#THIS IS SO EVIL GIVEN MY STATE OF MIND

[penncilkid]

"Stop it."

"Stop what?" Milo asked, chuckling.

"Looking at me like that!"

"Like you're the only person in the whole world?"

PLUTO WHAT IF THIS WAS MY LAST STRAW? </3 /POS

Been in a weird writing funk for a few months now so I thought I'd try to write something small for y'all here. Of course, it is Milo/Sweetheart. Of course it is a comfort fic. This seems to be the theme when I am not in the best of spirits. Anyway, writing below the cut!!

"Sweets! I'm home!" Milo called as soon as he was in the door. The house was dark, something he noticed when he pulled into their driveway. The text that Milo sent to Sweetheart saying he was on his way home went ignored, which was unusual. The house was quiet too, which was also unusual.

Well, almost quiet, as the meows of Aggro started coming through the house as the cat made his way to Milo. Aggro found him as he was just putting his keys and wallet down, rubbing up against his legs and meowing up at him. He seemed a bit stressed more than usual, which worried him.

"Hi buddy," Milo said, a small smile on his face, bending down to pet him. "Where's Sweetheart?"

The cat blinked up at him for a second before taking off down the hallway. Milo followed without hesitation, worry creasing his brows. He knew that nothing bad had happened, but he still couldn't help but worry. They had bailed on the plans with the pack tonight because something came up at work again. They had been going nonstop for weeks at this point, early mornings leading to late evenings. It wasn't good for them, Milo could say that much. The tension that they carried in their body the last little bit was not fun to watch, or the growing dark circles under their eyes. Milo wished he could stop time every time he heard Sweetheart's alarm go off and they begrudgingly dragged themselves out of bed. Just to give them a few more moments of rest that he knew they deserved.

When Milo got to the bedroom, Aggro was staring at the closed door in front of him. Odd. Normally Sweetheart would leave it open enough for Aggro to come and go freely.

"Is this what had you so worried?" Milo asked him, to which he got a meow in response. Milo knocked gently on the door, ear pressed close to hear if they were in there. He didn't hear anything. A frown edged his lips. "Sweetheart? You in here?"

When he didn't get a response, he opened the door and stepped inside, eyes adjusting to the dark fast and spotting a figure curled up in the bed. Aggro bolted under his feet and was on the bed in a split second. The figure on the bed stirred a bit as Aggro sniffed around before settling beside them.

As Milo turned on the bedside lamp, he realized that Sweetheart had fallen asleep still in their work clothes. He sighed, glad that they were okay and unharmed. He brushed some hair out of their face, hand trailing down their cheek afterwards. Sweetheart stirred a bit more, eyes blinking open at the touch.

"Well hello there," Milo said, a small giggle breaking out from under his breath. He still was rubbing gentle circles into their cheek.

"What time..." Sweetheart slurred, reaching for their phone that was haphazardly placed beside them. If Milo had to guess, they were likely on it before falling asleep, and it dropped when they were finally out. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Just after ten," Milo answered them when they frowned at their now dead phone. "Just got home."

"Sorry," Sweetheart muttered, rubbing their eyes.

"Don't apologize," Milo said, fondness dripping from his words. "But, I tell you what. Why don't you finally get out of these clothes and put on some pyjamas? It might be a bit more comfortable."

Sweetheart nodded, sitting up with the guidance of Milo's hands, a yawn spiling from their lips.

"Stay here," Milo whispered to them, crossing the room to the dresser, rooting around for a pair of pyjamas.

"You don't have to--" Sweetheart started.

"I want to, though," Milo cut them off, already walking back. "I'm still wondering how you were able to fall asleep like this," he said jokingly, placing the pyjamas beside them and plucking off their glasses.

"Was tired after work, and it was, like, 7 PM by the time I got home. I had already eaten so I was just gonna lay down for a little bit. Looks like I ended up falling asleep," Sweetheart explained.

"It must have been a long day," Milo commented, reaching for their wrist so that he could take off their watch. He kissed along their knuckles when he was done, and he just caught the small smile that graced their lips at the motion.

"Something like that," Sweetheart sighed.

He turned to place the items on the bedside table as Sweetheart started to change. When that was done, he reached for their phone to plug it in, already setting the alarms that they set every night in the process. It was quiet in the room, but Milo didn't mind that. As long as he could feel Sweetheart's aura pulsing from them in time with their core, that was all he needed. Not to mention Sweetheart was still half asleep, there probably wasn't anything that they wanted to talk about.

"Are you hungry?" Milo asked after he finished his tasks, pressing a kiss into Sweetheart's shoulder. "When was the last time you ate?"

"At six," Sweetheart said. "Supper was bought for us when we had to stay behind. It was very nice actually. Though..."

"You want a small snack don't you?" Milo teased, already moving back toward the kitchen. "The usual?"

"Please," Sweetheart said. There was a pause before Milo heard their feet come padding behind him. "I love you," They added from behind him.

"I love you too," Milo said, hand instinctively reaching behind him. Sweetheart's fingers intertwined with them in a heartbeat, making Milo's chest fill with warmth. "Some would even say I love you more."

"Impossible," Sweetheart said, chuckling.

In the kitchen, Sweetheart didn't break away from him until he handed them their smoothie drink from the fridge. Milo grabbed the last of the strawberries from the fridge, and grabbed a bowl and a knife, before settling beside where they sat on the counter.

"How was the party?" Sweetheart asked. "Did you have fun?"

"Not as much fun as I would've if you were there," Milo said sincerely. He loves his pack, of course he does, but he also loves showing off for Sweetheart who loves his antics. Secretly.

"Oh, stop," Sweetheart said, but even when they took a sip of their drink they weren't able to hide their smile.

"And the pack missed you," Milo added. "Got asked where you were at least every few minutes for the first, like, half hour."

"They missed me that much?"

"You've barely been around for three weeks at this point, Sweets, of course they have," Milo said. "They love you."

Sweetheart didn't answer, but Milo could sense that they were glowing without even looking at them. When he did glance at them, he was caught by their beauty again. Even like this, with their hair a mess, cheeks red with sleep, and the last remaining lines fading from their skin. God, was he ever lucky to have them.

When Sweetheart realized what he was doing, they groaned, pushing his face away from them. "Stop it."

"Stop what?" Milo asked, chuckling.

"Looking at me like that!"

"Like you're the only person in the whole world?" Milo asked.

Sweetheart didn't answer, just grumbled something, much to Milo's amusement. "Just focus on the strawberries before you cut your finger off."

"Please," Milo said, "I could do this in my sleep."

"I'm not rushing you to the hospitable if you hurt yourself," Sweetheart said.

"Sure," Milo said. "The love of my life, my mate, wouldn't bat an eye if I accidentally cut myself."

"I wouldn't," Sweetheart said.

"Which is totally reasonable," Milo said, "especially after I've been terrorizing you with my lov--ow!"

Milo dropped the knife, clutching his right thumb with his other hand. Sweetheart immediately reacted, placing their drink down and grabbing for his hand.

"What did I tell you! Here, let me see," They chided, brows creasing together as they pried his fingers away from his thumb to see--nothing. Sweetheart stared at his thumb for a few moments, blinking, before they groaned again. "You jerk!" They said, lightly pushing him away. "I was worried about you!"

"So you do worry when I hurt myself," Milo teased.

"You're evil," Sweetheart grumbled, crossing their arms.

Milo hummed, scootching over so that he could settle between their legs, a hand automatically settling on their thigh. "You love me," he said, his other hand coming up to cup the back of their neck and pull them in for a kiss. For someone who thought he was evil, they sure did respond to his touch, melting into him the second their lips touched.

"Evil," they muttered against his lips, though with considerably no force behind it.

"Will this make up for it?" Milo asked after he pulled away, reaching for the bowl beside them and presenting it.

"Maybe," Sweetheart said. They accepted the offered bowl.

"Dork," Milo muttered fondly, stealing a strawberry half. Sweetheart didn't respond, just wrinkling their nose at him. "Do you have the weekend off?"

Sweetheart nodded. "Finally."

"Perfect," Milo said, smiling.

"I swear to God if you say 'like you'--"

"Like you," Milo said, chuckling when Sweetheart lightly smacked his chest. "Eat, so we can go to bed."

--END--

[enigmaris]

DPxDC idea that has been floating around my head for a few months now:

Gotham, given its whole... thing with Lazurus Pools and general bad vibes, has a ghostly representative. Lady Gotham, when she bothers to be coporeal, looks like an influential lady from the 1920s, straight art deco elegance. A real classy girl.

Jazz is touring college campuses around the US. She has full ride offers from Gotham University, Metroplis College, and Star City State, to name a few. Danny, upon hearing that his sister is going to GOTHAM of all cities, decides he is going on this trip with her. He might be only 15, but his big sister isn't getting mugged while he has half an afterlife left to live!

Lady Gotham is all a flutter! Why the last ghost king was so frumpy! King Phantom is so handsome and powerful, and he is coming to her city. She absolutely has to show off her best side! She feels like a teenaged girl getting her home ready before a new beau comes to visit. She's flustered, she's nervous.

Meanwhile, John Constatine wakes up with cosmic alarm bells going off because something really, really bad is happening. He investigates to dicsover that for the past three days Gotham has not had a single crime.

No murders, muggings, hell not even a single jay walker!

Gotham the most cursed place on the North Or South American continent is suddenly more squeaky clean than whatever small farm town Superman grew up in.

No crimes, no smog in the air. Crime Lords seemingly gone in a puff of smoke, Assassins asleep in their beds.

Its so freaky. Even Batman is spooked and he is never spooked by anything.

Constantine is certain some demon or other nefarious being is harnessing Gothams cursed energy for some evil plot. Gathering the power to use it like a nuclear blast. Batman is concerned about mass mind control.

Lady Gotham is doing the metaphysical equivalent of hiding all of your stuff in a closet before a guest comes over because you dont have time to actually clean. She had to shoulder the thing closed! She just knows that when the lock fails there will be a huge mess.

Jazz and her family are just surprised about how nice Gotham U's campus is. She'd heard it was so dark and dangerous, but everyone is smiling and pleasant to her! Danny is just happy Jazz is safe from various villains.

So we have Batman investigating his rogues gallery for mind control plots, Constatine hunting for demons, Jazz and her family taking a walking tour of Gotham U, and Lady Gotham using every bit of her ghostly powers to make sure her damned, cursed city doesnt embarrass her in front of her crush!

[kalak]

Darth vader in comics is wild because he's evil but like. While palpatine and tarkin and other empire high ranking officials were being like I shall genocide countless cultures and races and subjugate planets with force and imprison a shitload of people to fuel the empire's military expansion. The Republic is gone and an authoritarian dictatorship will take its place

And then Vader is like I'm going to build a SITH PALACE in a lava planet I'm going to CURSE my underling so he has to fight for eternity as a half physical, half ghost state. I'm going to podrace into a SANDSTORM, I'm going to inadvertently save a civilization by battling a MASSIVE shark monster while riding a epic black horse creature, I'm going to battle palpatine à la a kaiju battle, both mind controlling a beast to fight in our stead. Meanwhile also sobbing over padme whenever given the chance,

[angelicblondie]

what about luke castellan x ballerina!reader but she had to give up ballet when she went to camp and he like finds her dancing in the forest one night. maybe when he’s a little busy with like backstabbing everyone but yk🤷‍♀️

(like meet me in the pale moonlight or tomorrow never came coded like ughh😩😩)

wait...i adore this. as a dancer this made my heart actually jump for joy.

every night, luke was plagued with dreams. the not good kind, more specifically.

it started a few months ago. the deep ancient voice of a titan long imprisoned would echo through his mind, urging his darkest desires of revenge and shameful need for power to the forefront of his thoughts. he was angry, angry at the gods for ignoring him and all their other children. he wanted to stop this system, he was full of bitterness.

so the voice in his head was appealing. he knew that it probably wasn't morally good to listen to the evil titan kronos, but then again, if it all ended up with the system of the gods abolished, he could live with that.

but anyways, the point is, dreams invaded the peace luke found in his unconscious state, and sometimes, it was too much. sure, he agreed with the titan, but he wasn't ready to abandon home and betray his friends, not when they were the only ones who accepted him. he couldn't do that, no matter how much to words appealed to him.

so, when the hermes cabin felt suffocating, and his mind was reeling, late at night, luke would venture off into the woods.

luke felt at comfort with the odd eeriness that filled the late night air - he didn't jump or flinch at the sounds of leaves crunching or bushes rustling - he felt at peace with the scary.

that was, until he saw footsteps in the mud.

curious, luke followed the trail, until he reached an more open area of the forest, and he leaned up against a tree, taking in the sight in front of him with pure curiosity.

there you were, wearing grey sleep shorts, a black tank top, and a pink cardigan, dancing in the middle of this forest.

you seemed to be in your own world, sneakers planted in the ground as you did some simple plies, and luke watched, transfixed by the sight. your hair was tied up by a pink ribbon, and you had the most peaceful expression on your face, not one luke had ever seen before.

you were relatively new to camp, only having arrived in the past year. you were quickly claimed by your mother, aphrodite, and gained a fast group of friends and a positive reputation. luke and you hadn't talked much - sure, he gave you your tour, and the two of you had got on quite well, but once you got claimed, he didn't have much time to talk to you, given the rapid enthusiasm of your siblings.

he didn't know you were a dancer, a good one in fact. you elegantly pranced around, your feet moving quickly yet gracefully. luke was mesmerized - he had never really seen anything like it, like you. you seemed so free - so unburdened by the struggles of being a demi god. just you, alone (kind of?), dancing - luke guessed like every other demigod, you had found your own way to feel normal in this crazy world.

eventually, your eyes caught luke, and you stumbled back, imidiatley flushing. gods, you were mortified!

"l-luke? what are you doing here?" you exclaimed indignantly.

luke remained leaned up against the tree, the corners of his lips tilting upwards. "was on a walk, happend to come across you."

you huff. "how long have you been there?"

he shrugs, standing up straight. "not long." he walks forwards a bit, closer to where you stood. "you dance?"

wasnt it obvious? you thought, but awkwardly twiddled your thumbs. "well, used to, i guess. cant really anymore, cause....you know." you say, your voice somewhat shy.

luke humed in recognition. "yeah, the whole demigod thing doesnt help. wouldnt be fun if a cyclops showed up to a rectial, huh?" he said, the dry yet teasing humour in his voice elicited a giggle from your lips. "guess not," you agree softly, your eyes twinkling happily.

luke, feeling a little bashful, rubbed the back of his neck. "uh, your really good by the way. i feel a bit bad interrupting, you were in the zone."

you bite your lip, feeling a bit embarrassed. "yeah well, theres never really time to dance anymore, so i guess whenever i cant sleep i come out here to." you look him up and down. "is that why you're out here? you cant sleep?"

luke hums. "yeah. nightmares," he simplifies, his thoughts being brought back to the reason he left his cabin.

you blow out a breath of air. "hate those," you mumble.

luke observes you. "you enjoying camp?" he asks, changing subject.

you smile a little, nodding. "yeah, its different then what i thought it would be. it actually been really great, my sibling have been super welcoming," you say, your voice sounding so genuine and enthusiastic it was hard for luke not to smile.

his lips quirk up, eyes filled with a bit of mischief. "yeah, well, camp'll do that for you."

you bite your lip, almost as if you were contemplating your next words. "y'know, i haven't seen much of you since i got here. you must be busy."

luke chuckles a bit. "why, have you been looking for me?"

his flirty words heated your cheeks and you let out a nervous laugh. "no!" yes. "i was just wondering."

luke poked his tongue to the inside of his cheek. "right, right."

you talked for a little longer, before luke escorted you back to your cabin. you thanked him with a quick kiss to the cheek before running inside, and luke walked back to his own cabin, distracted from the overbearing titan in his dreams, even if only for a little while.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hi! New random idea that popped into my head falling asleep in the bat boys hoodies while they're on partol.3

I probably misinterpreted this ask but have this instead!

Dick

Uses you sleeping under his hoodie to pretend that he had somehow gotten pregnant.

No one believed this bullshit because dick had gone on multiple rants of you burying yourself under his hoodie and sleeping while clinging onto his chest. He had albums full of these moments that his teammates wonder whether or not he had storage on his phone that wasn’t dedicated to you.

But dick would get a little distracted with you sleeping under his hoodie when he was out on patrol, no matter how hard he tries to focus, he was brought back to you and smiling to himself at how much you trusted him to keep you company while you slept soundly against his chest.

It’s been rather slow for patrol, which was what he wanted but that meant he was prone to giving you kisses and back rubs whenever he felt bored with the unusual quietness of Gotham city. Dick would even hum a tune to you softly or even tell you silly little stories about the stars, anything and everything to keep his mind occupied and you in a state of relaxation under his touch.

‘I still have to go on that stargazing date with you sooner or later.’ He says to no one in particular as he rubs your back, tracing words into it as he smiles softly. ‘I’ll bring Hayley since she loves you so much, I’m jealous but then again I love seeing my two favourites sweethearts being adorable and cute-,’ dick gasps, ‘also we need to do a Halloween costume photo shoot with Hayley sooner or later. What do you think?’

You shuffled a little.

‘I’m glad you agree, we should do it soon.’ Dick replied as he walked across the rooftop in search of anything out of the ordinary, with Halloween closely encroaching, he guessed that people were preparing for the holiday but unfortunately for Dick evil doesn’t take a rest; even on holidays.

Jason

He thought this was ridiculously dangerous for you to pull off, sleeping under his hoodie while on patrol!?

He’s staying on the rooftops and out of range as much as possible as he pops his head under the collar of his hoodie to check on you, only to find you still soundly asleep against his chest as he sighs in relief.

‘Still sound asleep?’ Roy asked.

‘Still- wait,’ Jason looked over at Roy who looked back at him and shrugged his shoulders. ‘You keep checking on them like a mother hen, that and you’re not actually subtle when you keep looking down the collar of your hoodie.’

Jason internally groans but despite cursing himself for being caught, his hand instinctively rubbed your back when he felt you shift under his hoodie, reassuring you that everything was okay and that it wouldn’t be long until you got to go home. Roy smirks as he watched Jason coddle you during this particularly boring night of patrol, finding his need to keep periodically checking on you now and then rather endearing in all honestly, but would put a hand on Jason’s shoulder and remind him;

‘They aren’t going to up and disappear if you don’t check on them for a split second dude, they’ll always be there clinging to you like a koala.’

Jason knew this but didn’t trust Gotham enough to take his eyes off of you without thinking you’ll be taken the next, Gotham didn’t allow anyone to be happy for long, and this relationship with you had was more or less a dream come true for Jason; who had finally found his god given solace in you and wasn’t willing to loose you anytime soon, so forgive him if he wasn’t eager to be apart for you for a while and come across as a protective bear.

‘I know,’ Jason hummed softly, cuddling you closer out of instinct, ‘I know they won’t but I’m not risking anything, not while we’re in Gotham.’ He adds and Roy only accepts this as he went back to his post, making sure that no one would take Jason or you off guard.

Bruce

Curse you and your puppy eyes because Bruce was planning on leaving you in the bat cave upon seeing how tired you were, now here he was, out on patrol with Damian as you slept soundly under his hoodie like you had been for the past hour and half.

‘Why didn’t you leave them back at the man or father?’ Damian asked, patting your head gently through Bruce’s dark hoodie.

‘They have ways of holding things over my head Damian,’ Bruce replied as he felt you snuggle closer to him in your sleep, kissing his collar bone as though to remind him and yourself that you were okay, that everything was okay, ‘ways of which I find myself unable to deny.’ He adds as he kisses the top of your head.

‘Still patrol isn’t exactly safe to be falling asleep.’ Damian echoed the concern of your wellbeing that was prevalent in Bruce’s mind as he raised an eyebrow at his father’s decisions.

‘Try telling them that and watch them pull the puppy eyes like their life depends on it.’ Bruce thought to himself but would never say aloud for��multiple reasons as he looks over at Damian who was hovering over the lump that was you like a protective but overbearing hawk as he stared at his father.

‘I will not allow them to be hurt.’ He declared and Bruce could be help but smile at how adamant his son was in wanting to keep you safe. It was something they bother shared, even know they were well aware that you could keep yourself safe, all in thanks to their intensive training you were put under months ago.

‘They could take out thugs with one arm tied behind their back, they’re more than capable Damian.’ Bruce said humorously as his son pouted and took his seat in front of him, in front of you protectively as he unsheathed his sword. ‘Regardless of their abilities, they’re sleeping right now and must be watched over at all times.’ Was Damian’s response as father and son watched over their city, while the city remained clueless that they were watching over more then just the city but also the slumbering person under Bruce’s hoodie, sleeping soundly.

[clownakai]

Hi! Let's talk about: Conan's terribly kept secret, and how come he doesn't seem to mind that Akai has pretty much figured it out (and teases him about it)

I'm not going to lie, I think about this a lot and I've wanted to make a post dissecting the whole thing for a while. It's one of those details within two characters' relationship that says a lot about their overall dynamic, in my opinion.

So, to start off, let's address the secret in question and what it means to Conan. Basic stuff, but it's a useful starting point.

The first and greatest motivation behind Shinichi's efforts to keep his situation a secret from Ran is that he doesn't want to endanger her (good idea in theory, not so easy in practice, but this post isn't about that).

In time, this also becomes valid for everyone who associates with Kudou Shinichi and/or Edogawa Conan, given all the stunts he pulls as the latter. Just to be on the safer side, those two identities should remain separate.

Now, here's the first real "outsider" who figures out Conan is Shinichi.

I'm kind of reading this as Conan attempting to call Hattori's bluff, but as soon as he realizes that the guy is serious about telling Ran everything, he drops all pretenses and comes clean about the APTX.

Now, since this is still pretty early on in the manga, we can argue that Conan's identity hasn't been solidified just yet and Shinichi doesn't know how dangerous the Organization actually is, and combining that with the fact that Hattori is pretty much a stranger, the pros of conceding defeat on the matter and explaining himself to a fellow detective definitely outweigh the cons.

(This also gifts us with the funniest swaggest most whimsical duo ever, but I digress /silly)

And after Heiji, we have the man, the myth, the legend. Hondou Eisuke. His case is kind of particular, in that he doesn't really try to get the secret out of Conan. The truth is presented to him due to something unrelated (asking Ran out), which is apparently reason enough for Shinichi to out himself.

I do believe that Shinichi felt secure enough in doing this for a couple reasons: first and foremost, Eisuke is at least marginally aware of the Organization and the danger it represents, and he knows the importance of keeping secrets given both his sister's situation and his career choice. Secondly, Eisuke is leaving Japan: sure, there's a chance he might stay in contact with his friends via text, but he has no reason to tell Ran about Conan's real identity in the first place.

The real "danger" here was the possibility (very, very small. Basically non-existent, to be honest) that Ran would say yes to Eisuke's proposal to go to the States together (where, in Shinichi's mind, he wouldn't be able to follow, where he wouldn't be able to watch over her, where he felt he would lose her in every way that matters), and that chance, no matter how small, warranted an intervention. Not exactly pure logic, but that's teenagers for you (affectionate).

Alright, so what about people like Masumi? She even has an advantage in that she already knows about the existence of a drug that makes people shrink: her own mom looks like a middle schooler because of that. She's in danger no matter how you look at it, and she's clearly been keeping that secret the same way Agasa, Hattori, and the Kudous have for a good while. So how come she doesn't get to join the club?

The answer is, of course, the risk factor.

Masumi, as we all know, wouldn't know the meaning of subtlety if it hit her in the face with a baseball bat. We love and cherish her regardless, but admittedly, that's not a trait that would inspire trust in a pair of teenagers hiding their continued existence from an evil syndicate.

That's right! We have her timing to keep in mind as well. Masumi is added to the scene well into the main timeline's events, which means multiple things:

Conan's identity is finally well-established and separate from Shinichi's. Ran has had her suspicions in multiple instances, but they've been assuaged every time. Still, that balance is hard to maintain.

Shinichi is now fully aware of just how dangerous the Organization is: he's now much more reluctant to just share his secret willy-nilly with random strangers, even though they might prove to be useful allies in the long run.

Conan isn't the only shrunk teenager running around anymore: Haibara has just as much reason as him, if not more, to want to keep the number of people in the know as low as possible. By revealing his own secret, there would be virtually no way for Shinichi to keep Haibara out of the metaphorical line of fire.

Therefore, a variable that behaves like this...

Or this...

Isn't very likely to garner much favor from either of these two.

Something to take note of, though, is the fact that Conan pretty much only ever panics when Masumi brings up his identity if she's making an active effort to also bring the matter up with people who are firmly on the "Absolutely Cannot Find Out" list (Ran especially).

In multiple other instances, when Masumi alludes to being aware of Conan's ruse but talks to him one-on-one and makes it clear that the comment is a one-off occasion (and that she's not going to push it this time), Shinichi doesn't really lose his cool.

He may stumble over his words a bit, but the moment isn't played as dramatic or high-risk, per se. It's more as if he were being privately teased about his situation— sort of like as inside joke. It's not exactly welcome, but it also doesn't raise any alarm bells since it stays between him and Masumi.

Now, would Conan's problems with Masumi's nosiness be solved if he gave up and admitted the truth she already knows? Of course, but that's not really the point.

The issue is that this wouldn't be happening on his terms. He would be giving in to someone's else's demands, and in addition to that, Masumi has been asking non-stop about the antidote that Shinichi intermittently uses to get back to normal.

That, above all else, is what makes the endless dance of denial necessary, I think: admitting the truth also means outright admitting that prototypes of an antidote exist, and that means exposing Haibara (both her past work and therefore criminal background, and what she's been working on these past few months: letting Masumi have even a single pill would mean the MI6 getting their hands on it in turn, and that's pretty much not something anyone wants), which in turn would probably set off a very unpleasant chain reaction for everyone involved.

When Shinichi conceded defeat with Hattori, it wasn't on his terms either, but at least he knew the guy didn't really have any ulterior motive apart from his one-sided beef with the Detective of the East.

With Masumi there is no such certainty— quite the opposite, in fact, which is why I think this is the reason he's been so insistent on denying the truth even when he now knows full well that Masumi's can be no mere suspicions.

With all that said, let's get to the point of this bad boy! (I did not think this analysis would get so long. Holy shit)

Let's start with the fact that Akai operates on a pretty simple need-to-know basis. If something isn't relevant to what he's trying to do, he tends not to mention it. Still, he's not exactly strict about this: when Conan mentions Akai and Masumi's familial relation, he takes it in stride and gives his own confirmation because he sees no reason not to.

Now, this of course doesn't mean that he can't get curious about things himself, or that he won't conduct his own investigations on said things. His M.O., however, is very different from that of, say, Hattori or Masumi. It can probably be chalked up to maturity and years of experience, along with the simple matter of his personality, but Akai doesn't exactly make a spectacle of things.

He knows when to push and when to let go in a manner that still gives him the answers he seeks. He easily manipulates Conan into giving himself away as Shinichi while still making sure to be the only one witnessing that moment.

And then he decides to be a bastard and give Conan a heart attack... for about a tenth of a second, since as he does that he also carefully words things in order to give the kid an easy out.

All Akai wanted was to figure out the mystery in front of him (he's by admission a curious guy. He likes solving puzzles): now that he has his answers, he's not really going to do anything with them because he has no reason to— Conan is already willing to cooperate with him and the FBI (and has already done so before), after all. They already share intel more or less freely. He's literally living in the kid's house. For free. Why would he jeopardize any of that by falling out of favor with him?

This, I think, is a pretty solid basis upon which I can build my beautiful sandcastle.

Of the couple times in which Akai respectively asks Conan about his identity outright and mildly teases him about his circumstances, the context always plays a huge role.

In the first scenario, the two are speaking in public, yes, but at the same time the conversation is:

Pretty much kept private

Initiated by Conan (he asked for information first!)

Framed as a proposal of a mutual exchange by Akai, who also backs off immediately as soon as Conan turns him down

Of course, Shinichi is already reasonably sure Akai has him figured out anyway, so the point is moot, but it's still nice to get plausible deniability and still be somewhat in control of when he's going to come clean to the guy of his own volition.

In the second scenario, the situation is even more "secure" so to speak, as:

They're sitting in Okiya Subaru's car

They're completely alone

They're in a hurry to do something else (God fucking dammit, Shuukichi)

In this case, Conan doesn't outright react to the jab. Maybe it's because he doesn't really know what to say, or maybe it's just that he doesn't have enough time to come up with a reply before Shuukichi picks up the call. Either way, he does perhaps look a little put on the spot, but there's no real panicked reaction, no telltale change in what Conan's pupils look like in true DetCo fashion, which I'd say confirms he doesn't feel threatened at the moment.

(If we really must give it a critical interpretation, maybe the bit feels a little like a joke falling flat because it was made during an otherwise tense moment and it has nothing to do with the bigger issue.)

It's also worth noting how Akai's dig directly ties into his own circumstances, which possibly helps with lowering the "offensive" charge of the words. It's not a direct accusation, but rather a mildly humorous, harmless observation about their shared status (presumed dead by the enemy).

The biggest thing about both scenes is still, however, the fact that Akai unfailingly frames the subject in a way that leaves the choice of whether to actually talk about it completely up to Conan. He definitely recognizes his position as privileged/advantaged, but actively chooses not to make use of that, and he hasn't treated Conan any differently ever since verifying his suspicions either.

(Sidenote: I do believe that keeping the kid's identity from his own colleagues is also a strategic choice. Like I mentioned before, outing Conan would mean outing Haibara, and I do believe Akai's promise to protect Shiho also includes keeping her far away from any government agency who may be interested in what she knows— and what she's done.)

In conclusion: I am extremely normal about random interactions between these two and also I think that Conan's unshakeable trust in Akai stems from how the guy has been treating him ever since they started collaborating— with genuine respect (and even admiration) and never actually making him feel cornered the way so many others do, whether intentionally or not. This results in occasional sillygoofy privileges because Akai can recognize the time and the place in which it's acceptable to tease the Cone.

[sanakimohara]

[ BOUND BY BLOOD ] - H. H.

master lists <> + CHRISTMAS EVENT: day two (n/a yet)

pairing: Hyunjin x fem! reader

summary: A seductive vampire who has been watching you for centuries finally reveals himself. As Hyunjin pulls you deeper into his world of immortality, the line between love and obsession begins to blur.

date: December 21st 2024

playlist:

warnings: MDNI + NSFW + BLOOD KINK + ORAL + LOTS OF EXPOSITION + MENTIONS OF WITCHCRAFT & PAGAN HOLIDAY + EXTENSIVE PINING

Yule is more than a concession of sacred days ending in immense celebration. You knew of this from a very tender age, of course.

Your mother impressed upon you how vastly more important it was than any other festivity held throughout the year in your small village. A place nestled in the rocky edges of the St. Romanov mountains, just below the everlasting castle at the very top of the harsh scenery. In a dreary land, everyone would be just the same—sulking like the grey, cold clouds that hung high above, even in mid-summer, and bitter like the bark of the evergreen trees and pines occupying the surrounding woods. Many who lived far and near the little ancient plot began to whisper of its strangely happy and content inhabitants centuries before books made of linen and leather were being traded for secrets on the land they lived on.

Some talked of how women resembled eerily beautiful statues on a winter's night. Others told tales of men who never seemed to age past their prime but nearly always perished under terrible circumstances, whether in secret or for all to behold. You were born to a family who pressed truth into these oh-so-beguiled wise tales made up by outsiders. Yet, that was natural within a family littered with witches and warlocks of every kind.

Young and blessed with slow aging and graceful wisdom, your mother and father took it upon themselves to grant you a moderately lavish life within the strangely quaint village. You went without very little, and whatever your kind heart desired was promptly given. Your demure features disarmed many, growing enchanting as you neared the age of two centuries, looking nothing past the age of two bright decades. One might call it luck -especially living in a jagged and whimsical place. But many who lived beyond called it witchcraft at its finest point -the undead's evil doing.

You paid the assumptions no mind. Content with living a life in your studies of the dark arts under the teachings of your nearly pestering and frazzled mother and her less distracted and elated partner -your father. To some extent, he was a patriarch of the town, never fully taking on the title of its Baron and never desiring to when asked. He helped people experiencing poverty, aided people in need, and advised those who did have a hand in village affairs. On the other hand, your mother saw to the population's superstitions and unusual ailments and guarded their shaken resolves with practiced and refined magik. You had undoubtedly become their most prized offering to the masses. A beauty many could behold but could never understand being kept so hidden away at your family estate.

In turn, you were plagued with loneliness that could only be ailed by knowledge of the arts for so long. Years shifted into another half a decade of unbound youth and restrained confidence for you. Thinking of another century in such a state made your heartache and your head spin with sound worry. The terror struck you at family dinner in the dining hall, and you nearly opened your mouth to suggest an alternative to your parents. However, you were halted in a speech by your ever-so-live mother, who'd been unable to stop smiling since you stepped foot into the candlelit room behind your father's usual late arrival.

"I have grand news for you, my dear!" she beamed, and you perked up in your seat in interest. "Mother?...' you cautiously egged her on, sipping from the blackened wine glass set before your plate of half-finished food. She waited to hear you swallow your blackberry wine before glancing at your oddly silent father. "I and your Papa have a gift for you...well, a surprise, to be more specific."

Please, Mother of Darkness, do not let it be another grimoire. I've already filled in four others.

You prayed to the powers that be in a single silent breath, glancing between them as they observed you. "Oh...please do tell me of it. You know how little patience I have for surprises." The sweetest smile crossed your face, pulled tight by subtle anxiety and held there by a need to seem mildly normal about the implications of receiving a new and unknown gift.

Yet, it fell into a quivering line as your mother excitedly spilled her heart out for you to hear.

"We have found you a match, and he is rather eager about it. More than we are if my senses ring true!"

The light wave of shock that gripped you dissipated into relief. A hot flush rushed through d your veins like a flame catching the edge of fresh linen. Any other woman being told of a secure match might feel her heart turned to icey malice, but all you could taste was wild freedom being attained without much fight.

And you couldn't be happier to have it.

Who this match was and why he was so eager to be one with you was another mystery for different times. Now, you wanted a moment to relish in a world to be discovered outside the village you'd known an entire lifetime and mask that joy from the two beings who gave you such power over life as if their announcement hadn't changed a thing in your reeling mind.

With a deep and steadying breath, you replied, "How fortunate. I look forward to beginning our union."

Your mother nodded, sipping wine while your father grumbled a phrase of contentment. She offered you an all-too-tender smile, her bright gaze sparking as you tilted your head in curiosity. "Is there something more you'd like to tell me, Mother?"

She sighed, humming melodically, then set her glass down to speak again, her tone genuinely matter-of-fact.

"You'll be traveling to meet him at his estate within a fortnight."

This wasn't unexpected, yet hearing it aloud stirred a peculiar thrill within you, an undeniable pull toward the unknown that lay waiting.

The fortnight came within a whirlwind of a day. Your belongings were packed and shipped off early at noon, and your father blessed and sealed your treasures an hour before your departure. Your mother sent you off with genuine gifts of goodwill and more excellent fortune, refusing to speak on the mysterious author more than she already had -which only gave you a semblance of a surname from which to paint a picture of him.

Hwang.

It was all you'd know of him until the moon reached its height and your horse-drawn carriage stopped in the gravel walkway in front of his glaringly cold estate. You imagined his features, charm, voice, and sway over those within his power. Sketching his imaginations in a tattered leather-bound grimoire and writing earnest anecdotes of goodwill under each one. You wrote and drew until your hand ached, glad to see the semblance of a large mansion coming into view far across a snow-touched meadow.

The book snapped shut as you refined your focus on the blatantly grand estate. Your mother had called it magnificent when describing where this Hwang hailed from, but she left out the fair detail of how larger-than-life it seemed, with its gardens packed with mere hundreds of people.

A party.

A celebration.

An honoring of Yule.

You had never, ever seen such a large and lavish gathering. Granted, your mother and father never threw one as grand as the one you witnessed now from afar, but the edge of awe was still present as you observed it. People -men, women, the moderately young, and the wise old roamed about.

Some wore masks of gleaming gold, amber, and cherry red. Others wore black veils and cashmere shawls. Everyone in attendance held prestigious looks from afar, dressed in sacred colors starkly contrasting with the pure white snow coating the grounds.

Candles and lanterns were lit to perfection, leaking light into the moonlit night and casting a golden white glow on those who swayed beneath and through them. Shadows danced as many grabbed for waltz partners. A quartet strummed at their instruments and rang their bells into the air. Laughter and speech leaked into the music, piercing the sky.

It was life.

It was passion.

It was beautiful to see.

You ached to join the fun. Think of it constantly, even as the carriage stops at the steps leading straight to the heavy dark oak wood doors carved with the face of Medusa and sealed shut with iron wrought doubles of the letter 'H' leading straight to your new home.

With the help of a kind footman and the relief of a soft gasp, you took tentative steps to the top of the staircase, undeterred by the ice under your heeled boots and the gentle crunch of snow under your every movement. With a step left, the doors creaked open for you, a sudden chill wrapping around you before a steady warmth replaced it. You stopped short, unaffordable of the sudden eeriness, but perplexed to see not a soul standing behind the door.

"Mother of the moon.." you whispered in timid amusement, gazing up at the white sphere gleaming down on your clocked form before allowing its energy to steady your shaken nerves. When your mind could focus again, you bit the inside of your left cheek, slipping into the estate's front doors with a quiet huff, passing by the eyes of Medusa with a solemn smile of thanks.

The doors slammed shut as your feet hit the marble floor inside, loudly clicking its locks with finality as you spared them a final glance before sauntering further into the massive household. The small palace was lit, and not a corner was left cold or void, but not a life in your sight. It seemed as if the tree outside was merely a dreamscape and a phantom of reality within the world you stood in now - a wonderous opener to the spectacle within your suitor's less-than-humble abode. You reached another set of winding staircases. The embroidered carpet gently glistened under an amber-lit chandelier, never seeming to stain your wet footprints and littered with mistletoe, pine, fresh herbs, and trimmed garland. It was neat chaos at its finest, but what took your breath away was the line of blackened roses lining the center. Their thrones were pricked clean off, and their stems meticulously swirled in on themselves and tied off in an alternation of crimson red and deep violet silk ribbons. "How strange..." you thought aloud, pricking one from the warm floor, examining it until its petals were paled compared to the folded letter hidden underneath it.

It simply read in practiced well, done calligraphy,

"My Dearest Love,

The hour is late, and the world outside lies shrouded in slumber, save for me and my kin—ever wakeful, ever longing. I have watched you from the shadows, not with the eyes of a stranger, but with the gaze of a soul tethered to yours by threads spun long before this life. You do not yet know me, but I have known you for an eternity, each passing moment a cruel reminder of my yearning to claim what fate has promised me.

I am writing to you now, my beloved, because our meeting is near. The winter moon will shine brightest on the eve of the year's final breath, casting its silvery veil upon the snow-laden earth. In that sacred hour, I shall come to you. Do not fear the chill in the air or the stillness accompanying my presence. Know that every step I take toward you is born of reverence and an unyielding desire to protect, cherish, and love.

You may wonder why I have chosen you among all others, why I dare to speak of binding our lives together in the sacred vow of marriage. The truth is as eternal as the stars: I did not choose you. Though it beats no longer, my heart has always belonged to you. In your laughter, I hear the echo of joy I have long since forgotten; in your gaze, I see a light that pierces the veil of my darkness. You are the warmth my cold existence craves, the embodiment of all that is pure and eternal.

For centuries, I have wandered through this world, untouched by its beauty and unmoved by its offerings. Yet, the barren void within me stirred from the moment I beheld you, even from afar. My soul cursed as it is, recognized in you its redemption—a love that transcends time, a light strong enough to shatter even the deepest shadows.

I write this letter not to frighten you but to offer you a choice. When we meet, you will see me as I truly am. My nature, my curse—it is not one I would impose upon you without consent. But if your heart, as I suspect, already beats in harmony with mine, I ask for your hand, trust, and love. Together, we will defy the passage of time, weaving a tapestry of eternity that no force can unravel.

Await me on the night of our destined meeting. Do not despair the hour, for it shall mark the beginning of a love that poets and dreamers could only hope to capture. I shall kneel before you, not as a creature of the night, but as a man who has waited lifetimes to call you his own.

Until then, my love, guard your heart, for it is already mine. And know that no force on this earth, nor in the heavens above, could keep me from you.

Yours eternally,

Hyunjin..."

A weight lingered over your shoulders as his name slipped past your lips like pure honey. As if it were planned to happen, and for one explicable reason or another, he had pined for it to be that way on this very night. You pieced things together in the moment it took you to realize them. Every night since your 118th risi, you'd felt a presence -not nearly a calling- but something tethered to your existence. Had that been him for all these years? Watching over you in the smallest of moments. Moving when you moved. Listening when you spoke. Caring when it seemed no one else could. Being there when you felt further trapped in an unintentional isolation.

Were the sharp and bloodborne eyes trailing every move in glimpses of mirrors.?Was he the lurking shadow hovering above your own in the light of a single candle? Was he the one leaving gifts of your desire at the foot of your bed? Each one left with no note or card of recognition but instead wrapped neatly and meant for you to find and enjoy. Wasthee soft chill of breath you felt through the coldest nights? Twinged with a peculiar warmth and steadily streaming against the crook of your neck and behind the shell of your ear.

You thought of the possibilities, fueled by a deep curiosity and security, as you followed the trail of roses left along the ststastaircathrough staircase-through rooTandyandy stopped at a particular door on the second floor, previously leading through the tre right-wing amenities before the abr.aWithhith one big push of both your hands, you revealed what lay within the last unlocked room.

A man, dressed in fine clothing with a more captivating charmed beauty to match, stood before you in a moment of tensed admiration.

He seemed to hold in a breath, lips pressed into a slow-growing smile of recognition as his eyes scanned you in familiarity. Your heart thumped twice its normal speed as he did, and your feet shifted closer to each other as his gaze halted on your flushing face. "He-Hello..." you muttered, unsure what else to say and completely startled to see another person standing in the emptied estate.

Hyunjin did not hold your lack of recognition and frazzled greeting against you; he accepted them. I expect much worse, and he was glad those assumptions did not come to fruition upon your timely arrival.

He found the words to speak and the will to be heard when you took a half-nervous step back, shuffling closer to the doorway in a plain attempt to close it shut if prompted to. "You're quite alright. I've been waiting for you for some time now, so I would like you to stay even if it's for a moment..."

The cadence of his words and the gentle tone of his voice sounded the same as the whisper within your most common dreams. It was healing, charming, sweet, and meant to cause delirium to anyone who heard it without warning. You unconsciously paired it with the letter you'd found. Gripping it in your right hands, your mind collected subtle connections.

This had to be him.

Your allusive and eager suitor?...

"Hwang...Hyunjin..."

"That is my full name, yes..." he jested a bit, treading carefully through your observation of him. However, when your stare found him again, you seemed neither displeased nor perplexed.

"Are you to be my match, then? " you asked, hoping his answer would satisfy your growing uncertainties.

He nodded, nibbling at his lush bottom lip for a split second of tension relief. Then, you noticed his edged canines glinting in the soft light filling the room. Your heart jumped, but your breath slowed at the minuscule sight.

You'd gotten yourself a walking undead of your own, it seems.

Hyunjin's quick eyes caught yours wondering towards his mouth, fixated on the slip-upphe'ddd ma unconsciously but nowhere near frightened or frazzled by the reveal. It eased his rare nerves and allowed him to speak more freely as you inched further into the room to get a closer look at him. "I know stepping into this new life may be very odd to you now, but as I explained in the letter-"

"I've read it twice since my arrival..." you confess in one uttered breath, unable to keep smiling softly at him, "You're a lovely admirer and a gifted writer by all means..." You paused, unsure what to call him and afraid you'd begun to ramble, seeing his head lower at your words. However, Hyunjin flashed a charmed grin your way after half a moment. His pale cheeks flushed a tinge of rouge you thought was a trick of the light. How could someone so confident in their presence be so easily flustered? The answer was beyond you, but it was a question you cherished watching him watch you from across the room.

His smile fell to a slight smirk, eyes cutting to the side for a moment before he spoke again, "You are one charming doll... do you know that?" He chuckled, and you shrugged, eyeing him as he wandered closer with steady strides. "I've been told otherwise..." you confess in a whisper, accepting bated breath as he flows above the top of your head.

A pull surged in your chest, urging you forward into his immobile warmth and drawing your head up at an angle so his face remained inches from your own. Hyunjin stared back, eyes downcast in jaded concern as you hid a coy smile. "Wel, my love, they don't know you as I do."

He spoke of your intentional grace and earned your trust. He is unafraid to let you witness the flicker of vulnerability behind his maroon irises.

It was then that you knew what he thought of you, how he felt, with only your eyes to capture him.

A life to live in the eternity he found himself in.

One year came and went in the Hwang estate; in that time, you'd grown to love hearing that surname replace your own. Hyunjin was far more than a dashing husband and far better than any other living man you had encounteredHisis obsession with you was infinite and dedicated. It showed in every little thing he did for you and was present in every intimate interaction you had with him - even if he took each one no further than a heated kiss and a passing touch of his cold hands over your warmer flesh.

There were times it drove you mad.

His withholding of passion in fear of harming you during such acts was maddening, to say the very least. Sleeping with him had begun to be the only thing you could think of. You are noo longer able to keep such thoughts within the confines of your still-separated rooms during the dead of night and are frazzled by the visceral need to feel him take you.

He knew of your struggles but never acknowledged them. Hell-bent on sticking to his version of affection for as long as possible and undeterred by your subtle begging far longer than you had expected him to be.

That is until the very night you met him came around again.

Sweat shined your skin from the heat of the broiling water you sank into only moments ago. Herbs, spices sprinkled, and citrus shreds floated to the top of the scented bath. It was a relief to feel each component working into your tired body and slowly bringing life back into it as moments of solace trickled into a calm, quiet passage.

Finally, you could rest and not answer another question about decorations, food to serve partygoers of the evening, or what musical set to be played throughout the night. Taking on the task of planning for the Hwang household Yule was tedious and meticulous. Every detail was meant to be perfect, just as you had seen upon your arrival a year prior, but against Hyunjin's well-meant wishes, you took on the assignment with vigor for perfection.

It was overwhelming in all aspects, but you'd done it to the best of your ability, and now you wanted nothing more than to relax before the celebration began. The guests slowly showed themselves.

Your eyelids lowered, fully closing as the hot water sank deeper into your skin—the smell of fresfragranceses swept under your nose in gentle wafts. For a while,nt the world went utterly sti, ll, and you could hear the wind and snow softly blowing outside; your lonely peace was dissolved as a tender kiss was placed at the of your head by familiar lips.

"My love..." Hyunjin greeted you humbly, and you returned the sentiment by peeking your eyes at him. "My prince..."

He smiled at the neverending nickname you'd decided long ago to give him. You held his lingering gaze, tracing the lift of his lips as he leaned in to place a meaningful kiss against your lips. Your hands floated from the water, gently cupping his face as his lips pressed into yours. They were tinted with red wine and the lingering taste of iron blood, but you paid the bitterness no mind, delving for something more profound as he trailed a hand through your damp hair and brushed back the strands sticking to your flushed cheeks.

A fire stirred in your stomach, spiraling as the swipe of his tongue over your own melted the taste of him into your senses. Hyunjin pressed to shift backward, understanding the intensity of your exchange, but had no room to do so as your freshly manicured nails gently dug into the skin of his unblemished face. He stayed still, falling into a pattern of returning slow and wet kisses with you in the quiet of the large washroom. You hummed at his intentional sweetness to please you, smiling as he tilted your head back to rest on his thigh, your right hand cupping your chin firmly as his left raked through your hair and massaged the roots at your scalp. A trickle of drool seeped past your lips, tainted with blood a moment later, as he bit down on your inner lower lip with the tip of a fang. You whined softly as the sudden and short infliction of pain pleasured that he took joy in marking you in such a discreet place and was not timid about savoring the reward of your blood on his tongue, but the mix of elation didn't last long. Hyunjin snapped away from your lips, pressing loving kisses to them as you frowned and whimpered from the loss of connection. "Please do not torture me..." you huffed, legs closing instinctively to put pressure on the throbbing heat between them.

“Don’t…do this to me, “ you repeat yourself, stirring into a fever as his touch on your jaw slid to cup and caress the side of your face as if to lull you back to sanity.

He failed, a rare thing to happen, but something he couldn’t help as you stared up at him with the most unforgiving and pleading stare. “Please…” you utter to him, bottom lip catching between your teeth as his eyes settle across your body in a languid dance. His gaze stops at your chest -barely hidden in the cream-filled water, and you’re tempted to slip out of the bath and let him have a full view if it’ll coax him to give what you so desperately want from him.

Hyunjin needs no further persuasion than a flicker of sadness and disappointment in your eyes. You’re prepared to handle your growing frustration of heat alone and hope it will be done by the time guests arrive, but a simple phrase from him shatters your ideas of doing so.

“You’ve waited long and well enough.”

The sound of praise in his tone has you turning in the water to face him like an excited mutt being given a treat. Your smile returns, and your hands fall to rest on his thigh. “You won’t back down from me?…” You ask out of fear he will, knowing his quick change of mind could be fickle and turned again if you weren’t careful with your intent. Hyunjin stifled a chuckle, unbothered by your eagerness and thrilled to see you smiling at him brightly again.

That generous lift of your lips always made his cock twitch to life no matter when, where, or why it happened.

It was such a curse to him that even now, he failed to think straight enough as you rose a bit more from Luke's warm water to press a slow kiss to his parted lips. The cherry stain on your lips seeped onto his tongue, your tongue slow and delicate against his, steadily licking into his mouth a sweet confidence. He swallowed your noises, smothering them with nips and licks before easing your mouth open for a singular line of his spit to slide down your tongue. You purred at the feeling, sinking into the water a bit as he stood up and spat straight into your throat as if he owned it.

Because he did…and you adored him for it.

“Come with me…” Hyunjin grunted against your ear, not caring about the mess made, as he wrapped a strengthened arm around your waist to pull you from the cold bathwater. You helped lousy in excitement as he did, completely fine with being tossed over his shoulder like a sack of packed sugar cane. “I wasn’t finished bathing-!” You start to scold him despite not having the heart or right mind to mean anything by it, but a tender prick of his fangs to the flesh of your thighs startles you into a fit of giggles.

“And I don’t care anymore, my love…”

“Ca…c…can’t…” you choked on your words, falling to pieces as Hyunjin laid his head between your legs, hair sheened with sweat as your fingers traveled through and gripped every strand it touched tight. “Third time a charm,” he muttered, all too focused on the task in front of him and unbothered by your shaking thighs and rolling hips. “N-no..” you protested in half-sought agony, unsure if he’d even heard you when he earned another shout of his name with a slow and deliberate swipe of his tongue pressed flat to your entrance. He let the wet muscle rest there for a second, nudging it into your creamy walls inch by inch until you tugged at his hair and groaned in pleasurable despair at the feeling.

He added to the pattern, tracing the inner folds of your cunt and circling your bundle of nerves in repetitive motions. You quivered every time, leaking cum onto the fresh linen, and overstimulated in every sense you had left.

Hyunjin groaned loudly, with a collared shirt falling from his broad shoulders and your legs lazily hanging over them. A tug in your hips brought your scented body an inch closer to his face before he buried himself in your cunt again. Licking, searching, and finding exactly what he wanted. You squirmed and tossed above him, gripping at anything soft and mailable to have a steadying grip, but you couldn’t sit still or stay calm. Hyunjin wouldn’t have it any other way, sinking his fangs into your plush thighs and the soft skin just above your left knee to keep you on edge.

“N-ngh ugh….ah! Ah! Hy-Hyunjin…” you called for his attention, on the of unraveling, feeling his lips wrap around and suckle on your clit generously before his tongue went right back to exploring your insides in a practiced dance. He refused to settle down, looking up at you through fallen strands of dark and damp hair and devouring you with intent as your moans climbed to new octave before a scream tore from your throat at a final flick of his skilled tongue.

It nearly hurt how fast and how intensely he’d thrown you over the edge. A third instance is not more straightforward than the first two; a fourth is meant to top it all off immediately. You panted, feeling wild and shaken but unable to care as a buzzing heat flooded through your veins and leaked onto the sheets in arousal. It stained the soft fabric, your inner thighs -painting the darkened marks he’d left and smearing the trickles of blood he’d caused with small bites, and coated the bottom half of his face as he raised to hover above you.

You caught him in a delirious kiss, too tired to sit up and lock him in your arms but glad he felt no desire for you to do it. Hyunjin caved into you, letting your hands wander over his skin, across his shoulders, down his back, around his waist, and stopping right where his heart should beat in his toned chest.

There wasn’t a throb of life left in him, and you trusted that he saw yours as valuable enough to change.

One day…but not yet…

He answered your lingering question without a word, peppering the corner of your upturned lips with gentle kisses and soft sighs you returned. Your legs remained parted, allowing his free hand to lazily touch and spread your slick along the expanse of your cunt. “Such a pretty little flower for me…so sweet…and so,” he trailed off, nudging your head to the side to sink his teeth into your heated neck, drawing blood and a pleased moan from you as he took slow sips of your blood.

“Soft…” he finished.

His fingers plunged deep into your core, stretching the gummy walls within in slender but tasteful thrusts. You shook from the contrasting actions he was committing. Awed at how full he made you feel despite draining you in the same breath.

Was this the true love of an undead man?

Does the obsession of another once alive come back to life?

You hadn’t the slightest clue to answer both inquires, fixated on watching his fingers pump into your soaked entrance as your head spinning from the lack of blood beginning to take effect. Hyunjin refrained from sucking you dry, driven mad by the taste of you no matter how he got it, but aware of your limits as part of the living. Still, he detached from your neck with a soft and crisp sound, focused on pulling another climax from you.

You were on the verge of another, lashes fluttering as the syllables of his name faded into breathy gasps as your high tiptoed closer, but the slow drag of his fingers from your cunt slowed it to a standstill. “No..!” You yelp in disbelief, ready to shed tears if this was his way of putting a stop to your feigning for him, but your disappointment was short-lived and replaced with pleasant surprise as he shifted to kneel on the soiled sheets between your spread legs.

You watched in particular excitement as he stared you down, rolling his neck once to release tension in it, and licked the remaining droplets of your blood from the corner of his lips while reaching to undo the confines of his trousers. He said nothing as you marveled at the sight of his cock. Your face flushed a bit as he brought it into your view with his large hand wrapped around its inches more considerable length. You refused to speak a word, having imagined the sight of his cock more than once before, but speechless at its true nature being revealed.

Thick, full of stock, and neatly groomed.

You couldn’t take your eyes off of it -merely glancing up at Hyunjin in awe when he leaned forward to press the length of it against your sensitive folds, but shifting your gaze right back to it as he passed over your folds.

“Oh!…mmm..” you shuddered into a gasp and fell into a moan at the sensation. Your insides flipped and twisted, eager to know if his cock could reach new places you’d never forget. Hyunjin clicked his tongue, sparing a glance downward between your bodies before lowering his head to rest against yours, hips set back slightly to prod the tip of his length to your aching entrance. You whined, prepared for the stretch but intolerant of his ever-waning patience. “We’ll miss our first guests if we continue like this…” He hummed, sensing approaching carriages and steeds from afar in the low blizzard rousing the night air. You cup his face, eyes set on his as your lips curl into a coy smile. “Let them wait…Let them wonder where we are the whole night if that’s what must be done..”

He raised a brow, licking his lips while his cock inched into your untouched entrance, watching the fall of your smile into a small ‘o’ shape as he did so. “Your wish is my command, Lady Hwang..”

A/N: I’m sick so this is late but it’s a double feature (Changbin is next)

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[pumpkinhimiko]

Since the post about differences in translation WRT Kaito and Kokichi's relationship was unfortunately deleted, I've taken it upon myself to make my own for posterity's sake.

NISA: Geez… you're such a naive dude.

OG: 。。。ったく、テメーはピユアなやろうだな。/ …Geez, you're such a pure guy.

A pretty well-known change that makes Kaito sound more insulting then he does in the original. Kokichi's response was also altered not only in the text, but in the voice acting; in Japanese, he sounds uncharacteristically emotionless, rather than annoyed like in the dub.

NISA: Well, we come from different backgrounds. So for now, let's agree to disagree. No one's ever called me naive before. And from Kaito? Seriously?

OG: まあ、百田ちゃんとオレの話が合わないのわ最初あきらめているけど。。。 / Well, I'd already given up on seeing eye to eye with Momota-chan since the beginning… ピュアなんて言われてのわ初めてだよ。オレみたいに嘘つきがさ。/ But that's the first time someone's called a liar like me pure.

Kaito goes from telling Maki to let Kokichi go or he'll die, to telling Maki to let Kokichi go so she won't get executed:

NISA: Maki Roll, cut it out! You'll get killed if you don't!

OG: ハルマキ、もうやめろ！それ以上やったらマジで死ぬぞ！/ Harumaki, stop already! Any more than that and he'll seriously die!

Kaito's response to Maki saying he shouldn't have cooperated with Kokichi is translated to sound like he was pestered into it. In the original, it sounds like he's seriously reflecting on Kokichi's state of mind throughout the game.

NISA: It was kinda hard to ignore such an annoying guy. Geez… I wonder how far ahead he planned this evil scheme of his.

OG: 。。。あいつわそんあ易しいヤツじゃねーよ。/ …He wasn't that simple. まったく。。。どこからどこまでが計算だったんだろうな。あいつの悪巧みわよ。/ Man… I wonder how much of it he'd planned out. For that cunning scheme of his.

And of course, Kaito's final words on Kokichi were made to sound a lot harsher.

NISA: He was a lying sack of shit.

OG: 。。。あいつは筋金入りの嘘つきだったぜ。/ …He was a liar to the core.

[saintsenara]

How do you think memory charms work from a brain science perspective, and what might the implications of such technology be? Given the complexities of memory—how it works, its function (e.g., in identity formation, decision making, psychological well-being, etc.)—the fact that these spells are so routinely used on Muggles who witness magic—especially under traumatic circumstances—is so sinister…

thank you very much for the ask, pal! a very interesting question to think about!

as you say, memory is the central part of human experience. it's integral to who we are, why we understand ourselves to be that way, and how we function daily. without the ability to remember things we've learned or which have happened to us in the past, we don't have the ability to understand the present or plan for the future, or apply context to why we behave in or feel certain ways. memory is so important to our understanding of our own existence that many people would say losing it is the thing they fear most...

and i think there's a very credible case for jkr being one of them.

in its understanding of the body, the harry potter series prioritises cognitive function above all things.

physical illnesses, injuries, or disabilities don't upset or frighten it unduly. this is partially because its genre conventions need to take this approach to physical impairment in order for their plots to advance - harry being able to take a bludger to the head and live to tell the tale is the same as john wick being able to fall from the top of a six-storey building, get up, and keep going: they're action heroes, and the person following their exploits wants that action to continue.

but it's also because the series' central theme is choice - and, specifically, the choice between good and evil. this choice - as the books understand it - is something freely and rationally made, with no cognitive impairment preventing it.

[hence - as i've written about elsewhere - voldemort's horcruxes do not - despite common fanon - make him insane.]

as a result, injuries, disabilities, or experiences which lead to a loss of cognitive capacity - thereby making it impossible for choices to be freely made - are presented by the text as uniquely horrifying.

the revelation that frank and alice longbottom can't recognise neville after they're attacked by the lestranges brings a "bitterness harry had never heard there before" into dumbledore's voice.

lupin is primarily ashamed of the loss of rational thought his transformations bring, and the wolfsbane potion works by preventing this loss of rationality:

"As long as I take it in the week preceding the full moon, I keep my mind when I transform... I am able to curl up in my office, a harmless wolf, and wait for the moon to wane again. "Before the Wolfsbane Potion was discovered, however, I became a fully fledged monster once a month."

harry thinks that "bathilda bagshot" [really nagini in disguise] is starting to forget how to perform magic, and equates this loss of function with the dark, dank, foul-smelling house in which she lives.

ariana dumbledore's trauma-induced cognitive disability gradually ruins her family’s lives.

harry, our hero, is never, ever affected by the imperius curse.

and, of course, the dementor's kiss - which canon understands as the single most frightening thing which could ever befall somebody - brings about a state where bodily functions continue, but cognitive ones are lost:

"You can exist without your soul, you know, as long as your brain and heart are still working. But you'll have no sense of self anymore, no memory, no... anything. There's no chance at all of recovery. You'll just - exist. As an empty shell. And your soul is gone forever... lost."

as a result of this, canon presents memories as things which are straightforward and factual. while they may be interpreted subjectively - harry's horror at snape's worst memory, for example - they are - in and of themselves - objective accounts of events. the memories which harry views in the pensieve, for example, are not "witness statements" - subjective, personal accounts of how an individual experienced an event, which might be contradicted by another person's own subjective recollection - they are fact. what they say happened actually happened. sirius' version of snape's worst memory would be identical to snape's.

and canon understands that memories are - therefore - devoid of things like perception, assumption, imagination, habit, and emotion. indeed, these things are not only irrelevant to the memory... they are detrimental to it.

slughorn's attempt to modify his memory of telling tom riddle about horcruxes is because he wishes to soothe an emotion - shame, at giving riddle the information he needed to commit such evil and then not telling anyone - by presenting an imagined version of events in which he looks better. his attempt to apply these two things to the memory are what curdles it. what dumbledore is asking harry to do, in sending him out to retrieve the unmodified memory from slughorn, is to acquire the objective facts:

"He has tried to rework the memory to show himself in a better light, obliterating those parts which he does not wish me to see. It is, as you will have noticed, very crudely done, and that is all to the good, for it shows that the true memory is still there beneath the alterations."

in saying that slughorn's "true memory" remains accessible, what dumbledore is saying is that slughorn should be judged as having full cognitive capacity. he's compos mentis, he's of sound mind. if the true memory did not remain - if slughorn had managed to corrupt his memory to such an extent that he genuinely believed that his conversation with riddle had never occurred [rather than knowing it did but wishing he'd behaved differently and therefore pretending he had] - then he would, in the eyes of the series, be insane.

now... this - unsurprisingly - is not how human memory actually works. memory is fragile, inconsistent, and subjective. we forget things. we misremember things. we remember things through subjective lenses. we invent false memories.

but we can - nonetheless - use what we know about human memory to uncover a wizarding theory of memory formation which would explain why they think this way.

and why they feel so comfortable tampering with people's memories.

[and why this is horrifying.]

what are memories?

in canon, memories are presented as something tangible - wisps of silvery liquid. and memories actually are physical things - albeit absolutely microscopic ones - which take up physical space in the brain. they're just kept out of the way of our conscious awareness until we need them.

[basically, they're christmas lights in a box in the attic. they physically exist and they're physically present in the house, but they sit - turned off and with no attention being paid to them - until they're needed, when they're brought out of storage and switched on.]

they are made - like almost everything to do with the brain - from neurons, which are a type of cell. neurons work like the wires in a telephone exchange - they transmit chemical and electrical signals across the brain [and, therefore, across the body] in a vast, high-speed, interwoven network:

a digital model of the neural network from a sesame-seed-sized fragment of human brain. there are about 50,000 connections shown. [source]

a neuron receives a signal, which it then interprets. it then sends a response [or action potential] along its stem [axon].

at the end of the axon, there are synapses, which form a bridge to other neurons, linking a chain of communication together.

synapses are generally activated by chemicals called neurotransmitters - such as serotonin, melatonin, adrenaline, dopamine [which are likely to be the ones most people have heard of], and others.

so: neuron x receives a signal, interprets it, and transmits that interpretation as an electrical signal along its axon, causing the release of adrenaline into the synapse linking it to neuron y. this activates the connection between neurons x and y. the signal passes across the synapse into neuron y, which interprets it, and the process continues.

each neuron has thousands of synaptic connections to other neurons. and these connections aren't static - they get stronger or weaker depending on exposure. the more we use the connection, the stronger the connection is.

one way to think of this is to imagine the synaptic connection as a volume dial, which controls how loudly two neurons "talk" to each other. if the connection between neuron x and neuron y is very strong, the synaptic connection allows them to shout at each other, thereby understanding each other clearly. if the connection between neuron x and neuron y is very weak, they're only whispering to each other, are having to strain to hear each other, and will probably only partially hear the communicated information.

the brain will therefore prioritise the information it can "hear" the clearest. this is why, if you learn two pieces of information, and then revise the first piece of information every day for a month and do no revision of the second piece, you will find it much easier to recall the first piece when asked - the brain prioritises the "loudest" voice.

when we learn or experience something we create synaptic connections, linking neurons into circuits in an ever-changing map across the brain.

these circuits are memories.

remembering something is the process of activating a specific neuron cluster, thereby retrieving the information it contains and communicating it as an electrical signal to another part of the brain.

this process of remembering can be unconscious - a smell might prompt us to remember something without us actively intending to; when we write something, we're not consciously thinking about how we learned to write, we just do it - or conscious - we might sniff a particular perfume bottle in order to summon up a specific memory; we might intentionally decide to remember a day we spent writing in a particular place.

what are the different types of memory?

there are two main categories of memory - short-term and long-term.

short-term memory is the brain's capacity to actively hold onto a small amount of information [about four things, on average] for a brief period of time [and by brief we mean around 15 seconds - any memory which can be recalled after that period of time is a long-term one] in order to allow you to do things, like take down a telephone number.

long-term memory, in contrast, is something the brain possesses an infinite capacity for. it can be divided into two subcategories.

the first of these is implicit memory. this refers to recollections which are unconscious, habitual, primed, or conditioned. learned motor skills - things like holding a pen or riding a bike - which you can do without having to think about how [procedural memories] are an example of implicit memories. so are things we are conditioned to do via the association of an action with a stimulus - like pavlov's dogs salivating when they heard the ringing of the bell - and things we are primed to do by general knowledge or contextual experience - like being shown the word "bread" in a word association game and responding "butter" without having to actively think about why that connection exists for us.

the second is explicit memory, which refers to the conscious recollection of a specific thing. explicit memory has two subcategories: episodic memory - the recollection of events or experiences - and semantic memory - the recollection of knowledge or information.

i know that belfast is the capital of northern ireland and paris is the capital of france. these are semantic memories.

i know i went to a restaurant in belfast with my partner last week and that i went to watch the french open in paris with my friend this spring. these are episodic ones.

episodic memory is highly dependent on context and association - you can remember where you parked your car by thinking about the shop you parked next to - some of which is semantic memory in its own right - you can tell that your friend has misremembered a story they're telling about your teenage years because you know you were sixteen when the event took place, your friend is talking about driving, and you possess the semantic knowledge that the legal driving age in the united kingdom is seventeen.

explicit memory is the aspect of memory most clearly affected by conditions like alzheimer's disease, while implicit memories tend to be recalled for much longer.

explicit memory is also the thing most clearly affected in canon by memory charms...

how are explicit memories formed?

at its most basic level, the brain is divided into three parts - the cerebrum, brainstem, and cerebellum. the cerebrum is the thing we’re concerned with today.

its main part - comprising about half of the brain’s weight - is the cortex, which is the wrinkly surface you probably picture when you hear the word “brain”. the cerebral cortex is divided into two hemispheres. each hemisphere has four lobes [so you have eight lobes in total] which relate to specific functions.

[here's a video of a dissection of a real human brain - if you fancy it - which goes into its anatomy in more detail]

nestled in each hemisphere of the cerebrum are several deeper structures.

in the temporal lobe, we find two of these structures - the hippocampus and the amygdala - which are crucial to memory formation. we have one of these in each hemisphere [so two hippocampi and two amygdalae in total] as part of our limbic system - a group of brain structures that regulate things like our sense of smell, emotions, memories, and autonomic behaviours [heart rate, breathing, sweating, etc.].

[here's a dissection of the limbic system, again - fair warning! - using a real human brain]

the hippocampus

when our brain decides it wants to hold onto a piece of information, it's channelled from the prefrontal cortex [in the frontal lobe], which controls short-term memory functions, to the hippocampus, which is then responsible for linking all of the relevant context surrounding the information together - like it's making a patchwork quilt.

let's go back to the example of being asked to take down a phone number. and let's imagine that the person who asks us to take down the phone number is also our fandom-style soulmate. several pieces of information will be created in the brain at once - the memory of being asked to take down the number, the memory of physically doing that, the sensory input of what our soulmate looks, sounds, and smells like, other sensory inputs [what the broader environment looks, sounds, and smells like; the fact we're drinking a coffee; the fact we're wearing a scratchy jumper], the emotion of knowing we've met our soulmate - which are then sewn together by the hippocampus into a coherent, linear account of what occurred.

the hippocampus is selective - it's more likely, even in an episodic memory as emotionally powerful as this one would be, to hold onto information which is comprehensible to it [so, for example, if a song is playing when you meet your soulmate, but its lyrics are in a language you don't understand, it's less likely to retain that as a key part of its account than if it's a song you understand and, especially, a song you already know and like].

it's also inventive - it will fill in gaps in the recollection of an episode. these inventions are often logical and based on both your semantic knowledge and parts of your implicit memory. for example, in the memory of being a child and going to hospital to meet your new baby brother, he is likely to be wearing a blue hat. it is highly unlikely that you actually remember the colour of the hat he was wearing - especially if you were quite young - but your brain settles on blue to fill that gap in your recollection because it knows you were raised in a culture which associates the colour blue with baby boys.

but they're also subjective. you may, for example, have more than one memory of the same event - with each memory's patchwork quilt having a slightly different pattern. to go back to the memory of meeting your soulmate, you might have one version of the memory which was stored by your brain on the day you first met, in which the thing you primarily remember is how nervous and awkward you were and how you were worried your soulmate didn't actually like you. you might then have a second version of the memory which is altered by contextual information you learned after the first version was created - after your soulmate asks you to marry them, for example, you are less likely to dwell on the parts of the first memory which are about worrying they didn't like you.

while the hippocampus is integral for the formation of long-term explicit and implicit memories, it's not the place where these long-term memories are permanently stored. instead, long-term memories appear to migrate [or awaken] from the hippocampus throughout the cerebral cortex, and to become progressively more independent of it over time. when it comes to explicit memories, the older, stronger, or deeper a memory is the more likely its independence from the hippocampus will be.

we know this because of a man called henry molaison, who had most of his hippocampus surgically removed in the 1950s in an effort to treat his epilepsy. following his operation, molaison was only able to form new episodic memories which lasted for less than a minute before they vanished forever from his consciousness, and essentially lived every single day as brand new, with no context surrounding it. the exception to this rule was that he could recall memories relating to significant experiences in his life which he'd formed years - and often decades - before his surgery. he could also recall certain facts - semantic memories - which he'd already known, but he couldn't form new semantic knowledge.

semantic memory also appears to become progressively independent of the hippocampus over time, much like implicit memories we have acquired through conditioning or priming. for example, the memory of the first time we drank a coffee while tired transforms into the general knowledge that drinking coffee generally helps us with tiredness, bolstered by the semantic knowledge that caffeine is a stimulant.

the amygdala

in the analogy of memory formation as being like creating a patchwork quilt, the amygdala is responsible for one of the most important squares the hippocampus sews together: the emotional significance of the memory.

this is one of the most important bits of context which the hippocampus applies to its account of a memory. the more emotive a memory is, the more likely it is to be remembered.

and this isn't just the case when it comes to specific episodic memories - such as remembering your wedding day, or the time you were in a car accident. it applies to semantic memory - if i tell you that paris is the capital of france and then punch you in the face, you'll remember it - and to implicit conditioned and primed memories.

imagine you are three years old, you're in the park, and you meet a dog. the dog is on a lead, calm, quiet, and well trained. you are asked if you'd like to pet it and you say yes. the dog is happy to be petted - it wags its tail and it licks your hand - and you enjoy the experience and start laughing.

the hippocampus takes care of the "bullet points" of this event - the actions and the order in which they occurred, where they took place, and so on. the amygdala assigns an emotional response to the specific episodic memory - that is, when you recall it later, you will feel happy - and to the implicit memory you have accrued from the experience - that is, the next time you see a dog, even if it's not the dog you petted, your brain will be automatically primed to feel calm, safe, and happy.

and now imagine you are three years old, you're in the park, and you meet a dog. the dog is loose, agitated, barking, and much bigger than you. it bounds up to you while you're playing and knocks you to the ground. it growls and you see its teeth. you're afraid and start crying.

the same process occurs, but with a fear response. the hippocampus remembers what happened and in what order, the amygdala remembers how the specific memory made you feel and extrapolates from this to assign that feeling to your implicit memory. the next time you see a dog, even if the dog is on a lead and behaving perfectly calmly, your brain will be automatically primed to feel afraid.

and this reference to fear is important. as i've said, the brain prioritises remembering emotional memories… but it prioritises remembering stressful and/or frightening emotional memories above all other kinds. and it also tends to really cling on to things we have acquired by fear learning - the process by which we unconsciously associate a stimulus with a frightening event.

to return to the scenario above, if you met the nice dog first and then met the frightening dog later, your brain would prioritise the memory of the frightening dog. if you met the frightening dog first and then met the nice dog later, your brain would still prioritise the memory of the frightening dog. and even if you lose the ability to recall the specific episodic memory of meeting the specific frightening dog, your brain would still remember that it was afraid of dogs in general.

the amygdala plays a major role in this fear learning and fear-based recall. and it does this via channels of communication which don't need to involve the hippocampus - it communicates bi-directionally with the cerebral cortex, both with and without the hippocampus also being part of the conversation.

and this has an enormous implication for our wizarding theory of memory.

and so - at last - we come to...

the neuroscience of memory charms

we know from canon that memory charms focus on the removal of explicit memories - and, specifically, the explicit episodic memories which the series understands as objective snapshots of events.

we also know that short-term memory and implicit memory can experience collateral damage when the explicit memory is removed - especially if the charm is performed poorly. we learn in order of the phoenix, for example, that gilderoy lockhart lost the ability to write [an implicit procedural memory] after his charm backfired, and has had to undergo something akin to physical therapy [the way someone who'd received a head injury would] in order to regain this motor skill:

"I'm very well indeed, thank you!" said Lockhart exuberantly, pulling a rather battered peacock-feather quill from his pocket. "Now, how many autographs would you like? I can do joined-up writing now, you know!"

we also know that the recovery of an implicit behaviour - his fondness for signing autographs, a response based in an unconscious assumption he makes whenever he meets anyone [that they're a fan] - is taken by his healers as a sign that his self-perception is stabilising:

"He was rather well known a few years ago; we very much hope that this liking for giving autographs is a sign that his memory might be coming back a little bit... This is our long-term resident ward... For permanent spell damage, you know. Of course, with intensive remedial potions and charms and a bit of luck, we can produce some improvement... Gilderoy does seem to be getting back some sense of himself."

crucially, we see here no expectation that any specific memories - episodic memories, canon's factual accounts which prove someone to be of sound mind - will return. what the healer means by "his memory might be coming back a little bit" is something general. a memory charm - as the text understands it - affects something discrete.

but lockhart also shows us that the specific episodic memory impacted by a charm isn't deleted from the brain. it remains in storage - and, therefore, retains the potential to be reactivated.

and he also shows us that this potential reactivation is very likely to depend on an emotional stimulus, especially a negative one:

The smile faded slowly from Lockhart’s face. For a few moments he gazed intently at Harry, then he said, "Haven't we met?" "Er... yeah, we have," said Harry. "You used to teach us at Hogwarts, remember?" "Teach?" repeated Lockhart, looking faintly unsettled. "Me? Did I?"   And then the smile reappeared upon his face so suddenly it was rather alarming. "Taught you everything you know, I expect, did I? Well, how about those autographs, then? Shall we say a round dozen, you can give them to all your little friends then and nobody will be left out!"

lockhart clearly associates a stimulus - something to do with harry - with a fear response [probably from being frogmarched at wandpoint and forced to jump into a hole]. this emotional context calls out to an episodic memory it has been severed from, but can't get there and falls silent again, drowned out by the louder activity of the implicit memory, telling lockhart to talk about autographs because these are fans.

so lockhart hasn't lost this specific episodic memory - he just can't access it. from this, we can conclude that memory charms block communication across synaptic connections, thereby preventing a memory from being retrieved.

and we can also conclude that - since wizards regard episodic memories as objective, factual accounts of events, which are unaffected by things like perception, assumption, imagination, habit, and emotion - they only understand the formation of these memories as they happen in the hippocampus. and, specifically, that they understand memory formation only as the hippocampus ordering events into a coherent, linear account - which they regard as objectively correct. we can further conclude that they do not understand anything other than this ordering of events as forming part of the episodic memory process, and, therefore, that they do not understand memory charms as needing to affect anything other than these "factual" snapshots.

which means that a memory charm will block the retrieval of the "bullet points" of an episodic memory from the hippocampus - and, therefore, someone whose memory has been modified won't remember the specific order of events surrounding the memory.

but it won't block the other bits of information - other patches of the quilt of the memory - from being retrieved. it will just remove them from their context.

and - right on the canon page - we learn that this failure to remove anything other than the bullet points, even in memory charms which are accurately and skilfully performed, makes the experience of having a modified memory profoundly disorienting to the person affected.

we see this - for example - in the case of morfin gaunt:

"So the Ministry called upon Morfin. They did not need to question him, to use Veritaserum or Legilimency. He admitted to the murder on the spot, giving details only the murderer could know. He was proud, he said, to have killed the Muggles, had been awaiting his chance all these years. He handed over his wand, which was proved at once to have been used to kill the Riddles. And he permitted himself to be led off to Azkaban without a fight. All that disturbed him was the fact that his father's ring had disappeared. 'He'll kill me for losing it,' he told his captors over and over again. 'He'll kill me for losing his ring.' And that, apparently, was all he ever said again. He lived out the remainder of his life in Azkaban, lamenting the loss of Marvolo's last heirloom, and is buried beside the prison, alongside the other poor souls who have expired within its walls."

morfin's verbal tic is a manifestation of a emotional response which now lacks any other context - the fear caused by his nephew visiting him, on the day the riddles were murdered, and incapacitating him [in a way which would allow him to steal his wand] just before the crime took place. in repeating it, what he's saying is "i know i didn't do this, even though i confessed, but i can't explain how i know this, and i am afraid".

and we know that dumbledore is able to use this emotional clue as the end of a line of string, which he can then follow back across deactivated synaptic connections to the suppressed [and, in canon's view, objective] episodic memory of tom riddle meeting his uncle:

"But he had this real memory in him all the time!"   "Yes, but it took a great deal of skilled Legilimency to coax it out of him," said Dumbledore, "and why should anybody delve further into Morfin's mind when he had already confessed to the crime? However, I was able to secure a visit to Morfin in the last weeks of his life, by which time I was attempting to discover as much as I could about Voldemort's past. I extracted this memory with difficulty. When I saw what it contained, I attempted to use it to secure Morfin's release from Azkaban. Before the Ministry reached their decision, however, Morfin had died."

we see something similar in voldemort's treatment of bertha jorkins:

"But Wormtail - displaying a presence of mind I would never have expected from him - convinced Bertha Jorkins to accompany him on a nighttime stroll. He overpowered her... he brought her to me. And Bertha Jorkins, who might have ruined all, proved instead to be a gift beyond my wildest dreams... for - with a little persuasion - she became a veritable mine of information. "She told me that the Triwizard Tournament would be played at Hogwarts this year. She told me that she knew of a faithful Death Eater who would be only too willing to help me, if I could only contact him. She told me many things... but the means I used to break the Memory Charm upon her were powerful, and when I had extracted all useful information from her, her mind and body were both damaged beyond repair. She had now served her purpose. I could not possess her. I disposed of her."

something we are told about bertha jorkins across goblet of fire - including by both sirius and dumbledore, characters the doylist narrative of this book trusts to be telling the truth - is that she loved gossip. and this - feeling intrigued in, scandalised by, and excited by a piece of information - is an emotional response.

voldemort - like dumbledore - seizes on this emotional component as the end of a line of string. bertha provides him with a piece of semantic information - the triwizard tournament is to be played - which makes her think of piece of general information - she knows barty crouch sr., who is organising it - which causes an emotional response which places the string in his hand - barty crouch sr. = scandal. voldemort then follows that string across deactivated synaptic connections to the suppressed [and, in canon's view, objective] episodic memory of bertha discovering that barty crouch jr. [about whom she possessed various contextual information, such as the fact that he was found guilty of being a death eater] was alive.

ergo, memory charms block the point-by-point recollection of specific episodic memories, unless someone is determined either to do a lot of careful forensic work or to commit murder.

but they do nothing to block the additional context - above all, the emotional context - which is so important to memory formation and recollection. and this is what makes the casual use of them - especially the casual use of them on muggles - so terrifying. because their efficacy is dramatically reduced in circumstances where a memory has an emotional context.

and witnessing someone performing actual magic would undoubtedly inspire quite a strong emotional response...

the circumstances in which they work well will be those like tom riddle sr.'s run-in with morfin. the ministry response to the incident is speedy, which means the memory hasn't been consolidated for long-term storage beyond the hippocampus. the incident seems to be the first time riddle ever interacts with morfin - meaning that he doesn't retain a conditioned implicit response that morfin is frightening or dangerous. riddle talks about the gaunts in a way that suggests he thinks they're funny and ridiculous, laughs at bob ogden as he's chased from the shack, and is happy riding along the lane where he was attacked, which shows that he didn't develop a fear response to the incident [nor, indeed, any significant emotional response at all]. preventing him from recalling this memory is simple, and it has no repercussions.

[in terms of his brain health, that is. obviously, it has a major repercussion in that it removes any pre-warning he might have given himself about merope…]

but outside of this context - in which the ministry essentially gets incredibly lucky that riddle sr.'s brain reacts in the only way which actually makes them viable - memory charms are clearly nowhere near as effective as wizards seem to think.

because, when it comes to people's strongest, deepest memories, the only thing being removed is the ability to run through the summary of events - to go down a checklist of what happened, and to contextualise an emotional response [for instance] by situating it within the account of the event which triggered it. the emotions these memories provoke, and the way in which they're bound up into the knowledge which helps us understand our place in the world, remain. all that happens is that these feelings can't be situated in a point-by-point context which explains how they might have occurred.

and so, to come to the memory charm the series thinks is noble and benign... what hermione does to her parents is remove the bullet points surrounding the most important memories of their lives from their heads, leaving profound, lingering emotional responses, which respond to stimuli even though the grangers can't understand why...

when she says that they don't know they have a daughter, what she means is that they don't remember the list of events which proved that fact to be true. mrs granger doesn't remember that she took a pregnancy test which was positive, mr granger doesn't remember that he witnessed hermione being born, neither of them remember taking her to the cinema to see the little mermaid, or buying her first school shoes, or taking her to see her grandparents on her sixth birthday.

but the evidence of canon is that the emotions attached to these events - and the unconscious knowledge which emerges from them - would remain.

and this is why hermione's modification of her parents' memories is an example of the series' black-and-white, protagonist-centred morality which i absolutely loathe. not because the watsonian text isn't horrified by it [why would harry know how memory charms work] but because the doylist text handwaves it away as something easily reversed [via jkr saying that hermione immediately restored her parents' memories the second the war was over] which left no adverse effects.

because - sure - i'm not quibbling with the need to think of hermione's decision to wipe her parents' memories as necessary, but it needs to be understood as one of those horrific choices which only become necessary because the alternative is worse.

and this necessity doesn't erase the fact that what hermione does to her parents is meaningfully no different from what bellatrix and company do to the longbottoms. we see that alice longbottom retains the emotional context to a memory - she knows that she loves neville and wants to give him a present - even if she no longer remembers who he is and what his relationship is to her. the same thing will have happened to the grangers.

and so "monica wilkins" might have found herself driving down a street in suburban melbourne one december afternoon when a christmas song came on the radio… and for reasons she doesn't understand, she burst into tears… and she went home and started making dinner… and she'd adapted the recipe she was using so it didn't have any coriander in it… but she doesn't know why, because she likes coriander just fine, and so does her husband… and then "wendall" came in, and she told him about her strange experience… and he said that he turned on the tv and meet me in st louis was showing and he had to change the channel because he thought he was going to cry… and this made them both intensely uneasy… because they've got no reason to behave so strangely… so irrationally... they don't have any memories associated with that song or that film… right?

but that's because they don't remember the facts of how their only daughter - who's got the coriander-tastes-like-soap gene - only lasted two days of a family skiing trip in december 1995, even though they hadn't spent any significant time with her since august 1994, before she swanned off back into a magical world which seemed to be robbing them of her piece by piece.

they can only remember how sad it made them feel.

[madgirlmuahaha]

“I went to the shelter and asked for the cats that had been there the most.”

MY HEART. It’s more than just the inherent heartwarming-ness of it all. I can’t help but remember Aelwyn Abernant during sophomore year, imprisoned in an orb and tortured for months and months on end, until her mind had been irreparably damaged. Abandoned by her shitty parents who couldn’t care less about her actual treatment because she was still technically alive. Abandoned by her evil comrades because she wasn’t worth the effort to try and save after she’d completed her part of the plan.

Saved by her little sister after everybody else gave up on her, despite the cruelty and cowardice that had defined their relationship up to that point.

I know that Adaine hit a big reset button in Aelwyn’s brain and restored her mind to its pre-catatonic state, but she still knows exactly what she’s been through. The body keeps the score, and despite her sinister-yet-flirty exterior she is deeply wounded from everything that’s happened to her.

And that’s why it’s so wonderful and heartbreaking to see her care for so many rescue cats. Someone must be there to save the mangy, the wounded, the undesirables. She doesn’t love them despite the fact that they’re all little shits, but because of it. Everybody else has given up on them, too.

Aelwyn Abernant is a vicious, conniving, and deeply traumatized feral cat and I wouldn’t have her any other way.

[goldencheesekingdom]

regarding my last post, which discusses the possibility of a current ancient falling to beastliness -

my "prediction" is that in the shadow milk / anniversary update, pure vanilla will NOT awaken, and will instead crack under the pressure. this will result in either him falling into despair (complete with a costume representing that state), or, at the very least, simply going home Changed, and not exactly for the better

there's a few reasons why i think this is a possibility:

it's an anniversary update and the stakes are high. getting more of what happened last time- ancient awakens and Good Triumphs Over Evil - isn't going to fly. it'd fall pretty flat, actually

the decision to awaken pv NOW would feel... misplaced? the ideal time for him to awaken is second to last, with wl going last

last time we saw him, we know shadow did not yet have a body. and given his special abilities compared to the other beasts, he's probably in the least of a rush to get one - he's powerful enough on his own. Plus, I think he can have a Lot of Fun with nilly even without one :) so no body = cannot get his ass beat, at least not physically

many people have pointed it out before: the avatar of destiny has quite a bit in common designwise with pure vanilla. and while it might be a glimpse at an alternate timeline or at a what-if situation, it may also be foreshadowing? unless it's nothing haha

as I said in my last post, enchantress IS an ancient who fell to beastliness. it's not impossible! if white lily can, in shock and grief and desperation, split into both beast and ancient, who's to say her closest friend, one she shared so much with, one she'd much in common with, one who felt he could have prevented all of this, would also not be able to find himself in such a situation - especially if pushed there by someone who knows all the right buttons to press?

best of all, a corrupted / fallen / despairing pv is an amazing candidate to bring back to the light. it would not be anywhere near as hard as it will be with enchantress, and yet it means that she is a candidate for being redeemed. as are the Actual beasts, by extension

as someone i know has pointed out to me, a wizard tower complete with mind games and stair sequences is NOT the place for a Grand Showdown. it's more of an exposition setting. from what we've seen with the art preview, pv is likely alone (hopefully he didn't bring those damn kids again, fuck them kids) and is likely looking to either glean information about sm at his old hq, or is actively looking to find and talk to sm in hopes of reasoning or bargaining ... and this could catastrophically backfire. The best that can happen is just that pv learns Something or Another from this, the worst is ... well, C: What's The Worst That Can Happen? It's Just A Little Hater Clown ............... Hee Hee

The only questions left, are how exactly this could happen. But that's what the story's for !! or what this would mean for gacha of fate? we'll DEFINITELY get a pv buff, at the least.

Either way, I Sure Hope Something Interesting Happens!!! squishes those guys together . puts them all alone in an empty room . pokes them both with sticks

[fort-of-novelty]

For a very long time I've excluded psionic stuff from my fantasy worldbuilding. I could just never elegantly fit psionics into the cosmology of my world. When you already have arcane, divine, and druidic magic, elementals, necromancy, infernal magic, the stars, the moon, the sun, and God knows what else, it get pretty cramped. And for me, psionics is always the first thing I drop when i am given the traditional worldbuilidng template.

But I watched a 1981 film that has changed my mind on that. Scanners.

I'm sure there's lots of bad things you can say about the film as a whole. Its acting is a bit stilted, and its pacing is a bit painful, sure. But there's this innocuous scene in the middle of the movie that has inspired a new approach for psychic individuals in my worldbuilding.

So Scanners follows the story of titular esp/telekinetic mutants as they're caught in a power struggle between two secret factions. Whatever.

Because of the ESP powers of Scanners, they are constantly hearing distorted, fragmented voices in their head. This disability makes it difficult for them to function in neurotypical society.

BUT! There's a scene where we watch a small group of Scanners connect their minds and speak to each other in a meditative state. And when they do, they're at peace.

So when Scanners meet other Scanners, they can tune their nervous systems together in a form of collaborative meditation. And when they do, they begin to attain harmony. But the more Scanners that join them, the more of their individuality they surrender to a new, collective identity. And to most Scanners, this is a pretty good deal, as their individual selves struggle to function in the outside world.

And sure, I know that psionics and collaborative brains are already often paired in fantasy settings. But most of the time, they're characterized as parasitic. They evoke themes of mind control or manipulation.

And while the Scanners can do those things, the purpose for their collaborative bonding is purely eusocial. It's to get relief from the pain they normally experience. It's to feel at peace. To be happy for once.

Remember, Scanners was made in 1981! An era where in the United States, anything communal or eusocial was associated with Soviet Russia and the evil red communism. But despite that, Scanners is one of the first times I've seen a film offer up a beneficial reason for eusocial psionics that doesn't inherently benefit some singular being at the top (i.e. elder brain). And that's so refreshing! And kind of empowering too.

I'm not sure if my point was AT ALL made clear in this little essay of sorts, but my point is that the above presentation of psychic powers in fiction has inspired me reintroducing psionics into my future worldbuilding.

[risingoftime]

ECHOES OF THE MIND | POOLVERINE X F!READER | CHAPTER TWO

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From your vantage point on the balcony, the world appeared distant and intimately close. The cigarette in your hand, its ember glowing softly, was a ritual, a brief escape from the whirlwind of thoughts and memories that swirled within you.

You often found solace in these moments of stillness, where the city’s rhythm became a backdrop to your internal landscape. The city, with its bustling streets and towering buildings, was both a friend and a stranger. Growing up in foster care had left you with a fragmented sense of belonging, and the cigarette was a small anchor in a sea of uncertainty. Each drag was a pause, a breath amid a life that had often spiralled out of control. Your search for solace was a constant, a thread woven through the fabric of your life.

Despite the challenges of growing up in the system, shuttling in and out of foster care, you remained resilient. The absence of a family, the mystery of your origins, and the note your mother left behind were all obstacles you faced with determination. You refused to let these circumstances define you.

The note your mother left behind was a stark reminder of your beginnings, a solitary piece of paper with just a name—a name that had been both a gift and a burden. It was a marker of your existence, but it had never been more than a name to you, a label without the context of a family or a past. This struggle with your identity was a close companion, a weight that you carried with you every day. When your gifts first made their presence known at the age of eleven, you naively thought that you were cursed, evil in a way. But as you grew, you learned to accept and understand your unique abilities, and in doing so, you found a sense of reconciliation within yourself. No one’s been your knight in shining armour. 

Now, it's just you and Amera. Amera, your loyal friend, has been by your side for as long as you can remember.  It feels as though fate intervened to keep you together because you were blessed to remain by each other’s side regardless of the tumbles and jumbles that came with being in the system. Her presence has been a source of comfort and strength, a reminder that you are not alone. She made life tolerable. As you approached the age of eighteen, the looming threat of being cast out into the world became all too real. They were forced to jump between shelters that were filled with misplaced characters who struggled with mental health, addictions, or both. 

It wasn’t until you had grown fed up with the uncertainties that you decided to take things into your own hands. The world had been unfair and harsh towards you, so you figured it wouldn’t matter how you would tip the scale to your favour. The apartment that you and Amera occupied had been a steal, literally. Amera didn’t know how you pulled it off; at barely twenty-one, you lacked the financial means typically required to secure a two-bedroom apartment in the bustling core of New York City. No one would’ve rented to two young girls with only their high school degrees and part-time minimum-wage jobs. From the moment you set your sights on that apartment, you began weaving a careful narrative to implant in his mind. You spoke confidently about your ability to pay rent, highlighting your financial stability and reliability. You were adept at using your power to play with the landlord’s mind, subtly assuring him of your dependability without stating it outright. And it worked. 

Years later, your ability continues to solidify your place within the building. You hadn’t had to pay rent since entering the apartment. Some minds were more docile than others. But with practice, no one’s consciousness was unmalleable given the right amount of force and will. Logan was the first to prove that theory wrong. 

“I thought you said that you quit.” A voice emerged from behind you, causing you to jump. 

“It’s my last pack,” you countered. 

“So you say,” Amera responded with a laugh. She joined you on the balcony with her mug, knowing it was green tea in contrast to your black instant coffee. Her long red curls wildly framed her freckled face, and her glasses perched on the tip of her nose. She resembled a quirky librarian. Amera sat beside you and continued, “I’m surprised you are up this early; I was just getting ready for my clinical rotation.” She’s in the last year of her nursing program. When she told you about her ambition to go into healthcare, you had convinced her to go forward with it, and you’d “take care” of the rent. Amera remained unaware of how you managed this acquisition. You suspected that Amera thought you did sex work on the side to afford your lifestyle. 

Although you loved Amera dearly, you had never trusted anyone enough to expose your mutant identity, not since you had first discovered what you were truly capable of. 

The presence of mutants is not widely accepted in society; there has been increasing news coverage about the need to control x-gene humans. It wasn’t lost on you that the incident with Logan last night may have left you exposed.  

“Hello?” Amera waved her hand in front of your face, taking you out of your daze. “You okay? It was like your mind went to a different planet.” Her brows were furrowed as she analyzed your face.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you replied, shaking off the lingering unease. “I just didn’t sleep well last night. I got in late from the bar 'cause Wade was fucking around instead of helping me close.” You rolled your eyes as you recounted Wade’s words of wisdom. Amera raised her eyebrows at that. 

“Wade again, huh? I swear that guy’s more trouble than he’s worth. I swear to God, if he’s the reason you’ve been more on edge lately–”

You shrugged, attempting to brush off her concern. “Tell me about it. It’s just been a hectic week, that’s all. It’s nothing I can’t handle, I promise.” you grumbled before taking another pull of your cigarette. 

Amera studied you for a moment, her concern evident. “If you need to talk about it…” 

“Thanks, Amy. You know I always bounce back eventually, but we can talk later when it’s not 5 in the morning.” You appreciated her offer; it was just like her wanting to shield you away from the pain of the world, but you weren’t ready to tell her the truth. And a part of you was unsure if you ever would be. 

She nodded, accepting your answer. “Well, I’m off to my rotation. If you need anything, text me. And maybe try to get some rest. You look like you could use it.” As Amera left, you took a moment to gather your thoughts. Her concern was genuine, but you couldn’t afford to let anyone see your vulnerabilities, especially not with the increasing scrutiny on mutants and the recent incident with Logan weighing heavily on your mind. 

Your thoughts raced as you recounted last night. Logan’s reaction had been unsettling. It was a rare occurrence, and it left you questioning whether your abilities were waning or if something about Logan made him particularly impervious. Is it possible that he was a mutant as well? You hadn’t met another person like yourself before, but of course, he might have had the ability to be unaffected by the powers of others– a walking shield of some sort. If that were the case, then you wouldn’t have to worry. Both of you would be on the same page. You’re delusional. It wasn’t as if you could assume that the man had supernatural abilities, nor was there a safe way to weasel the information out of him without explicitly exposing yourself. 

The hesitation in his demeanour proved it feasible to get ahold of his mind. He seemed intrigued but ultimately chose to leave. That was the issue; Logan could still choose to listen to your persuasion. If you possessed the gift of reading minds, you probably wouldn’t have lost as much sleep over this. Perhaps it was time to reassess your approach. Taking a deep breath, you resolved to keep a low profile and act as if yesterday hadn’t happened. The second best thing to your power of persuasion and thought projection was gaslighting. Deny and repeat. It was the best option until you could find a way to convince Peter to switch your schedule. You’d learned to play the role of a cheerful bartender well, and now it was time to use those skills to deflect any probing questions. You would need to be more cautious, especially with the growing risks associated with using your powers. The last thing you needed was for someone to become suspicious, or worse, to attract unwanted attention. You’ve gotten comfortable before, but as you've gotten older, blaming your ability to get your way on luck was no longer an option. It was time to be more vigilant. 

You had spent the day cleaning around the apartment and picking at the leftovers Amera had left for you. Your body was fidgeting, and it was impossible to sit still whenever you were nervous. Glancing at the time, it was best that you began to get ready before you were late for your closing shift at the bar. You studied your reflection, noting the weariness etched into your features. Amera was right. You needed to get some rest. Coffee and cigarettes weren’t doing your appearance any favours. By the time you were done applying your makeup, no one would suspect a thing. It was days like today; you’re grateful to wear a uniform. It made preparing for work that much easier. Female bartenders at Whiskey Whispers must wear the navy blue logo shirt that is snug and form-fitting with a low v-cut to compliment your blooming cleavage. They were accompanied by high-waisted black shorts that cut across your ass, making you appear more shapely than you were. It was a bit more revealing than you’d typically dress, but it was what brought in the tips. Throwing on a matching tracksuit to cover up, you grabbed your bag to head out for the subway. 

Walking towards the bar, you recognized him instantly. Logan leaned against the brick beside the back entrance of Whiskey Whispers with a cigar in his mouth. He wore a leather jacket with a white wife-beater underneath and his staple Levi jeans. His hair was dishevelled, and it took all your willpower not to stare. He shouldn’t be here, not at this time. Logan usually came for a drink closer to dusk. His presence didn’t allow enough time for you to think. Quickly, you steeled your mind and remembered your plan of laying low. Picking up your pace, if you got inside the back office before you could be followed, surely everything would be fine. It wouldn’t be odd not to greet him since you weren’t clocked to work yet. 

Oh, how you were wrong. Logan’s arm shot out to block the door with record speed. His sudden movement stopped you in your tracks, and you could hear your heart race as you faced the impenetrable barrier of his muscular forearm. The two of you were so close that you could inhale the heavy smoke emitted from his cigar. “Not so fast, princess.” Logan’s tone of voice was brusque but not wholly rude. He had more significant intentions than just catching up for a drink. 

You licked your lips to maintain your composure as if your mouth hadn't almost run dry. “Excuse me, Logan,” you forced your words to come out casually. I need to get settled before my shift.” Logan didn’t move an inch. His gaze felt like he was attempting to burn a hole through your eyes—steady and focused. 

He took a slow and significant drag from his cigar before exhaling the smoke to curl around his chest. “No problem, I just have a few questions. I promise it won't take long; we need to chat.” This wasn’t what you had anticipated. You fought the urge to panic. However, you knew how to handle this, stay calm and keep the conversation as short and sweet as possible. You could feel the presence of your powers stirring awake beneath the tranquil facade that you have shown. It wasn't safe to rely on them in a volatile situation like this in the public eye. 

“Questions about what? Can’t it wait? I have to get inside before I'm late.” Your voice was steady as you feigned impatience toward the man, hoping he’d get the hint. Logan pondered what you had stated and huffed, “Alright, let’s just talk, then.” He yanked the back door open, leaving little space for you to shimmy through. “After you, princess.” 

The back office was dimly lit, with lockers for workers to stash their things and old furniture that threatened to prick you with its tetanus-infected springs. The air smelled stale, and the AC hummed in the background. You needed to talk with Peter about getting the back door key card scanner fixed to avoid situations like this. Anyone could’ve entered through; the only reason no one has bothered is because of Wade’s unstable ass, some of the patrons started a rumour he got a hard-on from the thought of punching things. 

Yet, that didn’t halt Logan’s determination to get a solid answer from you. His eyes narrowed as you set your things inside the locker and began to unzip your sweater to reveal the scandalous shirt. Logan hadn’t taken care of your appearance previously; he rarely kept this much eye contact in a short period. However, now he studied your every move. 

“You know, I’ve been around for a while and seen my share of weird shit. And after last night, I think you’re not exactly who you seem to be,” he stated.

“Not sure what you’re getting at, Logan. I’m just a bartender, trying to make a living.” You rolled your eyes at him for extra effect. 

Logan flicked the ash of his cigar on the tiled floor before returning it to his lips. “Cut the crap. I know you’ve been hiding something.  You’ve got a way of making people do what you want, right?” The way that he posed the question alluded to the fact that he may have already known the answer. You were on your last resort. 

“Do you hear yourself? You’re imagining things. Maybe you had one too many drinks last night. I might need to start cutting you off earlier in the night.” You forced a laugh, but it sounded fake, a bit too high-pitched to sound genuine. 

Logan leant forward to be eye-level with you. You could feel his breath on your skin and couldn’t control your heart pounding. You began to break out in a sweat. Logan’s mannerisms were on the verge of being unhinged; behind his stone-cold brown eyes lay a wild side of him waiting to be unleashed. His voice was low and steady as he spoke, “I’ve dealt with enough mind games to spot a telepath when I see one. So, let’s skip pussyfooting and get to the point. What’s your deal?”

You stared back at him and remained still, although your instincts were screaming to run in the opposite direction, or worse, utilize your power with all your might to make him forget last night had ever happened. “And what if I told you that you’re wrong? What if I said I’m just good at reading people?” You gazed up at Logan through your lashes, trying to gauge his body language.

“I could hear your heart beating out of your chest. Am I making you nervous? I assure you I’m not here to play games. I know what I felt. You were messing with my head, trying to influence my decisions. You don’t do that without some kind of power.” 

Fuck. You balled your hands together in frustration and cursed under your breath. Logan wasn’t going to drop it. “So if you’re convinced I'm a mutant, why not report me? Instead, you chose to harass me at work personally.” 

“I want to know who else knows about this. I don’t want any surprises. If you’re involved in something bigger, I need to know where I stand. You get me?” Logan replied without hesitation. 

Ah, it began to make sense. He was worried about his safety, a secret of his own. “You’re a mutant,” you said, taking a step back, your voice steady but sharp. “You’re not exactly a stranger to mutant abilities, are you? I can sense something in you—something hidden behind that tough exterior. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to you.”

Logan’s expression shifted, surprise flickering in his eyes before his face hardened again. “Don’t try to flip this onto me.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” you retorted, your annoyance bubbling to the surface. “You’ve got that same intensity, that same ‘I’ve-seen-some-shit’ look that comes with being more than just a regular person. Maybe you’re trying to intimidate me to keep your abilities under wraps. Who else has tried to get into that head of yours?”

And for a moment, the tension between you was almost palpable. “I don’t know what you think you’re seeing, but if you’re making accusations, you better have something more concrete than your gut feelings.” He didn’t care to confirm or deny your question. 

“Logan, you might not be ready to admit it, but you’re hiding something,” you said, jabbing your index finger against his firm chest and feeling a surge of defiant energy. “And if you’re going to question me, maybe it’s time you looked in the mirror and confronted your own truths before someone discovers it for you.” You knew you were getting ahead of yourself, and your patience was thinning. 

He grabbed your hand and held it rigidly. “You think you know what you’re talking about, huh? Just remember that you can’t access my brain. I'm immune to you and your wiles.” His tone sounded like a threat.  He let go of your hand for it to fall lifelessly to your side. As Logan turned and walked away, the room seemed to settle into a heavy silence. You were left uneasy that the confrontation had only scratched the surface of deeper, more complicated truths.

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[hexhomos]

just curious, i saw that on dress me in midnight you changed the chapter total count from 4 to unspecified, are you planning to write more than 4?

would love if that was the case 😁 i've been enamored with all of your jayvik fics regardless but this one is so fun it might overtake catafalque just for viktor getting to be unabashedly evil towards jayce

TLDR; I had a very specific goal in mind when I started writing that fic. I went into it with a lot of my own predictions of what the season would be like, and while I got some things right, a lot of other details were completely flipped on their head (the provenance of Jayce’s crystal, for instance) and that's given me some stuff to think about. Redrafting and rebuilding etc.

the core of the story will remain the same, but after that finale the events of ch1/2 are painted with an extra layer of meaning: it was multiversal soulmates all along! this was meant to happen! but if that's the case, how does this unique win-state aberration play out? how do their characters develop? I don't want them to be static. I don't want them to be boring. I want to see if I can write smaller chapters that in bulk will lead us to a different ending. (also, *jayce* would argue he isn't evil. because it's jayce.)

[edennill-archived]

In which I puzzle over metaphysical implications as regards the peoples inhabiting Arda

fyi, a certain familiarity with the (predominantly Christian, I think) concept of fallenness/unfallenness is assumed, although it turns out that it doesn't necessarily work here. Feel free to ask for clarifications

So. I'm once again wracking my head as I try to make sense of what I shall call: 'metaphysical states' of elves, men and others, because the subject is emphasised and lampshaded a lot in the books, and I can't force it all to make sense when taken together.

Ainur are a specific case and I should really leave them aside for now. They certainly can fall — and, unlike angels, change their mind, apparently (which goes both ways) — although they do seem to be more all-or-nothing than everyone else. Still, I think as long as one doesn't go into the implications of time and what its existence or nonexistence changes, they're almost straightforward. But then you have:

Elves. The 'Fall of the Noldor' is very strongly emphasised as a metaphysical fall from grace and further evils, even ones unconnected with the matter of the Silmarils themselves, are blamed on it later (Maeglin!) So far so good. Except. Non-Noldor are also liable to behave in ways that are not exemplary in the slightest, and it doesn't seem to signify a cesura in the same way — and the Noldor in Valinor were able to commit acts that perhaps weren't as heinous as what we call crimes, but weren't good either. Getting into rancid fights with your brother isn't much in comparison, but these are not the actions of unfallen people.

And on the other hand, authorial quote (paraphrased): "Elves in some ways represent Man in an unfallen state". And I'm inclined to agree: they aren't subject to death (except they may be killed, so doesn't this already break down?), and there is something very poignant in the image of their artistry, "extempt from earthly limitations". But they do not lose it, not in any easily tangible way. We can argue that evil diminishes creativity and it's probably true, but there is no hard line anyone passes. And this is again lampshaded in-world with the Númenoreans ("If we die because of some darkness that lay on us before, than why don't the Noldor?").

Which brings us to Men. The existence of a direct cause-effect relationship between fallenness and mortality in Arda cannot be ascertained (Even taking into account a Catholic framework, I feel that logically it need not be the same relationship as the Biblical one since, in contrast with the Garden of Eden, the world was already marred when humans appeared). While I consider the Tale of Adanel to be Gondorian in origin, I can also see the possibility that whatever Men did back then, beyond memory (or in other words "we purposefully forgot") was just that much worse than Alqualondë and the Oath. In any case, Man is very straightforwardly Fallen.

Hobbits. The rules for Halflings are presumably the same as for Men, which is certainly notable, given that they seem to be the least inclined to evil of all incarnates. Not perfect, not by a long shot, but unknowing of wars and violence. A pastoral image, only in-world it's true.

And at the same time, my musings bring me to the unexpected conclusion that dwarves are the only notable "generally unfallen" kindred. Which is, in context of everything that regards them, weird — because by their actions, they are very similar to Men. And yet — either the circumstances of their creation make them disadvantaged from the start (which doesn't really make that much sense), or something happened off-screen, or it's the same case as Saeros, or Thingol sending Beren to his death.

Ents? I honestly don't know if we've seen enough of ents to judge, although they seem generally good-inclined? Huorns are a different kettle of fish.

Before I try to explain orcs, it would do well to know what they are exactly.

In other words, I cannot make sense of it all, enough that I've resorted to calling the default state of incarnates in Arda "semi-fallen" (or, as is, "semi-unfallen"). Which is not a thing that makes sense, philosophically speaking — but I can find no better way.

(Although, to be quite honest, the default state of being in Arda (because of the discord?) seems to be significantly different from the unfallen state of Man as described by religious thinkers in some ways, and not all of them regard merely such things as physical marring, so perhaps "semi" isn't the worst way to describe it.)

In any case, if someone has thoughts on the subject, I'm very open to hearing them.

[gaysindistress]

Leave My Body

pairings: Minthara x f!drow reader

Summary: Minthara in an arranged marriage with reader but it’s not your average au

Warnings: not a thing but my intense love for this evil drow mommy

Word count: 854

bg3 masterlist

“You know that you don’t always have to act so cold towards her when you see her. Being rude is not the way to her heart,” the ever so persistent advice of her advisor, Maya, filled the stifling silence and tension of Minthara’s study. 

The even wiser art of the study’s door spoke similar words as it crept shut, officially ending the rather awkward meeting between House Baerne and the recently founded House Armorusa and the silent demand of “be pleasant” to Minthara began. 

Rather than acknowledging her advisor and her mistakes in the process, Minthara released a puff of air and leaned forward in her chair to busy herself with something. A headache began thumping in her temple as she stared at the blur of papers before her. 

She attempted to rub at the budding headache as she thought about the embarrassed and flushed face of the poor girl at the mention of her age and its correlation to her lack of any notable accomplishments. The girl’s disappointment in her own nervous words only grew when Minthara remembered how the girl had struggled and stammered to find words to defend herself but how she ultimately chose to look at Minthara with a furious look in her eyes before uttering her apologies for not living up to the high standards of House Baenre. 

“I do apologize for my apparent embarrassments and inability to be worthy of House Baerne, Matron. It would appear that I was ill prepared for a life among the strongest house in the Underdark. I suppose my previous matron should be punished for her failures as well as I. ” The girl uttered in a low yet cutting tone. 

Minthara’s hand drug itself down her face and went to pinch the bridge of the nose. Maya let out a huff as she dropped herself into the chair that the girl had been sitting in. A single purple gem ring sat on her middle finger; a rather recent addition after she found a scrying eye floating around her grounds. Practically winking at Maya, the ‘gem’ gleamed in the candle light. 

“She may very well decide to wage war against you after today,” Maya chuckled, glancing over to see her matron’s anguished state. She kicked her feet up onto Minthara’s desk and folded her hands in her lap, waiting for the matron to answer. 

Her answer was not of the verbal variety. Minthara grimaced at the sight of Maya’s boots on her pristine desk and waved them off with a look of disgust. 

“She would be an utter fool to wage war…” Minthara began but Maya cut her off with a sharp laugh. 

“This nonsense needs to stop. You need to secure this alliance or you will stand to lose more than you care to admit. Matron of House Baenre or not, you are still at risk and that girl may be the only thing that prevents you from complete ruination.”

At the mention of said ruination, Minthara’s eyes shot towards Maya and her body tensed up, barely easing the pressure in her head caused by bad posture and overthinking. She placed the ringed hand on the clawed arm rest of her throne-like chair and drummed her fingers for a bit before deciding on how she should answer Maya. 

“This girl is not weak minded like I had initially thought,” she started in a slow yet thoughtful tone, “She is more intelligent than I was led to believe and potentially more of a risk than a safe choice as well. Tell me, Maya, what does the Spider Queen think of her house? Are they in Her favor or are they without her blessing?”

Maya wasn’t able to suppress her confused snort this time. She simply stared at the formidable drow before her. 

“I know not what the Spider Queen thinks of every House. I only know what She deems is necessary and the answer you seek is not one She has given to me.”

Minthara stood up quickly and dropped her hands to her desk, splaying out her fingers onto the maps. She leveled her gaze with Maya’s and held it with contemptuous annoyance until she saw the beginnings of discomfort raise within Maya. 

With her voice an octave lower, she murmured ‘go to the temple and pray to the Spider Queen. Ask her if this girl is only key to my success. Ask her if she truly desires for me to accept this arrangement. Go and do not return until you have my answers.”

Maya gulped down the mountain of fear that tried to raise in her throat. In the depths of Minthara’s red eyes swam a lethal conviction that she had seen enough times to know that a moment of hesitation could cost her life. She gave a short nod before quickly standing and making a shift exit from the study, those red eyes tracking every moment as she moved. 

The heavy doors clicked closed. 

Minthara stared at the doors. 

She stared at them until whatever anger flickered in her chest earlier had snuffed out to be replaced by a spiderling desire.