#brutal the confessions of a homicide investigator

[l-wandering-etranger]

imma be honest,

with the amount of warnings i got before reading brutal, i thought it was going to be much much well... brutal. and it was pretty explicit but I expected more gore. I got less warnings reading some of junji ito's works than I got reading the anal cross. not dissapointed at all tbh but just more suprised I suppose.

[zoraedits]

[ynkfva]

Look how hes pretty after burning a shitty pedophile alive

[dantheserialkillerman]

Hiroki Dan X GN!Teacher (one shot)

Contains: Gender Neutral Reader and Age Difference General warning: Medium-length post (1,461 words) TW: Possessiveness/Yandere vibes Characters: Hiroki Dan and You

– There is a theory called The Green World by Northrop Fry. It's actually quite simple. Shakespeare's comedies follow a structure: in spring, the fertility month, the characters transition from the everyday world, faced with societal bondage, to the wild, where everything becomes topsy turvy, back to the ordinary world renewed and unbound. As you skimmed your class, you couldn't help but wonder if the same theory also applied to your life. This moment did feel wild.

– The semester is your first as a teacher at one of Toyko's most highly regarded private high schools, and according to the curious stares from your students, they don't know what to make of you. It sets you on edge. Yet, there is also great excitement as you finally have fulfilled your dream of educating the next generation after years of studying. Is there a word for both terror and elation? Perhaps euphoria? It did once mean to be removed from one's body. However, frisson seems to settle in your mind. Your hair does feel on end.

– One..two...three...breath...one...two...three...breath. You repeat this phrase over and over again as you start your lesson. This subject is your favourite, and not to brag, but you are an expert in this field; the school would have never hired you otherwise, and the parents would have you fired, flayed, and put out front as a warning for everyone else. Even some universities would pale in comparison. These are households of politicians, millionaires, and businessmen. The top of the top and greatness ensures they only produce greatness, or at least the image of it.

– Everything seems to be going well; to your surprise, the kids are actively engaged, yet you cannot help but sense an uneasiness. You feel dissected, like a butterfly being prepped for a display case. When turning around, an intensity makes you pause over a word to prevent a stutter. You swear unseen hands are rushing over your body as if to hold you and say, "Stay still; I deserve to look," for what reason you don't know. It's nerves, you tell yourself, focus on the lesson; you can't mess up the first class.

– But it happens again during the next lesson. Then, the one after that. Again and again until finally, when handing back the first assignment, you meet the cause after class.

– It was Autumn when the weather couldn't decide if it wished to be hot or cold, the leaves turning into a violent swarm of reds and oranges as if the trees were on fire. It had been a long day; you had to send someone to the head office for interrupting class, forgot your lunch, and were stuck grading papers. The only people still here were after-school clubs and occasionally teachers you heard walking in the halls.

– You were so absorbed in your work that you couldn't help but jump when you felt a tap on your shoulder and a soft "Excuse me" in your ear. Looking up in shock, you are surprised to see a man...well, a teenager. Handsome for his age, most likely eighteen and in his final year, with a shock of dark hair and eyes against pale skin, a warm smile breaks the otherwise monochrome facade. An image of Adder Snake flashes in your mind when he tilts his head and beams...it is as if he enjoyed scaring you.

– "Oh, I'm sorry, professor," he places a hand over his heart and straightens, "I merely wanted to get your attention." His eyes are so black that you can see your own startled reflection, and despite being in a more senior position, how small you look compared to this boy. You hate it.

– "It's fine," you look at the clock, "it's past five; shouldn't you be heading home, or is there something I can help you with?" You attempt to clean your desk to make it look moderately presentable. In reality, you wanted to seem busy so you didn't have to look him in the eye again. There was something profoundly unnerving about how he could pin you down with merely a look.

– His hand moves gracefully into his bag and pulls out a piece of paper; you recognize it as the recently returned assignment from your afternoon class. He places it delicately on your desk, atop the other essays you were grading. Pompous little shit, you couldn't help but think. You tilt over and see the grade, a ninety-five, the highest score you gave out recently.

– Picking up the paper, you hold it out for the student to take back, "It was very well-written and researched, particularly the second paragraph. Congratulations..." You quickly glance at the paper, hopefully discreetly, "Hiroki-kun." The name settled in your mouth like honey, sticking to your throat unpleasantly despite how sweet it sounded.

– He leans against the desk, the same plain smile upon his face and a light chuckle escaping his upturned lips. There is an uneasiness in the air, that pressure you felt during the day in increments, dilating in this very moment.

– "Thank you," he moves closer, and you realize the door is closed; who shut it? "But I wanted to ask," Closer, "what could I have done to have gained that extra five percent?"

– "I..." You feel speechless, your face hot from panic, "Well...you could've shortened it, perhaps?" Say anything to get him to leave.

– "That's it?"

– "It was written very well; I wouldn't worry about your grade."

– He takes the paper and folds it absent-mindedly, "I will take it to heart," as if to prove it, he holds the essay to his chest, "You are my favourite teacher here, and any advice you give me is a great help." To your horror, he looks somewhat bashful. Yet, it would be a lie to say it didn't stroke your ego.

– You clear your throat, "Thank you, but it is getting late-"

– "Let me walk you to your bike." You wonder how he knew you biked to school? "My father is the police superintendent General, and I am also heading out; I don't want someone so..." He looks down to where you are sitting, "vulnerable to walk outside by themselves."

– You weighed the options in your head. Saying no could hurt your reputation; this was the kid of a high-ranking official, and if you pissed off Daddy, you would be fired on the spot. Was it unnerving and inappropriate? Yes. But you couldn't think of a way to worm your way out of this dilemma. It was a true dichotomy.

– "I wouldn't want to burden a young man like yourself...."

– His smile stretched wider, so vast you could count each pearly white tooth. What big teeth you have..." It would be my pleasure."

– Hiroki demanded to carry your briefcase and, while you walked, asked miscellaneous questions about your life. How old are you? Do you live alone? Are you Married? How far do you live from campus? You tried to answer him subtly, attempting to dodge the questions with little skill. You cursed the school for being so big and your pupil for being such a slow walker.

– Ten minutes later, you reach your bike. Or where it should have been. Nothing but the chain was attached to the fence. You look around and quickly conclude that someone has stolen it. Man, I'm a fucking genius, you thought sarcastically, but you had to Act professionally. Act bloody professional. Oh, God, how in the living hell would you get back to your dingy little apartment?

– "People these days," Hiroki shook his head, "my father has been trying to tamper down the rise in petty crime such as this," he slung your case over his shoulder, "but it seems he has a long way to go."

– You pushed your forehead in stress, "It's fine, I'll just take public transport." And it would be awful in that crowded cart filled with annoyed people.

– "Nonsense," He turned and started to walk towards the parking lot; in confusion, you began to follow him, "I own a car, and someone like yourself wouldn't be safe on public transport." He looked over his shoulder, and you felt your stomach sink, "I'll drive you home." Shit.

– "It's fine, really. Plus, you're a student-"

– "My father would never forgive me if I left you in such a state. Alone. Defenceless. I mean," He stopped and turned. Suddenly, you recognized how tall and broad he was as he towered over you. "I could attack you right now, and you would have no way to defend yourself." His left eye twitched softly like he trying to keep a particular thought at bay, and you felt your lungs freeze, "But you're lucky," He chuckled, "I would never harm my favourite teacher." The air seemed to stop momentarily as if the sky held its breath for what he would say next. "I only want to do a good deed," Another laugh, "They make me feel blessed," and softly grabbing your hand and bringing it to his cheek, he tilted his head into your palm, whispering, "Won't you bless me, teacher?"

– You wondered if Northrop Fry had a theory on Shakespearian tragedy. What dark world were you being brought into by those eyes?

[nighttime-moodlight]

"i have to do more good deeds." - hiroki dan

[gaiafile2209]

I finally remembered my password! And Another Dan Hiroki Art

[fictionallyhappy]

Homicide Detective Hiroki Dan

He's so adorable but why? 🥲

He's so happy just because he bought a diy shiitake mashroom growing kit 🥺

[demidevildonnie]

take a deep breath, let it sink in, now you realize

[boozenboze]

So....uh

How do y’all feel about Hiroki Dan content... 😅

[hellontperson]

[dantheserialkillerman]

Dan Hiroki X GN!Childhood Friend Reader Pt. 2

Contains: Continuing story and Gender Neutral Reader General warning: Long-post TW: Possessiveness/Suicide/Implied grooming

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful crow. Her wings were like the tips of quills freshly dipped, and her claws sharper than the hook of a fisherman's rod—a perfect little bird. Everywhere she went, the forest's creatures would glance at her in astonishment and envy; no owl, robin or dove could compare. The crow knew this and, for a time, enjoyed their praise. What was love, if not the wish to capture? The desire to own what you could not own yourself? Yet, as the days went by, she could not help but feel unsatisfied, for none would approach her, and, eventually, she found herself an idle idol. That was until, one fateful morning, a hunter entered the wood. The man searched far and wide for the perfect game but would deem all beasts crossing his path too dull, ordinary, and a waste of his talents. His frustrations grew until his eyes fell upon the beautiful crow. Having never seen such perfection, the man raised his gun and decided such magnificence could not exist without his consent. In that final breath, staring down the barrel of the rifle, the crow realized a terrible truth: She had finally experienced her first and last act of true love.

You would like to think you will meet again one day, perhaps in a better place, surrounded by the fragrance of the buna tree. 

A memory:

Under the branches, as the rain fell, he leaned his head against your shoulders:  "Do you love me?" "Only in summer." 

There is a strange beauty in defeat. To give up and to let go is an art so painful and euphoric that few can ever master the discipline. Yet, you could not help but try. You had to say goodbye to a bit of life, an old name, to live once again. Sometimes, still, you could smell the hints of a campfire if you closed your eyes for long enough.

After finishing university and moving away from your relative who took you in, you travelled around Japan for a while. It took years to get used to the constant hustle and bustle of the world, and you often felt displaced in the city's hectic life compared to the countryside you grew up in. However, life had finally returned to a somewhat more peaceful state. Not exactly familiar, but it was a softer difference. Recently, you were appointed as a history teacher in a small-town high school. It was a safer career than you had once dreamed of, but it would keep you hidden. That's all that mattered. You enjoyed the mountains near the town.

When you first arrived, some things were unexpectedly painful. The starting months felt like a constant exorcism, a battle not to jump and think you summoned the ghosts of old friends whenever a student came up to ask a question. But the pain was comforting in a way. They had lived and affected the world around them. Even if it was silently, you could carry their legacy and find forgiveness in supplying a future to others. A future they were denied. This was your cleansing.

The students on their end were pleasant, consistently hard-working and upbeat. And, of course, over time, you developed favourites: the creative Hana Kai, the outspoken Yuki Yamamoto, and, especially, the thoughtful Nanami Shirakawa.

Strangely, even with your reservations about closeness, you became rather popular, even finding, at the end of some classes, notes left on your desk: 

Dear Teacher,  Thank you for the class.  Dear Teacher,  I am glad you are feeling better.  Dear Teacher, Please smile more often.   

Despite years of developing a numb compliance with life, you could not help but feel touched. It was nice to be liked and somewhat accepted back into a community, even if it was only a false image they loved. 

However, you could not help but wonder what they would do if they knew that one of their favourite teachers, at night, away from their wool sweaters and bad jokes, dreamt of stone cottages and warm summers? How could they understand how your mind was captured by the sea and the calling of the woods? Even worse, you couldn't imagine their judgment if they knew of the gray eyes that haunted your subconscious. A demon. Shuten-dōji with a laugh: 

I could just die for you. I could just kill for you. And I could just love you until the end. I am you, and you are me. Cut off my head, and I'll grow another on the back of your mind. 

You would wake in terror and yearning. Most nights, you could not go back to sleep. Instead, you would find yourself sitting at the kitchen table, marking or reading anything to suppress the sweet evil lurking behind your fantasies. You had to forget before you lost yourself to dreams. 

In the waking world, you distracted yourself with a growing hatred for the biology teacher, Taisuke Henkyoji. In all fairness, it appeared he despised you in return when it became clear you would not fawn over him. 

He was from a wealthy family with designer clothes, fancy watches, and a carefree attitude. His name was seen everywhere, from the hospital where his brother, Kusuke, worked as the chairman to the only hotel within town. It was a world so far removed from small village roots, worn clothes, and scuffed shoes that you wondered if you could even find it on a metaphorical map. 

However, you could not help but see how he only possessed a dull attractiveness, only passively acknowledged until placed in a position of power. Therefore, it didn't surprise you that he was popular among teenage girls. Yet, out of all those teenagers, you could not help but worry about one in particular. The thoughtful Nanami Shirakawa, who was awkward and sweet, with big dreams and an introverted personality, which reminded you of someone you had to bury so long ago. 

Sometimes, you would catch her absent-mindedly doodling hearts in her notebook or fiddling with her phone with a wistful smile. Other times, while walking the halls, you would pass her peaking into Henkyoji's classroom. It was clear she was infatuated with the man.

It was a worrying love. Innaproate and not helped by Henkyoji's overly friendly and even disturbingly flirtatious behaviour. You had even tried to warn him of Nanami's feelings:

"You need to shut her down gently, Henkyoji-san. This whole situation is unhealthy."  "And you care, why? Jealous?" 

Of what? That comment made you immediately uncomfortable. You tried to go to the principal, who also quickly dismissed your concerns: 

"Henkyoji-san is from a highly regarded family. Such a suggestion could sully not only their image but the school's reputation," - a sigh- "There is nothing to worry about, Y/N... especially if the only evidence you have is an off-hand comment and the crush of a teenage girl. Please, don't bring this topic up again." 

Yet, it echoed in your mind when you noticed how sullen Shirakawa had started to become. There was a growing dullness behind her eyes, a letting go that was much like yours. You could see a dangerous defeatism. 

After class one day, as you saw the young girl merely gaze at her desk the entire lesson, neither moving to take notes nor really paying attention, you decided it would best to ask her to talk:

" Shirakawa-Kun, I just wanted to know if you are feeling okay," You tried to smile empathically, "I know it can be awkward talking to your teacher." "I am sorry, " she rubbed her eyes harshly. " I am just drained." You could see the fear behind her expression. An invisible subject, something cold and dead whose images reflected back a once firey disposition that burnt itself out into ash. "Shirakawa-Kun, I apologize for being so direct, but I know something is wrong."  "I really am okay," she paused for a second, fiddling with her bag, "I really have to get home...my mother needs me to help...she'll be worried if I am held up for too long."  You sighed, realizing any further conversation was a losing battle, "This may seem unorthodox...but please take my number," you pulled out a piece of paper and began to write, "If you need someone to talk to, call me, and we can set up a time to meet in my office." "Thank you." She took what you handed her with a slight reluctance and placed it in her pocket "Please, even if it's not me, know you do not have to handle this alone. I know what it's like to feel the world crashing into you. I promise." 

You closed your eyes as she left and sighed. I know what it's like to love and fear someone in the same breath. I know what it's like to be alone. 

It was easy to imagine him there next to you, as you often did, clothed in black, in a nice jacket, and without colour save for his red lips. Ah, what would you do? Is this what you felt like? Fragmented? 

You could not sleep that night. Sitting at your kitchen table, reading, until at 1 A.M, a single message appeared on your phone:

Dear Teacher, Thx for everything. It was nice to know someone cares. I hope you have a good night. -Shirakawa

When morning came, you were unsurprised that Shirakawa was absent from class. However, you could not have imagined the reason the headmaster pulled you out of your homeroom.

"Why would she try to kill herself?"  "She's a teenager, Y/N! I have no idea why she would do such a thing; I just called you in to let you know about the situation. Do not discuss this with anyone but the staff."  "It was him, wasn't it..." "I said not to bring such a topic up again!" "You can't ignore this forever! Please, just listen to me!" "Go. Back. To. Class. We will pretend this never happened."

Guilt spread throughout your body as if you were drowning. How could you have turned away? Why did you not write back? You felt yourself transform into a frightful and hideous creature that had been tied to the buna tree so many years ago. A coward. A failure. Another child almost died because you didn't act fast enough. Kikue. Reo. I'm sorry.

You had cut class early that day and ran to the hospital. My fault. It's all my fault. You needed to apologize in person. You needed to ask Shirakawa. You needed to know the truth. Fuck Taisuke Henkyoji.

Dishevelled, sweating, and breathless, you ran to the front desk and requested the room number. 

"Are you...okay?"  "Please, I'm here to see Nanami Shirakawa," - a breath- " I'm one of her teachers," The woman at the desk looked annoyed, "Well, you're lucky. It seems she's currently taking visitors; let me phone up the room...I'm not paid enough for this-" A voice...soft... melodious...that itched your memory interrupted, "Is everything alright here?" No...You could not speak. Your throat refused to open. The world swam for a second. "Sir, were just up to see Ms. Shirakawa?"  He was beautiful. He looked just like him. "Yes, she seems to be doing...well...as one would expect in such a situation."  "Hmmm," she hummed, uninterested, "Sorry to ask this of you as a civilian, but since you are here, could you please assist...who were you again?"  "Shirakawa's history teacher," You replied shakingly. It's not him. It cannot be him.  "Your name?" The woman rolled her eyes. You took a deep breath. You had changed your name when you lived with your relative. You were not you anymore, even if it was him somehow, "Y/N."  "Y/N?" The man turned to you fully. Shuten-dōji. He looked like your Shuten-dōji, "What a..." He paused as if startled before quickly composing himself, "Lovely name..."  "It's pretty common," He looked at you with such intensity you thought the ground would swallow you up. It can't be him. It wouldn't make sense for him to be here. You were literally in the middle of nowhere. The lady at the desk signed, "Well, you two are very sweet, but if you could kindly take Y/N up to see Shirakawa, that would be very helpful. I have to talk another call...so..."  The man gave the woman a bland smile and beckoned you to follow him. You could feel the sweat build upon the back of your neck; his grey eyes followed you like a snake to a mouse, refusing to let you out of his sight.  "You didn't ask me for my name,"  "I'm sorry?"  "My name, would you like to know it?"  "Oh, my apologies. I'm just a bit scattered today,"  "That's understandable, considering..."  "Yes, considering I would like to know your name."  The man laughed and mumbled, "You sound just like them...look just like them... you could even think," A distant look filled his expression, "It's like looking at a photograph," He seemed to catch himself, "Ah, sorry, I had a close friend that left me many years ago; I lost myself for a moment. I believe we are both scattered today." You wanted to change the subject as soon as possible. A coincidence. It has to be. The world wouldn't be so cruel. The Kirin would not be so cruel.  "How do know Shirakawa-kun?"  "I saved her from drowning."  "What?!"  "I'm a very strong swimmer." He glanced at you with subtle amusement, and then a look of distant grief entered his eyes. "My name is Dan Hiroki." You stopped. No. "Is something wrong?" Yes. Something is very fucking wrong.  "Oh, it's nothing...It's been just a long day..." You needed to leave as soon as possible, "Actually, I just remembered I forgot something at home-" "Hmmm," He hummed as if thinking, "I think you should see Shirakawa-kun." He stopped and grabbed your arm as if trying to ensure you could not flee. His grey eyes, searching as if trying to figure something out, "I fear she needs all the moral support she can get right now." You bit your lip hard, thinking of a way to escape this. Fuck. What if he recognized you? What would he do? A man capable of killing without remorse, you shivered just imagining the type of torture he would inflict. How could you leave without looking suspicious? "It..." Shit. "Your right. However, I really can't stay for long." He continued to walk, not letting go of your arm, until stopping before the elevator, "You really do look just like them...It's been so long...ah, memories... memories, a cruel mistress."  "I can't imagine," the evaluator dinged.  "Fufu, for some reason," He pulled you inside, "I feel like you might," You could feel the red string of fate being pulled, "Yes, I would love to get to know you, Y/N." 

You would like to think you would have met again one day, perhaps in a better place, surrounded by the fragrance of the buna tree. You never thought you would meet in a hospital. You never thought he wouldn't recognize you. 

A memory:

"Please don't cut off my head, Minamoto no Yorimitsu" "I promise, but only in summer."

One day, you thought you would meet again, surrounded by summer.

A memory:

"Tell him I died. He would come looking for me otherwise. You know why I am asking this. Don't let me bring you shame. Please let me go."

The ride is silent until the final ding. He smiles at you once you reach the right floor.

A memory:

"Y/N, wait for me next summer?" "You know I always will be here.

His left eye twitches and his smile grows.

"Shall we go see your student?" He pulls your arm gently, his now fully lopped with your own. "I don't think I have much of a choice." "Be careful, Y/N," He chuckles darkly, "I might just grow fond of you." "There is nothing to be fond of." You walked out together and felt his hand tighten around your bicep as if worried you would run away.

A memory:

A place filled with tiny stone houses, crumbling temples, and giant windmills with rotor blades like dragons' teeth, gnawing away at the occasional gale. "Do you believe in the Kirin?" "I believe humans are cruel, and Gods are crueller."

The red string of fate tugged again as you headed towards the hospital room and into an unknown future.

You fear Dan would never let you go if he discovered your true identity. You feared much worse than death. There truly is a strange beauty in defeat.

A memory:

This was your home. All you could ever want. "Hey, Y/N, look up! There's a flock of crows." "Actually, I think it's called a murder."

[gaiafile2209]

I miss them 😭😔

[fictionallyhappy]

Homicide Detective Hiroki Dan

If he's psychopath then why so gorgeous

[banjjakz]

serial bereavement ; yuuta x gn/f!reader

Every first Thursday for the past six months, without fail, a single plot of ashes has been unlawfully exhumed from the cemetery behind Joenji Temple.

Or: As a rookie hire, you are partnered with Investigations Section 1 Officer Okkotsu Yuuta to investigate a law-defying, bone-chilling, uniquely disturbing case of obsessive love that threatens to shut down the entirety of Shinjuku.

part i. word count: 5.2k

warnings: rating & warnings WILL change; part i of iii; reader is referred to with she/her pronouns & has a vagina & breasts, but is never addressed with gendered titles [e.g.: "ms.," "lady," etc.]; eventual smut that is dubcon at best; horror-romance, in that order; themes of psychosexual horror; side satosugu [non-essential to plot]; i cannot overstate how abnormal this one is, even for me

the content of this fictional work is inspired by the video game "collar x malice" which belongs to the original rightful owners. i do not own or claim to own the rights to the collar x malice franchise. this written work does not represent the intentions, actions, or thoughts of any of the creators/owners of the "collar x malice" franchise.

‪♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

likes♡ / reblogs ↻ appreciated!

Every first Thursday for the past six months, without fail, a single plot of ashes has been unlawfully exhumed from the cemetery behind Joenji Temple.

The first incident was thought to be a freak accident, one of those strange, wild card crimes that confound local police and commandeer national attention. Pictures of the desecrated grave ravaged internet forums for weeks thereafter, sending chills down the backs of even the most stoutly atheist Japanese youth. An already horrific occurrence worsened all the more with the repeated presence of a seemingly random signature: there, at the bottom of the grave, in the very deepest point of the aged, black soil, laid a folded handwritten note. Upon unfurling the crisp creases, the Shinjuku Police Force Special Crimes Unit discovered that these were actually letters.

Love letters, to be exact.

Presumably penned by the perp, the characters were neat and clean – almost feminine in nature. So strong was the desire imbued into these letters that it seemed as though each individual brush stroke contained one thousand sonnets of unceasing, burning ardor. Clearly, the perpetrator yearned for the attention of their beloved.

That they would go to great lengths – immoral lengths, even – for just a three-minute story on the evening news, all so that their beloved might idly overhear the report as they prepare their dinner, idly chopping radishes to the soundtrack of a violent confession woefully fallen upon their deaf ears…

Well. It makes you squirm. You suppose that’s the point.

As a fresh-faced rookie of the Special Regions Crime Prevention Office, this is your first time on the job in the midst of such a sensational case. At first, your department was unsure how to label these crimes: neither killings nor injuries were incurred, and yet, the spiritual damage effected by the robbing of a Buddhist shrine’s graveyard was somehow worse than any brutal homicide. Eventually, the commissioner labeled these incidents as “Serial Bereavements” out of respect to the families whose deceased loved ones had been wrongfully removed from their final resting place.

After the first offense, local news stations reported the anomalous crime with a sick sort of fascination. Lovesickness was no foreigner in Japan, and although many screwed their faces up at the morbid displays of affection, so too did just as many turn up the volume on their televisions and lean just a few centimeters closer, eyes glazed with blue light, horror, mortification, and arousal.

After the second and third offenses, it was obvious that a pattern was beginning to emerge. Both incidents occurred on the first Thursday of the month, and both incidents were signed with the same achingly forlorn pages of desperation. In fear of exacerbating the perpetrator, or inspiring copycats, news stations and publications were not permitted to release the contents of the letters.

After the fourth offense, protests began to congregate outside of the Shinjuku Police Station, demanding an immediate and swift correction of the police’s incompetency in addressing the issue. When the first set of ashes had been disturbed, cherry blossoms still clung to the trees. By this time it was July, and the harsh glare of the summer sun beat unrelentingly upon the earth, as though reprimanding its inhabitants.

After the fifth offense, a special curfew was instated for all residents of the Shinjuku ward. No persons for any reason were to be out past eleven o’clock at night. This was punishable by immediate apprehension for questioning. The law was martial, but the law was necessary. Or so the commissioner claimed.

After the sixth offense, the police began looking inwardly, suspecting members of its own ranks. There was no possible way that a civilian could have been able to penetrate the immense security measures installed to secure the Joenji cemetery. Ropes and ropes of caution tape, nearly 24/7 surveillance, and daily K-9 rounds were still not enough to halt the perpetrator in their tracks. This could only mean one thing:

An inside job.

“Scary,” shivers Ieiri, mockingly, lips curled in a sardonic smirk around the length of her unlit cigarette. “You hear they think it’s one of us?”

You regularly have lunch with Ieiri Shoko, director of the Forensics department. She is as caustic as she is jaded, having served in an underrecognized role for far too long, wasting her prolific talents in an obscure government position with little excitement – save for, of course, highly-charged periods of reoccurring atrocities, such as the current case of the Serial Bereavements.

“Don’t even joke. We should be taking this seriously…”

The cooling September breeze has you huddling into your knees a little further. Enjoying lunch on the rooftop was a treat while it was still summer. But now, September has just torn a new page in your calendar and has brought with it an uncharacteristically crisp cold snap. It is Tuesday, the second.

“I’m sooooo serious,” Ieiri says after taking a rather dramatically prolonged drag from the now-lit cig. “Couldn’t be any more serious. Brr.”

Usually, Ieiri’s dry humor is an effective, if transient, salve to your ever-festering anxiety. But today is an exception.

“Please, just think about it for a second... To think that any one of the people we work with every day could be committing such heinous crimes…and for a romantic obsession, no less…it doesn’t frighten you?”

Ieiri exhales smoke, puffing lazily like a sated dragon draped over its hoard. “Nah. I seriously doubt anyone in our ward has the balls.”

Her vulgarity makes you blush. You’ve always been easy to fluster. “Ieiri-san!”

“How many times have I told you to just call me by my first name… jeez.” She ruffles your hair without even an ounce of care for how it makes you groan in consternation. “Too polite for your own good. Someone is going to take advantage of that, one day. And then where will you be? Calling for Ieiri-san to come save you?”

Somewhere, she’s strayed from the path of lighthearted teasing. You still under the weight of her calloused palm, peering curiously up at her through your lashes. “Um…well…”

And as soon as her touch had manifested upon you, just as quickly is it yanked away. “Anyways, call me whatever you like. Not like it matters, anyway.”

“I guess not…”

The rest of your lunch is finished in an unstable silence. Her final, rhetorical question rolls around in your mind, impressing itself upon your malleable brain tissue: Calling for Ieiri-san to save you?

But when would you need saving?

You’re a police officer, after all. You can take care of yourself.

If you couldn’t, why would you serve as an officer in the first place?

;

On the following Monday – the third of September – the director of the Investigations Unit summons you to the fifth floor.

After a polite (terrified) bow, you enter Investigations HQ. “Hello.” Please do not fire me. Please do not transfer me. Please do not publicly reprimand me. Please do not—

“Ah, thank you for coming. Wow, what a deep bow. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a perfectly geometrical ninety degrees.”

Face burning, you avert your gaze to the marble floor. “Ummm…”

You’ve heard that the chief of Investigations, Gojo Satoru was an eccentric fellow, passing in and out as he pleased through the station, hanging off of the director like a second skin. It should come as no surprise that he is here to greet you, today. And yet, still does your thin skin prickle with humiliation, with shame.

Geto Suguru, director of Investigations, cuts in before his partner can continue. “Leave her alone, Satoru. She’s shaking. Are you doing alright today, officer?”

Embarrassed, you nod. Great. It hasn’t even been a full sixty seconds and you’re already embarrassing yourself in front of your superiors.

“Alright, alright. I’ll lay off. Only ‘cuz you asked, though! Hehe.”

“I’ve summoned you today to invite you to join a special taskforce,” Geto continues, unperturbed by Gojo’s wily eyebrow wiggles. “This taskforce will use unique means to investigate the Joenji Serial Bereavements.”

Your blood is paralyzed in your veins, cowed by the enormity of this proposal. “Sir…?”

“In the short amount of time since you’ve joined the Shinjuku Police Department, your conduct has been nothing but outstanding. You’re capable and damn impressive. And frankly speaking, officer, we need a fresh set of eyes on this case.”

There’s nothing else you could possibly say other than: “I would be humbled to join. Thank you.”

“Great, knew we could count on you. We’re keeping the taskforce small for confidentiality’s sake. You’ll be working with one other partner: Officer Okkotsu Yuuta from Investigations Section 1.”

That name… why do you know that name?

Then it hits you: Okkotsu Yuuta is the name whispered through the halls of the police department with awe, envy, admiration, and – occasionally – fear. He is a legendary detective with prowess in both tactical as well as strategical measures. His presence is felt rather than seen, as he is scarcely spotted within the physical walls of the department. However, what does not tangibly appear is nonetheless ever-present in whispered rumors and glamorized notoriety.

“O-Okkotsu-san…” you stammer, taken aback. “But…I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to question your judgement, but why have I been chosen to pair with Okkotsu-san?”

“Oh! He specifically requested—”

Gojo’s cheerful sentence is curtailed by a swift elbow to the ribs. While he recovers, Geto finishes the thought, “Okkotsu has requested to be paired with a rookie for this assignment to personally train them. Something about ‘personally ensuring the longevity of the Shinjuku police force,’ or the like. What a do-gooder, am I right?”

“Okay,” you respond, uncertain.

“Your first matter of business will be a visitation to the Joenji graveyard to look for any new leads. You leave in one hour. Okkotsu will meet you downstairs, in front of the building. Good luck!”

In a daze, you bow deeply once more. “Thank you. I will be sure to work hard.”

;

Unsure of what to expect, you linger in front of the armed entrance to the building, trying your best not to shift your weight from foot to foot in an obviously apparent display of anxiety.

It’s not that you’re the type to be starstruck! You are a sensible, no-nonsense, down-to-earth person. Celebrities have never appealed to you much, and idol culture continues to confound you.

In light of this, it’s quite difficult to explain the visceral, full-body reaction you have when you meet Officer Okkotsu Yuuta for the first time.

He is not superbly handsome. Good-looking enough to get street-casted? Sure. With some minor work, he might even be the jewel visual for an up-and-coming boy group. Young and fit, he is the picture of an officer steadily approaching the peak of their hotshot years. Plain, dark hair falls on either side of his forehead in a lopsided part, and his uniform is buttoned and put together, if only a little wrinkled. All in all, he is an average, considerably attractive young man in the Shinjuku police force.

And yet.

Eyes like pools of obsidian tether you to the spot like a spell has been cast upon your bones. Enchanted, your lips part, but no sounds slips through. The intrusive, overstimulating soundtrack of Shinjuku rush hour traffic fades to little more than background noise as your senses are held hostage by the void of quiet, negative space in the shape of a young man that stands in front of you.

His bow is deep and overly formal. He’s technically your superior… and definitely a senior-ranking officer. “A pleasure to meet you,” he announces to the concrete ground “I’m Okkotsu Yuuta, Investigations Section 1.”

“N-nice to meet you, Okkotsu-senpai. My name is—”

The cringe marring his otherwise untroubled face stops your words before his interjection is even voiced. “Ah, um. Just ‘Okkotsu’ is fine. We look to be around the same age, too, so I don’t mind. May I address you casually as well?”

Face burning, brain scrambled, you somehow remember how to speak. You give him an affirmative before pausing, perplexed. How did he know your name already?

Okkotsu specifically requested to be paired with a rookie…

Geto’s words float to the forefront of your mind, soothing your hummingbird heart. Surely, the director and chief of Investigations must have briefed Okkotsu on your file before you were cleared to accompany him on this special taskforce.

Normally, you are woefully naïve, a bumbling but well-intentioned junior officer. The unsettling nature of the Serial Bereavements have pushed you towards an edge you didn’t even know you could reach.

The thought of the assignment weighs down your fresh-faced bashfulness. Suddenly, the afternoon sun is less bright, the heat on your face concentrating into the precursor to a migraine just behind your eyes.

Okkotsu blinks once, twice. “Thank you for working with me on this case. Would you believe me if I told you that I’m a bit of a scaredy cat?”

Your eyes bug out of your head in disbelief. “Um? But you…” His reputation specifically includes the highest number of skillful takedowns, arrest totals, and successful confessions across the entire prefecture. A scaredy cat?

“I know how it looks. It would be quite embarrassing if anyone else knew… but I’m a pretty anxious person.”

With a refocused perspective, your gaze hones in on the smattering of purple bruises underneath his tired eyes which birth a cool webbing of veins sprawling down and out across his pale, gaunt face. You realize that his uniform isn’t actually wrinkled – it just hangs off of his thin frame, tucked intentionally to give off the illusion of a much bigger silhouette.

In him, you see a reflection all too similar: young, ragged, hungry, scared.

It’s not enough to set you completely at ease, but your lungs relax their hold on your bated breath, letting it go as slowly and reluctantly as a child forced to part with their favorite plush toy. “Me too,” you hum. “Um, nonetheless, I will definitely try my best to be helpful. I hope I will not slow you down Okkotsu-se—er, Okkotsu.”

“It’s not about fast or slow.” The service car pulls up and loiters at the curb where the two of you are still lingering. He opens the back door for you. This is the first time a polite young man your age has done that. You try your best to remember that you are literally at work, on the clock, about to investigate an especially morbid case.

Once ensuring you’re comfortably inside, he shuts the door and rounds the rear of the vehicle to slide into the leather seat next to you.

“What matters is that we can rely on each other. Fast or slow, we’re partners now… as long as we finish together, it doesn’t matter the pace.”

He rattles off the address to the department driver after dropping what is possibly the most insightful reassurance you have ever received in your life.

Okay. You can kind of understand why the entire department is obsessed with him.

“R-right. Thank you.”

The rest of the ride is spent in a silence two shades off from comfortable. Nothing is wrong, per se – but the both of your negative energies linger and interact with each other like animals of the same species encountering for the first time.

How odd, you think, to find someone like you, and who is unashamed – eager, even – to admit it. To embrace it.

;

The cemetery is small and would otherwise go unnoticed if not for the dramatic influx in attention following the past few months. Plain and unadorned, neatly kept, with no ostentatious monuments or memorials, as is befitting for the burial grounds behind a Buddhist temple. All in all, the scenery would be somewhat peaceful if not for the six disturbed plots of land where remains were once laid to rest.

This is your first time at the scene of the crime. Your rank is too low to justify visiting this high-profile area without clearance from a supervisor. Now that you’ve been assigned to a taskforce specifically investigating this case, it was necessary that Yuuta took you to observe the scene yourself.

Although there is a total lack of gore or rot, still does the sight of six empty graves provoke within you an acute revulsion. Perhaps it is the absence of any overt suffering, and the oppressing knowledge of the extended waves of unearthed grief spanning across multiple kin networks who must now lose their loved one a second time – this is what inspires the damp, fragile sheen pooling at your waterline.

“Hey,” calls a soft, gentle voice. Yuuta’s timid wave brings you back from your wallowing. “Before we left, I grabbed the letters from forensics. Thought it might be helpful to have while we re-assess the scene.”

Something he’d done entirely for your benefit. Conscious of your lack of experience with the case, you incline your head, grateful. It’s almost as though your gratitude makes him uncomfortable. He averts his gaze and hands over a collection of six plastic-encased papers. Despite their origins within deep, aged earth, each one is pristine.

Steeling yourself, you read February’s letter, the origin of chaos:

My Dearly Beloved,

Did you know that not even the moon and all her stars, nor the sun and all his days, burn as brightly as my heart does for you? There is a certain privilege that I have been blessed with in this lifetime: the privilege to admire you from afar while passing through your stratosphere when it is convenient.

But, unlike you, I am a flawed and impure creature. I am greedy. Each morning, I wake up with a hunger to do more than watch. I want to draw you near to my side. I want to feel your flesh. I want to know what your innards taste like. I want to bathe in your desire. I want to carve myself into your being, forever and ever and ever, so that in the next life, you will be born missing me.

Please look at me. I love you so terribly it defies the laws of life and death. You’ve awoken something within me. I hope you’ll take responsibility.

Nauseous, you shift the letter to the bottom of the pile, hands shaking, head spinning.

“How disturbing…” you can’t stop the words from leaving you, unbidden. “How can someone desire another person in such a way that it permits violence?”

Okkotsu studies you closely. “Do you really feel that way?”

Alarm coils like a snake cornered in the pit of your gut. Sharply, you snap your gaze to his still, calm face. As pallid and pockmarked with depression as the moon herself. “Excuse me?”

“Are you truly disgusted by this kind of love?”

Fighting to ignore your fight-or-flight response, you answer: “I don’t consider this to be love.”

Peculiarly, his face breaks out into a smile, clearing away the lingering cloudy expression. “And that’s why I’m glad we’re partners. I knew you’d have the right idea about this.”

“Most people condemn this crime…”

“But too many sympathize with a false motive,” he volleys back, dark eyes glinting with a strange intensity. “This isn’t a crime of ‘love.’ The perp doesn’t act out of affection. They want to own, subdue, and take what is not theirs. How is that love?”

“Exactly,” you affirm. “To be honest, those connections have always kind of unsettled me…even in shows, or books, or games, I could never look at the obsessive type.”

“Scary, aren’t they?”

This isn’t just a work case for him, you belatedly realize. His tense posture, his imploring eyes, his specification of partner – this is personal. Something about these occurrences strikes a chord deep inside of him, resonating so profoundly that it would not be enough to watch another resolve these crimes; no, Okkotsu is compelled to eradicate the danger completely, uprooting it from the source, destroying the danger with his bare hands, watching it dissipate with his own eyes.

“Mm. I’m glad we’re working on this case together, Okkotsu.”

He offers a small, benign quirk of the lips. “Me too.”

Your partnership progresses steadily from this first encounter.

Most of your daily duties are now fulfilled off-site, accompanying Okkotsu to various locations of interest, following potential leads, and occasionally conducting interviews. It’s been merely two days since the taskforce has been formed, and yet, you’ve been so preoccupied with your new assignment that it completely slips your mind to alert Shoko as to why you’ve been absent from your regular rooftop lunch dates.

You are mortified to open an aggrieved SMS from her on Wednesday morning:

Ieiri-san 08:15Oi. Are you dead

Me 08:16 Ahhhh!! I’m so sorry!!!! A new assignment is taking up a lot of my time. I apologize for not communicating. And for missing lunch. We can eat together today? I can bring you something? Whatever you like! I can make it!

Ieiri-san 08:20 Nah, none of that You’re probably overworking yourself already. No need for extra labor Just meet me on rooftop @ usual time

Me 08:21 Absolutely!!

It is surprisingly difficult to tear yourself from Yuuta’s side, as the two of you have been practically glued together from sunrise to sundown ever since embarking on the special assignment. He is reluctant to let you slip away for lunch, and as a result, you linger past a reasonable time to reassure him that you will be back on time.

When you are finally able to break away from Investigations HQ, you check the time on your phone only to realize that noon has rounded the corner with unanticipated haste. Hurriedly, you make your way to the seventh level of the police station building, embarrassingly conscious of your damp forehead and rapid breath.

“Sorry I’m late!!” Bursting through the metal door, you explode onto the rooftop, cloth-wrapped bento in one hand, and your furiously beating heart in the other.

It’s almost comical, how serene Ieiri looks, unbothered as ever as she leans against the railing with her trademark cigarette weaving in between her restless fingers. “Took you long enough. Been waiting for two days, now.”

“Ahhhh…”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You look like you’re about to piss your pants. C’mere.”

Face in flames, you stride over to pop a squat next to her. “I really do apologize, Ieiri-san. These last couple of days have been really hectic…”

“How so? You mentioned a new assignment. When did that happen?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure if I can talk about it…Investigations personally assigned me…um, not to be impolite or brag or anything! Just, I think it’s a little sensitive in nature, so—”

“Investigations?” She cuts you off, her dull timbre unusually sharp. “You mean those two idiots asked you to handle a highly classified criminal case? During your first quarter? By yourself?”

“Ah!! Geto-senpai and Gojo-senpai are quite eccentric, but they are very nice--!”

“No, they are not—”

“—and I’m not by myself! I’m partnered with Okkotsu Yuuta!”

If you weren’t such an anxious person who is well-practiced in the art of overanalyzing the countenance of others, you would surely have missed the way Ieiri’s eyes widen imperceptibly, the way her breath stutters on the next exhalation. She does not look at you for a beat. Two beats. She stares straight ahead at the exterior of the building when asks,

“You’re investigating the Serial Bereavement cases.”

“Ieiri-san…” you whine, head in your hands. “I’m, like, ninety percent sure no one else is supposed to know…”

“What, don’t trust me? Not like I have any friends around here to tell.”

“That’s, well. That’s not the point. Okkotsu mentioned that this was a sensitive matter, so…”

“Just ‘Okkotsu,’ huh?” She peers sideways at you. “No ‘senpai’? Wow, you two sure got comfortable fast.”

“No, please don’t misunderstand! Because honorifics make him uncomfortable, he asked that we speak casually!”

“I asked you the same.”

Her blunt response stuns you silent. It takes you several seconds to produce a response. “Well, yes. But that’s different…Ieiri-san is older…”

“Not by much.” Finally, she lights the cig in her hand. “Hey, let me ask you something.”

“Okay, please go ahead.”

“It was Investigations who put you on the case? Nobody else was involved?”

Hesitation halts your tongue. Mentally, you are transported back to that fateful day, just a little less than forty-eight hours ago, when your new assignment had been unloaded upon you.

“…I’m sorry, sir. I don’t mean to question your judgement, but why have I been chosen to pair with Okkotsu-san?”

“Oh! He specifically requested—”

Gojo was never able to finish his sentence, cut off by Geto’s strategically timed blow. Almost as though the chief was about to reveal something better left unsaid.

You may be a rookie, but you aren’t stupid. There’s a reason why you got this job, after all.

And if you can deduce this much, surely the next conclusion you land on isn’t so far-fetched:

Okkotsu must have personally requested you as a partner.

But the question is…why? You hadn’t been personally acquainted before you’d met outside of the station before heading to your first investigation together. He’s been nothing but kind and respectful – if a little unsettlingly intense, at times, but you think that’s just kind of how he is.

There must be an element that you’re missing from the equation, a piece of the puzzle of which you are not yet aware. It is for this uncertainty that you choose to disclose the truth to Ieiri.

“Okkotsu requested me as his partner.”

Obviously, she asked you for this information because something was dependent upon how you answered. Studying Ieiri’s reaction might be the first step towards unraveling this strange situation.

And react, indeed she does; again, it is quite muted, eroded by years of police work and other unspoken traumas you’re sure lie dormant inside of her mysterious, impenetrable depths. But perhaps it is because of your friendship that Ieiri’s micro-expressions appear to you more as the dramatic admission of feeling that they truly are.

A twitch of the brow, a purse of the lips. Her next exhalation of smoke comes fast and hard, expelled from her mouth in one decisive whoosh of toxic air. Usually, she pays special attention to the wind pattern so that she does not blow smoke in your face. It seems she’s thoroughly perturbed today; the fumes whip you across the cheek and you hack violently in surprise.

Your adverse response snaps her out of the momentary brooding. “Shit, sorry,” she mumbles, quickly removing the cig from her lips and smothering it on the ground. “You alright?”

“J-just fine,” you murmur after one final bout of ear-splitting dry heaves. “Can I ask you a question, now?”

“Shoot.”

“Is it a bad thing that Okkotsu and I are partners?”

Visibly, Ieiri must chew and swallow her initial retort. This is quite unprecedented behavior from the woman with little to no filter on any given occasion. “How are you finding it so far?”

“Well…he’s really considerate. And accommodating. Um, he even revisited the crime scene with me since I’d never been, and he let me read all the letters, too.”

“That’s funny,” says Ieiri, stone-faced. “How did he show you the letters?”

“He said he picked them up from the station before we left. I was quite surprised that he went through all the trouble of doing that, since those kinds of sensitive evidence usually aren’t allowed to leave Forensics…”

“You’re absolutely right. They aren’t.”

“Ah…Okkotsu must have special clearance…?”

“He doesn’t,” Ieiri deadpans.

“…I see…”

Her hands twitch at her sides like she’s itching for another smoke, even though the carcass of her most recent stick still smolders underneath the dagger of her high heel. “Well. You can do whatever you want with Okkotsu. Sounds like you’re in capable, dedicated hands.”

“Huh? Ieiri-san, wh—wait, where are you going--?!”

But before you can finish your panicked inquiry, Ieiri has already blown through the metal door, stomping her way back downstairs to the sixth floor where the Forensics Department awaits her gloomy presence. It’s unlike her to storm off mid-conversation. You’ve never seen her emotions rise above slight annoyance – and that level of frustration is reserved exclusively for the Investigations chief and director. What had you done to provoke even worse of an ire?

Riddled with guilt and anxiety, you wade through the rest of the workday in a foggy, unfocused haze. Okkotsu gives up trying to ask you what is wrong after his third attempt. When you eventually, mercifully fall into bed that night, unshed tears overflow past your clenched, trembling lashes, staining your pillow with sorrows you cannot speak aloud.

Upon waking up, you are granted no reprieve. It is Thursday, the sixth of September. The first Thursday of the month.

You don’t bother with something as trivial as breakfast this morning – not when the thought of what awaits you in the day ahead fills you to the brim with unbearable dread.

Arriving at the police station and getting briefed on the day’s events only confirms your worst fears: there has been another Bereavement at the Joenji graveyard.

This month’s occurrence is twistedly unique.

Accompanying the usual handwritten letter is a fresh, human heart, so red and wet, glistening with fresh gore, that it almost appears to be beating through the still stock photos taken by Field Operations upon first discovery.

Due to your increased status, you are granted clearance to read this month’s note before any other department can get to it. Ieiri is absent from the Forensics office when you rush off the elevator to the sixth floor. One of the interns retrieves the file for you, and you are equal parts eager and terrified to scan its plastic-encased contents.

My Dearly Beloved,

Aimless admiration has thus far sated my yearning soul. Seeing you eat well every day fills my spirit with a sense of completion. I am at ease to watch over you and ensure your wellbeing. But there has been a disturbance. I can feel your increased awareness, like a child opening its eyes to the world for the first time. Coupled with this awareness is a newfound distance between us. Things were going so well. Why now? Why pull away? This can’t be because of me. It must be someone else.

I think I know who.

What must I do to regain your undivided attention? How can I reclaim your primary affections? To experience even an inch of separation, a millimeter of remove, is for my body to undergo countless agonizing deaths.

Will you pay attention to me?

Will you notice me?

Will you choose me?

Look at me.

Look at me.

Look at me.

I serve my beating heart up on a platter just so that your gaze might befall it for the barest of breaths.

Recent events have shown me that I cannot stand idly by any longer while others sneakily and deliberately encroach on our relationship. I’m getting restless. I’ve been waiting quite patiently. Are you as antsy as I am? Soon, you’ll know me as all that I am.

I miss you. I see you every day and I miss you. Come back to me.

Before it’s too late.

[gorelesbian]

Please, tell me your top ten most disturbing books you’ve read. I honestly need recommendations.

thank you very much for asking!!! <3 some of these are so nasty that i feel the need for a disclaimer; i read disturbing horror (sometimes. can't stomach it continiously) when i get bored of everything since i know for sure it'll be stimulating and never boring. these are those books in no particular order!

the troop by nick cutter is about a troop of boy group scouts and their scoutmaster who are camping on an island when a fucked up parasite starts spreading. the body horror and animal cruelty/death in this are beyond insane, the turtle scene haunts me. i gave it 5/5 stars.

any man by amber tamblyn is one of my favourite books ever but i've never dared recommend it to anyone. it's about the male victims of a female serial rapist and genital mutilator. it's extremely harrowing and disturbing but i knew after 30 pages this would be a 5 star read for me, some of the best writing i've ever read. i gave it 5/5 stars. fun fact: amber tamblyn is also the girl who dies in the opening scene of the ring (2002)!

tampa by alissa nutting is about a woman who starts working as a teacher at a high school just to seduce and have sex with (rape) preteen boys. it's written from her perspective and it is extremely unpleasant to be inside her head. absolutely disgusting but also very well written. i gave it 4/5 stars.

earthlings by sayaka murata is about a young girl who has convinced herself that she is an alien from another planet to cope with the horrific abuse she going through. this book goes places i couldn't explain if i tried. i expected this to not be that disturbing and insane since it's quite popular but i was very wrong! i gave it 4/5 stars.

exquisite corpse by poppy z brite is about two gay necrophilic cannibalistic serial killers on the loose and their victims. it's set during the 1980s aids crisis which is very interesting. not much else to say about this one honestly! lot of nasty things happen! i gave it 3/5 stars.

tender is the flesh by agustina bazterrica is about a world in which animal meat has become unsafe for humans so we have started breeding and keeping humans for consumption. maybe not as disturbing as the other books on here but really interesting portrayal of the meat industry and how society treats minorities aka people they deem as "less human" than themselves. i gave it 4/5 stars.

gone to see the river man by kristopher triana is about a woman who has started a relationship with an imprisoned serial killer and has agreed to go on a quest for him. i was stressed as hell throughout this because she brings her mentally disabled sister with her who has no idea what's going on and i massively feared for her wellbeing. it actually wasn't disturbing at all until about 80% through and then it starts smacking you across the face. yikes! i gave it 3/5 stars.

things have gotten worse since we last spoke by eric larocca is about two women who meet online and quickly get involved in a very intense and fucked up relationship. goes pretty hard on the body horror and animal cruelty and baby cruelty. jesus christ. i gave it 4/5 stars.

to be devoured by sara tantlinger is about a woman who becomes obsessed with the thought of being a vulture and finding out what rotting flesh tastes like. she goes further and further to try and find out the vultures' secrets. now THIS is real weird girl swag. i gave it 4/5 stars.

i ran out of novels help. the most disturbing manga i've read is brutal: confessions of a homicide investigator by kei koga and ryo izawa which is about a homicide investigator who secretly punishes the criminals he encounters. this is very brutal. for example he finds a guy who raped a woman and he shoves a stake up his ass. i gave it 4/5 stars.

[teecupangel]

There's this manga called Brutal: Confession of a homicide investigator and when I finished it all I thought was, "Desmond in MC's place would be pretty funny especially with his bleeds lol" because with the crap Desmond went through, I feel like he should de-stress some of it in.... different ways

The manga is really brutal with some triggering stuff so it's ok if you don't do this

Nonnnnyy, I’ve been waiting for a continuation and hoping that the author gets better since last year TTATT

For those unfamiliar with the manga, Brutal: Confession of a Homicide Investigator or Brutal: Satsujin Keisatsukan no Kokuhaku is kinda like Dexter (the tv show) except the main character is much, much more unhinged, loves the look of despair of his asshole victims and goes all out to making their death karmic and ironic.

Also… he does pottery (badly), his favorite movie is The Exorcist and it’s implied his first love was a man who died before he could kill him XD

It’s super dark and the manga does not shy away from all the gory details and dark themes (when I say the MC’s victims are assholes, it’s an understatement). Seriously, there’s a lot of triggering stuff in this manga that each chapter usually have a warning label. It’s also short with only 19 chapters due to the author’s poor health so… if you wanna try it out, it won’t take too much of your time.

.

Anyway!

I feel like Desmond wouldn’t do what Dan does to his ‘victims’, mostly because the Brotherhood stresses to respect everyone, even the people they kill. The Hidden Blade is meant to deliver swift deaths, prolonging the death of the target as some sort of punishment would be against that ‘tradition’.

Although, to be fair, if we set this up as Desmond having lost a bit (or most) of his sanity after the Solar Flare, it would work.

Or…

This would be a Desmond who joined the police force after leaving the Farm. It’s highly unlikely since Abstergo would be all over him once he delivers the necessary paperwork and the results of his medical checkups but maybe he gets a lucky break, maybe Erudito is actively helping him by changing all of his information before it could get to Abstergo…

Maybe someone in the Calculations is ensuring he stays away from Abstergo’s radar. Weird computer glitches, strangely timed bad luck, accidents leading to data corruption… No one would think that someone is behind it unless they believe that that someone would be a ‘higher being’.

In this scenario, Desmond would see the worst of mankind and how the world as it is right now let some of these monsters get away. Desmond would use both the skills and techniques he learned from his profession and his childhood training in punishing these monsters the way they deserve to be punished.

In either scenario (Desmond becoming unhinged after the Solar Flare or Homicide Investigator!Desmond), Desmond wouldn’t care if they were Templars or not. As long as they have done something ‘bad’ and got away with it, they become his targets. 

But he’d still wear a hood and a mask to hide his identity.

So when Abstergo ‘finds’ footage of him, they assume he’s an Assassin out for revenge and they wouldn’t think that the other non-Templar/Abstergo related disappearance are related until it’s too late.

The Assassins would think he’s a rogue Assassin, most probably a survivor of the Great Purge that has cut all ties with everyone. They don’t necessarily agree with his ‘methods’ but they let him do as he pleases because (1) they have no idea who he is or even how to predict his movements (2) he’s only targeting horrible people so it’s not technically against the Creed, and (3) they need all the help they can get.

(It would be funny if Desmond’s fake identity’s first name is Dexter. I mean… I’d probably go for Derek as usual if I was to write this (big IF) but giving him Dexter as a fake name would be funny)

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Hey, nonny.

You know what would be funny?

If Desmond goes to Japan after the Solar Flare to sorta-chill, sorta-relax, sorta-have a vacation and he just starts becoming some sort of vigilante during his time there. And Dan… falls in love with him. Both as the vigilante and as the nice foreigner working as a barista in the cafe near the police station or something. Just imagine a fusion of cafe au and serial killer au with a heavy topping of yandere from Dan and ‘I have really bad choices in love interests and I know it’ from Desmond XD