bud, step out of the crowd for a minute.”

… What…?

Jayce barely reacted as he was redirected out of the throng, that floaty, spacey feeling returning once again. The double-vision turned triple, brighter streets fading into crystalline, white structures surrounded by flowers. People turned to disciples and followers, Viktor’s fingerprints shimmering on their faces -

“Y’know, you don’t look very disabled to me - OUCH!!”

Another boy, much stockier than the other, almost seemed to materialise out of the crowd to punch the first in the back of the head. 

“What has Viktor told you about assuming, My?” The newcomer sighed, “Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” The scrawny kid huffed, hands held up in surrender, “He was pushing through, though, didn’t even know about the ticket system.”

“Did you tell him?”

Silence. 

“Thought so,” The boy turned back to him, pushing the gear-patterned goggles from his eyes and resting them on top of his head, “Hey dude, my name’s Claggor, the dumbass is Mylo. We’re working security today. We have a ticket system instead of a line, so people can take breaks to sit down and rest, get something to eat and drink, that sort of stuff.”

“Oh… uh…” Jayce eloquently stuttered. 

“Come on, I’ll show you where to go,” Claggor smiled, “Any assistance needed, just say. Cool?”

“... Sure…”

Jayce had to just… play it by ear, follow instructions. At least he wasn’t aimlessly running anymore, with no way to find Viktor. The other man had almost fallen into his lap, easy to find as soon as he crossed the bridge. 

He would’ve just taken a ticket and waited patiently, as everyone else seemed to be doing, had he not actually… spotted Viktor as he was led to the small booth. 

And time stood still for that moment, the rapid beating of his chest freezing like his heart had simply stopped.

Viktor was very different, visually. Brown hair highlighted with bright blues, purples and reds, his clothes so obviously Zaun that the sight instantly sent prickles down his back, piercings around his ears and tattoos trailing up his arm in swirls of dark ink. 

Even with his back to him, however, Jayce knew it was him. From the cane by his side - covered in paint though it was - the foot of his good leg tapping to the beat of heavy drums and electric guitar blaring from a beaten-up speaker by his side, to how he soldered the plates of metal in that oh-so-familiar way. If he hadn’t been wearing a mask over his mouth and nose, Jayce was sure he’d see his partner’s tongue peaking out the side of his mouth.

It was so different, yet so similar that he moved on his own, magnetised, to his other half.

“Viktor!” He yelled as he slipped out of Claggor’s grip. 

The familiarity ended, as this other Viktor chugged the ominously purple liquid in the cup beside his hand, used his good leg to push off, spinning around in his chair and grinning - not the soft, small smiles shared in the lab with the blue glow of hextech carving his cheekbones - but something more… manic…

Something almost like… Jinx.

“That’s me!” He all but sang, and Jayce could only collapse to his knees.

[willowser]

you find pro-hero touya naked on the sidewalk.

face down, ass up, and completely unmoving; it's a little after 5 in the morning, which is maybe why no one has found him or offered him any clothes. or finished him off.

it's nearly december, but all the ice around him has melted into a slick and dangerous sludge, and snowflakes are sizzling when they make contact with his back. skin a tender pink and baby-smooth; another reason you know he's still alive, aside from all the heat he's generating on such a frozen morning.

"hey," you nudge him lightly with the toe of your boot until he grunts and begins to stir. "i don't know how your quirk works, but laying in the cold like this can't be good for you."

some kind of nonsense noise fumbles out of his mouth as he squints up at you, frown etched so deep that it looks like it hurts. it almost feels like he's mega-wasted and is burning off a hangover, but you squat next to him and don't smell alcohol or weed or vomit or even nicotine. just ash, as the early morning wind stings the inside of your nose.

"c'mon man," you scoff when he turns his back to you, like a teenager not ready to get out of bed. "don't make me leave you out here."

pro-hero touya has tattoos everywhere — or at least in his most visible spots, with his costume. piercings, you're not so sure about; the last time you saw his face up close on a big screen, he might have had a vertical bar through his lip and several in his ears, but you vaguely remember a tabloid article about him almost getting his mouth ripped off during a high-speed chase. you know there's something though, a bunch of metal in his face and head.

this touya has nothing. none of it; born fresh right here, in the muck and the ice.

of course the first thing you think is: clone-touya.

some evil ne'er-do-well has obtained pieces of his dna and is trying to create a super weapon to destroy the city, and in a cruel twist of fate, you get to be the one that finds him. responsible, suddenly, for the could-be end of the world. least you can do is offer him your coat.

you try again at nudging him, with the side of your foot this time so as to put more weight into it, and, surprisingly, he complies rather easily, rolling completely over until he's flat on his back. exposed and bare to the elements.

"whoa," you mutter, eyes shooting up to the windows of the department store he's in front of. trying, at least, to offer him the small courtesy. "you're gonna get a public indecency charge at this point."

this is not the first time you've seen pro-hero touya's dick against your will; two years ago, some sex tape he made leaked and your co-worker was so excited to have it in her possession that it had been shoved into your face, sound and all, in the middle of your shift. there had been metal there, too, but this clone-touya is brand spanking new.

only one of his eyes is cracked open, a thin sliver of his icy blues peeking at you through a veil of snow-heavy lashes. something about him sprawled out on the concrete like a sloppy angel makes your heart squeeze, even if you don't particularly care much for him or his heroics.

"alright," you sigh, shrugging out of your coat to drape over his hips. "don't move, i guess."

it's lucky that he's half-alive right outside your job; in the following twenty minutes, you use your key to get back into the building and pick out a simple set of clothes from the men's section that you'll deduct from your paycheck later. when you come out of the back to find him again, he's at least pushed himself up into a sitting position and is coming to against the wall. in his lap, your fluffy jacket is damp and soggy and drooping and now useless.

if someone would have ever told you that one day you'd be here, helping to dress pro-hero touya like a toddler out of the bath, you — don't know what you would have said. laughed, maybe, eyebrows raised, totally lost. you feel much the same now.

a creeping unease has started at the base of your spine at his silence. finally dressed, he simply watches you, hazy, with half-lidded eyes, and you don't know what you're expecting from someone like him, but the cold shoulder is not it. it sucks that he's actually handsome because you didn't think you were the type of person to get caught up in him, but — all his features are sharp, like they've been carved by careful hands.

shorter in person, and, funny enough, that gives you the confidence to poke him in the cheek, like a brat.

"you okay in there?"

pro-hero touya doesn't retaliate to your impishness — which furthers your concern — only swallows and smacks his lips, squinting into the coming day as it dawns.

you take that as a no.

when you loop your arm through his, he lets you, and offers no objection to being led down the sidewalk. he's — warm, which you knew, but winter is sinking through your thin sweater and the plethora of heat rolling off him nearly has you purring. easy to sink in to, to your surprise, more than pliable in this fugue state.

there's a breakfast place not far from the department store and you think maybe he just needs to eat, or something. drink some water. you've been up since late last night with inventory and the thought of a fat stack of syrupy, buttermilk pancakes is motivation enough to hurry him along.

this early, there are very few people out to gawk at him on the street and you're glad for it, because you don't know how you'd explain this to your coworker if you were to end up in some tabloid. the most attention he garners is when you wrench open the doors to the cafe, and even then, the overtired, middle-aged woman just chews her gum and gestures to a table at the back.

when she brings water, you order a breakfast plate for him and yourself, and the first thing clone-touya says to you, after she's gone, is:

"i don't like pork."

you try not to make a big deal about him finally joining you in the physical world, settling for a shrug. "then don't eat it."

he snorts, still a little disjointed as he stares at the fading pattern of your table. you watch him take it all in: the salt and pepper shakers, the napkin container, the dead flies in the window pane, his tall, sweating glass.

all at once, he drinks it down so fast that some of it slips from the corners of his lips and down his chin, and when he wipes a limp hand across his mouth, you just scoot your glass across to him. and he does it all over again.

despite the weather, he wets a hand to run over his face. "what day is it?"

"thursday."

for some reason, he laughs once. huffy and short, scratchy. with a shake of his head, he turns towards the window, leaning into it like he needs to remember where he's at.

you don't think he is, but you still ask: "y'okay?"

his eyes cut to you, alive, and he considers you for a long moment. "you know who i am?"

you shrug, unable to tell if he's asking because he doesn't know, or if this is some kind of intimidation tactic. "think so." and then when he doesn't respond immediately, you tack on: "don't look right, though."

it makes him laugh, sharp and sudden. "yeah, right?" he shoves up his sleeves to trace the bare skin of his arms, rubbing his thumb over his wrist before making crescents with his nails. clone-touya goes silent again, and he doesn't look up until the food arrives.

before he can complain, you snatch the pork sausage off his plate and the quick action brings him back to the physical world again. back to the table and back to you.

he smiles like a ghost, mouth haunted on the pale, untouched skin of his face. "i have to work really hard at keeping my temperature regulated, or else my quirk will just—" he shrugs before downing another glass of water. when he finishes, he wipes a hand over his mouth, sloppy, and then takes an over-large bite of his pancakes. "eat me up."

you — don't really know what to say. this isn't a conversation topic you ever expected to have with him, not that you ever could have expected one to begin with, but you think he might just be — talking. to you, sure, but not to be polite.

"and if i just keep going and going and going," he speaks with food in his cheeks, and you're a little surprised at how bad his table manners are. but maybe he's just really hungry. "it'll just incinerate me into nothing."

so casually he says it, eyes far out the window, trained on the day as it wakes. you want to say that your clone theory is really coming together — how could he know all that, if he didn't actually incinerate himself into nothing? — but you take in his inkless arms and unpunctured nose and your stomach twists.

"so...then what?" when you speak up, his eyes cut across the table again, expression unchanged. his answer is a lazy gesture to himself with his fork. "you just...come back?"

"good news is," he laughs, insincere, "if i get a tattoo and hate it, i can just start all over again."

you don't know how to feel about that — well, you do, but you think your pity will only annoy him, so you say, "sounds like a waste of money."

clone-touya shrugs and you can see the food get caught in his throat, too large of a bite that has him stealing your water again. "got enough of it."

“your time, then?”

he doesn’t bother to look at you, as he shake his head; it feels rude, like some sort of dismissal. “what’s that fuckin’ matter?”

“okay,” you grit your teeth as he chews on your ice, and try to remember your own manners. maybe he’s grouchy because he just woke up from some kind of ash-nap. “what are you gaining from it?”

and that — has his jaw stilling, nostrils flaring as he finally, finally takes you in. whatever he finds in your face isn’t enough, and you’re reminded, again, that you really aren’t a big fan of this guy. he leans close as he whispers, “you wouldn’t get it.”

and you lean in just as close. “so explain it to me then.”

against the nearly empty plate, his cutlery sings when he drops it, suddenly. with food still stuffed into one side of his cheeks, he sits back in the booth and crosses his arms. childishly, you feel like you’ve won something, and your smile makes his eyes narrow.

“and who are you, anyway? some civilian?” clone-touya — or real, angry touya; you’re not sure anymore — doesn’t bother to keep his voice down, not even when the only other table in the cafe turns to look at him. “y’wanna know what it’s like to be daddy’s prized possession? fine. how much time you got?”

you shrug, crossing your arms as you lean into the table. hugging yourself, making yourself warm against the frost outside, and in his eyes. “what’s that matter?”

[ckiine]

Sweater - Mini theater

A/N 1 - Hellooo everyone, imma back with a mini theater. Sooo it is basically my point of view of what went through when Conan received the hand-knit sweater made by Ran in chapter 237 - From the bottom of the heart.

A/N 2 - This portion was sooooooo adorable and heart warming, I just haddd to write about it!!!

Without further ado, please enjoy!! :)) <3

Conan had no idea when his walk had turned into a speed walk, then to a jog and the fact that he was now sprinting at full speed to Hakase's place.

He was running as fast as his short feet could carry him. It all began from the phone call he had recievd from Hakase.

"Aahh Shinichi-kun, Ran-chan dropped a package for you."

The distance between the Mouri detective agency and Hakase's place felt much longer today.

Is it really for me? Something for me?

Conan's muddled and insecure thoughts cleared up when Ran asked for the sweater from Araide-sensei.

Ahhh so she is into knitting these days.....

So that's the reason she is late these days....

I guess she is at Kisaki-sensei's place......

His unsettled stomach had considerably calmed down when he had deduced that Ran had not fallen in love with Araide-sensei and that was enough for Conan to find his peace but the phone call from Hakase had left him running blank and breathless, as his deduction and his heart made his emotions swing like a pendulum.

His hope and logic were constantly at the opposing ends.

"I...*huffs*... am.... *huffs*..... here.... Hakase....," said Conan.

"Here you go Shinichi-kun."

Hakase passed him the package with a grin, clearly having guessed what was inside.

However Conan was already busy with his deductions and rushed to the basement of Hakase's house and lowered the temperature of the radiator.

The lightness of the package, the compressibility of the wrapped objects, so sounds apart from the rustling of the paper packaging, Conan had his answer.

It's a hand knit sweater for me.

His throat constricted with emotion and he had to gulp several times before he could even proceed to unwrap the package.

Very slowly he took out the wrapped present from the paper bag and slowly undid the packaging to reveal a light blue coloured sweater.

Shinichi couldnt breath.

He held it up and studied the sweater in detail and in his minds eye he could picture the entire process. Ran selecting yarn of a colour which he would like. Reading up on the steps, watching tutorials and slowly giving a structure to a ball of yarn.

Conan studied every detail, including the meticulously made knits, the high neck collar, the raised block pattern, the cuffs, the shoulder length. He could sense every sincere and dedicated action Ran had done to make this sweater. Everything about this piece of knitwear was undoing his heart.

Feeling extremely overwhelmed by emotions, Shinichi hugged the sweater close to his chest and buried his face in the high-neck collar. The sweater obviously smelled of simple yarn, but even then Shinichi could feel that once the sweater was completed Ran had hugged this finished product as well. He did his best to take in even the most minuscule remnant of her.

The room had gotten colder now and Shinichi pulled it away and saw a paper fall from inside the sweater. It was Ran's handwritten note.

Remember to stay warm, it is getting colder these day - Ran

Shinichi read the note again and again and finally pressed his lips against the paper, kissing Ran's name.

How many more times must I lose my heart to you Ran?

Conan put the sweater on which was quite obviously big on him and even reached his feet. He was covered in it from head to toe, literally. He felt a little bittersweet as it would have been a perfect fit on 'Shinichi' but even then he pulled back the sleeves and gently kissed the cuffs and the high collar.

It was warm, soft and cosy, exactly like the heart of the woman he so dearly loved.

Feeling a bubbling sense of joy he looked at himself in the mirror admiring the knitwear all over again and completely failing to see his own flushed cheeks and the twinkle in his eyes.

Post his admiration he sauntered out from the basement still wearing it and walked upstairs to make a very important call.

They are soooo adorable <333

*****

A/N - Let me know if you guys like it!! and please forgive me for typos

And as always bonus Shinran pics.

A/N - The images are NOT MINE. All the credits to the original artists!

Once again. All the credits to the ORIGINAL artist!!

Thank you. Whoever you are, thank you for drawing this!!!

[nerdcousin]

I love DC, fanon especially, but if I see one more fic about Clark figuring out Bruce’s identity because he recognises his heartbeat I will start a riot becAUSE HEARTBEATS AREN’T FUCKING PERSONALISED!!!

The only variation in heartbeats from person to person, baring heart rhythm disorders, is speed, which also depends on what the person in question is doing. They’re not fingerprints.

If you want Clark to figure it out, let him use literally anything else. His voice, his eyes, his smell, hell, you could use finger prints. A mannerism. Let Bruce come out and reveal his identity.

If you really like the heartbeat thing, have Clark notice that his heartbeat is unusually calm, and then get suspicious from there and start noticing other things. Or have him be focusing on Batman’s heartbeat (make up your own reason for that) and then bump into Bruce, only to realise that this is the heartbeat he’s been listening to.

You could have Clark actually use his deduction skills, because even though he’s usually the bran of his operation, he’s still really fucking smart. Have him uncover purchases or donations that Bruce made. Have him notice that Bruce isn’t actually drunk, because Clark should be able to smell the alcohol in his glass, and come to the conclusion that Bruce uses his persona to hide something.

The rhythm of heartbeats are not individual. Please stop, I am begging.

[mimisempai]

Clear-cut

Summary

Greg is in hospital and injured. When Mycroft finds him, he tries to play down the seriousness of his injuries, but Mycroft has had enough and wants the unvarnished truth.

Notes

Mystrade Monday  3.0  #10 - Character A likes to include half-truths and tall-tales in their stories and Character B likes to keep track of them. (I deviated a little from it) 

@mystradepromptsandscenarios

On AO3

804 words - Rating G

"Greg! What the hell happened?"

The doctor who had just finished treating Greg turned to Mycroft and said, "Sir, you shouldn't be here..." 

Greg replied to Mycroft, "I'm fine."

Mycroft frowned and Greg sighed before insisting, "It's just a few scratches."

He folded his shirt sleeve over the bandage the doctor had just applied to his arm. 

"Monsieur Lestrade, we were this close to transfusing you, so don't minimize your injuries."

"And perhaps I didn't want my partner to worry!" 

Then, seeing Mycroft's exasperated expression, he added, "I certainly didn't mean to tell him like that."

Mycroft came and stood by the bed as he replied, "You would have minimized it even more. You'd probably only have told me half the story. I know how you are. Although I usually like to decipher your tall tales, this time it's not the case. This is serious, Greg."

Greg struggled to keep his eyes open and whispered, "But I swear I'm fine."

The doctor interjected, "I'd rather keep you overnight. "

Mycroft, knowing Greg would protest, intervened, "I'll take him home. I promise to keep an eye on him, Doctor."

Greg grimaced. They'd planned a dinner and now he'd ruined it.

"I'm sorry."

Mycroft took his hand and squeezed it gently into his own.

"Don't be. It won't be at the restaurant, but we'll spend the evening together anyway." 

Then he turned to the doctor and asked, "Is there anything I should be aware of?"

"Just keep an eye on him for the next 24 hours. Even if the wound isn't as deep as we first thought, it's still a total of sixty stitches in three different places."

Halfsmiling, Greg replied, "You should have seen the look of my opponent".

"Your opponent?!" 

Greg replied sheepishly, "The glass door to my sister's balcony."

"Greg..."

"I couldn't help it, she had cleaned it too well, I didn't see that it was closed and ran into it at full speed. Apparently there was already a crack and it literally exploded from the shock."

Feeling exhaustion wash over him, Greg added with a sigh, "Can we go home now? "

The doctor took pity on him and nodded.

Greg sighed in relief.

Mycroft asked gently, "Can you walk?" 

Greg grimaced and replied, "With help I should be fine."

Thirty minutes later, supported by Mycroft, Greg made his way as best he could through the door of their apartment.

His lover helped him make himself comfortable on the sofa before sitting down beside him, a worried expression on his face. 

Greg put his hand on Mycroft's knee and said quietly, "I assure you, I'm all right."

Mycroft wrapped his arm gently around Greg's shoulders and held him close before asking quietly, "Why didn't you want me to know? "

Greg dropped his head against Mycroft's chest and replied, "It's not that I didn't want to, but I wanted to tell you so that you wouldn't worry as much as you do now."

Mycroft harrrumpha, "Idiot, I'll always worry, and probably more if you don't tell me things as they are. No secrets, no half-truths, just the facts."

Greg nodded as Mycroft continued, "With you, when it comes to your well-being, your mental or physical health, I don't want to have to use my insight or deductive skills, I'd rather you told me plain and simple."

Greg nodded again, and after a few moments he muttered, "Mycroft."

"Hm?"

"It really hurts. I could use a painkiller."

Mycroft pressed a kiss to his lover's hair and replied, "I'll get you what you need right away."

He gently positioned Greg on the sofa, elevated his injured arm with a pillow, then went to get what his lover needed. He returned a few moments later with a pill and a glass of water, which he handed to Greg. When Greg had swallowed the pill and drunk the glass, Mycroft asked him gently, "Is there anything else you need?"

Greg nodded and replied, "Just one thing."

"Tell me, love?"

"That you take me in your arms."

Mycroft chuckled softly before sitting down next to Greg and wrapping his arms around him, holding him to his chest while being careful with his injured arm.

He planted a kiss on Greg's forehead and asked, "Is everything all right?"

Greg replied, "It's not the best I've ever been, but you're making it better."

He pressed a kiss to Mycroft's chest and added, "And that's not a half-truth."

Mycroft laughed lightly and tightened his arm around his lover, saying softly, "Try to get some sleep. I'll be here if you need anything."

Greg yawned and grumbled, "'kay..."

The backlash and the painkiller soon got the better of him and he fell fast asleep in Mycroft's arms. As for Mycroft, he didn't sleep and watched over his lover's sleep until he woke up again.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Mystrade mondays 3.0 : here

Mystrade masterlist here

[brucewaynehater101]

Santa AU

Gun batman is unhinged and doesn't notice he lost his gift, his own deductive skills have degraded significantly but he's too arrogant to really realize, none of that group realize because they're so caught up in their own heads and trauma

Tim's ability to realize what someone wants most isn't just a matter of looking at the person and having it pop up in his head, he needs their name and has to actively want to know what the person wants, otherwise it would be too obvious and too overwhelming, and once he thinks of what the other person wants, his own deductive abilities fill in why whatever thing is definitely the answer

kon doesn't know why some people give him rancid vibes, which is why he points them out to Tim, he gives his bird enrichment and he starts to trust his own judgement a bit more so it's a win-win all around and kon does eventually start to figure out who he can trust without the vibe knack as he gets more experience with people, the knack just makes things easier

Cassie, again, is pretty sure her sudden talent with languages is because zeus and zeus is a jerk who is totally fine with stealing someone else's credit

Bart hasn't really ever kept track of how much he eats at any given time, he can make a general estimate if needed, but that he needs to eat less sometimes hasn't really registered, and no speedster is going to race another for no reason since no one wants to risk falling into the speedforce or whatever because they were curious about who's the fastest so no one knows Bart got an extra edge in speed

People being naturally inclined to trust Greta only works as long as Greta doesn't do something that would hurt that trust in her and since she's basically a decent person, she's good

Cissie figures that blonde girls are a dime a dozen and that's why people don't spot her and she needs to work harder to stand out in acting if that's the case but she's fine with that, she's always worked hard anyway

Anita doesn't realize her illusions that make people happy have some extra oomph and she doesn't actually like gingerbread enough to make it very often.

Slobo is super strong already, being able to pack away more things and balance them on one another isn't something he thinks to do very often or need to do very often so it goes unremarked

The gifts santa gave them are powerful but subtle, little things to give them an extra edge but nothing they'll rely on like a crutch, but things that'll definitely help them make their delivery to apocalypse and survive to do it again the next year

I like how subtle the gifts are and how personally they fit. They aren't overt, and thus nothing that would become something they rely on. It makes sense that Gun Batman wouldn't have the gift, nor would anyone on his side.

Kon giving Tim cases is exactly the same as giving a bird enrichment. That's a perfect description of it ^^

Kon's morphing into him just eventually knowing without needing the power is fantastic. It probably still works, but he's got the initial step down.

The others not realizing why they have their powers on explained well. I probably wouldn't notice being able to pack things away well or the gingerbread houses (I haven't made any in years).

[democracyunderground]

The Allopathic Complex and Its Consequences

luigi mangione's last words

LM

Dec 09, 2024

The second amendment means I am my own chief executive and commander in chief of my own military. I authorize my own act of self-defense in response to a hostile entity making war on me and my family.

Nelson Mandela says no form of viooence can be excused. Camus says it’s all the same, whether you live or die or have a cup of coffee. MLK says violence never brings permanent peace. Gandhi says that non-violence is the mightiest power available to mankind.

That’s who they tell you are heroes. That’s who our revolutionaries are.

Yet is that not capitalistic? Non-violence keeps the system working at full speed ahead.

What did it get us. Look in the mirror.

They want us to be non-violent, so that they can grow fat off the blood they take from us.

The only way out is through. Not all of us will make it. Each of us is our own chief executive. You have to decide what you will tolerate.

In Gladiator 1 Maximus cuts into the military tattoo that identifies him as part of the roman legion. His friend asks “Is that the sign of your god?” As Maximus carves deeper into his own flesh, as his own blood drips down his skin, Maximus smiles and nods yes. The tattoo represents the emperor, who is god. The god emperor has made himself part of Maximus’s own flesh. The only way to destroy the emperor is to destroy himself. Maximus smiles through the pain because he knows it is worth it.

These might be my last words. I don’t know when they will come for me. I will resist them at any cost. That’s why I smile through the pain.

They diagnosed my mother with severe neuropathy when she was forty-one years old. She said it started ten years before that with burning sensations in her feet and occasional sharp stabbing pains. At first the pain would last a few moments, then fade to tingling, then numbness, then fade to nothing a few days later.

The first time the pain came she ignored it. Then it came a couple times a year and she ignored it. Then every couple months. Then a couple times a month. Then a couple times a week. At that point by the time the tingling faded to numbness, the pain would start, and the discomfort was constant. At that point even going from the couch to the kitchen to make her own lunch became a major endeavor

She started with ibuprofen, until the stomach aches and acid reflux made her switch to acetaminophen. Then the headaches and barely sleeping made her switch back to ibuprofen.

The first doctor said it was psychosomatic. Nothing was wrong. She needed to relax, destress, sleep more.

The second doctor said it was a compressed nerve in her spine. She needed back surgery. It would cost $180,000. Recovery would be six months minimum before walking again. Twelve months for full potential recovery, and she would never lift more than ten pounds of weight again.

The third doctor performed a Nerve Conduction Study, Electromyography, MRI, and blood tests. Each test cost $800 to $1200. She hit the $6000 deductible of her UnitedHealthcare plan in October. Then the doctor went on vacation, and my mother wasn’t able to resume tests until January when her deductible reset.

The tests showed severe neuropathy. The $180,000 surgery would have had no effect.

They prescribed opioids for the pain. At first the pain relief was worth the price of constant mental fog and constipation. She didn’t tell me about that until later. All I remember is we took a trip for the first time in years, when she drove me to Monterey to go to the aquarium. I saw an otter in real life, swimming on its back. We left at 7am and listened to Green Day on the four-hour car ride. Over time, the opioids stopped working. They made her MORE sensitive to pain, and she felt withdrawal symptoms after just two or three hours.

Then gabapentin. By now the pain was so bad she couldn’t exercise, which compounded the weight gain from the slowed metabolic rate and hormonal shifts. And it barely helped the pain, and made her so fatigued she would go an entire day without getting out of bed.

Then Corticosteroids. Which didn’t even work.

The pain was so bad I would hear my mother wake up in the night screaming in pain. I would run into her room, asking if she’s OK. Eventually I stopped getting up. She’d yell out anguished shrieks of wordless pain or the word “fuck” stretched and distended to its limits. I’d turn over and go back to sleep.

All of this while they bled us dry with follow-up appointment after follow-up appointment, specialist consultations, and more imagine scans. Each appointment was promised to be fully covered, until the insurance claims were delayed and denied. Allopathic medicine did nothing to help my mother’s suffering. Yet it is the foundation of our entire society.

My mother told me that on a good day the nerve pain was like her legs were immersed in ice water. On a bad day it felt like her legs were clamped in a machine shop vice, screwed down to where the cranks stopped turning, then crushed further until her ankle bones sprintered and cracked to accommodate the tightening clamp. She had more bad days than good.

My mother crawled to the bathroom on her hands and knees. I slept in the living room to create more distance from her cries in the night. I still woke up, and still went back to sleep.

Back then I thought there was nothing I could do.

The high copays made consistent treatment impossible. New treatments were denied as “not medically necessary.” Old treatments didn’t work, and still put us out for thousands of dollars.

UnitedHealthcare limited specialist consultations to twice a year.

Then they refused to cover advanced imaging, which the specialists required for an appointment.

Prior authorizations took weeks, then months.

UnitedHealthcare constantly changed their claim filing procedure. They said my mother’s doctor needed to fax his notes. Then UnitedHealthcare said they did not save faxed patient correspondence, and required a hardcopy of the doctor’s typed notes to be mailed. Then they said they never received the notes. They were unable to approve the claim until they had received and filed the notes.

They promised coverage, and broke their word to my mother.

With every delay, my anger surged. With every denial, I wanted to throw the doctor through the glass wall of their hospital waiting room.

But it wasn’t them. It wasn’t the doctors, the receptionists, administrators, pharmacists, imaging technicians, or anyone we ever met. It was UnitedHealthcare.

People are dying. Evil has become institutionalized. Corporations make billions of dollars off the pain, suffering, death, and anguished cries in the night of millions of Americans.

We entered into an agreement for healthcare with a legally binding contract that promised care commensurate with our insurance payments and medical needs. Then UnitedHealthcare changes the rules to suit their own profits. They think they make the rules, and think that because it’s legal that no one can punish them.

They think there’s no one out there who will stop them.

Now my own chronic back pain wakes me in the night, screaming in pain. I sought out another type of healing that showed me the real antidote to what ails us.

I bide my time, saving the last of my strength to strike my final blows. All extractors must be forced to swallow the bitter pain they deal out to millions.

As our own chief executives, it’s our obligation to make our own lives better. First and foremost, we must seek to improve our own circumstances and defend ourselves. As we do so, our actions have ripple effects that can improve the lives of others.

Rules exist between two individuals, in a network that covers the entire earth. Some of these rules are written down. Some of these rules emerge from natural respect between two individuals. Some of these rules are defined in physical laws, like the properties of gravity, magnetism or the potential energy stored in the chemical bonds of potassium nitrate.

No single document better encapsulates the belief that all people are equal in fundamental worth and moral status and the frameworks for fostering collective well-being than the US constitution.

Writing a rule down makes it into a law. I don’t give a fuck about the law. Law means nothing. What does matter is following the guidance of our own logic and what we learn from those before us to maximize our own well-being, which will then maximize the well-being of our loved ones and community.

That’s where UnitedHealthcare went wrong. They violated their contract with my mother, with me, and tens of millions of other Americans. This threat to my own health, my family’s health, and the health of our country’s people requires me to respond with an act of war.

END

(posted without comment)

[yakool-foolio]

If the Professor's waxwork model has been returned, hopefully we'll be able to see what it looks like! If the model was always going to be returned even without the ransom, then what was the true purpose of it being stolen, I wonder? My best guess is that it served as a distraction... WAIT GAME THEORY: WAS ASMAN THE PROFESSOR? The killer could've used the model as a nonliving body double for Asman and nobody would be able to tell the difference if they couldn't find the model.

Well, he may be headless, but he's no horseman. Damn Enoch, the stress must've really gotten to ya for your hair to turn all white. SHOLMES FEED YOUR KID JEEZ LOUISE! A thick shard of glass, hm? Like it came from, I dunno, THE CRYSTAL TOWER? My theory very well may be correct, huzzah!

Hooooly shit that's a Hellhound if I've ever heard of one. Sounds incredibly brutal, me likey the grim implications (Blank Week enthusiasts where ya at?). 'The Great Departed Soul' has a double meaning; the 'resurrection' of both Kazuma and The Professor. OH so it was the stress, forgive me Enoch for my joke I was actually /srs.

Unfortunately my friend group had to stop early for tonight cause of technical difficulties, but we're gonna try to catch up to speed tomorrow night. As compensation, have some extra miscellaneous TGAA thoughts of mine (mostly music related cause I can't help myself).

So if Klint's spirit is The Reaper, then there could be some unchecked wrath not just directed at his killer, but perhaps defendants as a whole? Thinking with ghost logic here, ghosts tend to remain on the mortal plane whenever they have unfinished business, such as when their death is unjust and their killer is still walking around a free man. So if The Professor is indeed still alive, then that would be a good reason as to why Klint's spirit seems to follow his younger brother around. The motive Klint's spirit could have in causing the deaths of the defendants prosecuted by Barok might be due to unkempt rage of his own killer still being at large, unbeknownst to most of London. He's not taking any chances at letting other potential killers go free, so he effectively curses them with a curt death so they won't harm anyone else. Klint might also not know what his killer, The Professor, looked like, so he's basically doing the ghost equivalent of firing randomly into a crowd of suspicious-looking individuals. This is all just taking the idea of a ghost causing all these deaths literally so uhhh a thick layering of salt is needed to properly ingest this take. I apologize for your high blood pressure after this.

In my escapades of assigning lawyers n prosecutors Monster Hunter themes, I've made an exception and want to give Sholmes Ruby Basarios' theme. It one of the very few consistently happy-go-lucky sounding monster themes in the whole series, which fits him being the comedic relief while also having a few off-kilter bits much like Sholmes' actual theme to showcase his roundabout way of deducting. It also features some tap dancing-esque percussion, which I love associating with the dance of deduction.

I absolutely love how Adjudication (how the track's named on Spotify is what I go off of) sounds almost like a waltz. It really evokes the feeling of the dance of death--Danse Macabre--between the lawyer and the prosecutor. It's a delicate balance of life and death any way ya look at it. One misstep could lead to your dance partner cracking their head against the floor. And we don't want anyone else to end up with a serious case of amnesia here, right?

Whisper On The Breeze by TWRP is such an Asoryu song it makes me melt. The Great Departure is all the more bittersweet to me because of it. Like hoo man these lyrics:

(To Whom It May Concern - @raymondshields)