#the core of the issue is that aside from signalling to others with the same ideology another part of the function of dogwhistles

[faggotry-enjoyer]

anyone else have the dogwhistle radar so sensitive you see a half-specified "they" one (1) time and go on alert for a second before remembering that you are literally reading a post about antisemitism and "they" is antisemites

[dm-clockwork-dragon]

Another Unpopular Opinion

I was asked to delete my earlier reblog by the OP, so they didn’t get sucked into discourse, so I’m reposing this as it’s own thing Well, here I go publicly stating another opinion that will probably get me cancelled. To be entirely fair, I’m sort of beyond caring at this point?

I think people need to calm their fucking tits - homegrown, surgical, or happily removed - over not just this game, but about HP stuff in general.

I’m a recently hatched egg, but I’ve considered myself non-binary for almost 15 years, and been an ally for as long as I knew what an ally was. I also have no particular love for the franchise, despite enjoying it a lot when I was a kid. That’s not virtue signally, or an attempt to defend my position - just letting you all know a little context, and that I do actually have a horse in this race.

I get it, I really do. JK is a fucking terrible person, and should burn in a thousand multicolored hells for the bullshit she spews and the hate she engenders in others. On top of that, she’s a shitty writer, to the point where she accidentally created an entire wizarding world where the difference between the good guys and the bad guys is just what flavor of Nazi you want to choose. But there’s a couple reasons I think that people really need to try and separate her from the franchise that she started.

1. Death of the Author.

This is the one that everyone else gives. It’s possible to enjoy, appreciate, or interpret a creative work in absence of it’s author or their intent. We do it with music, we do it with painting. and Like OP here points out: if we were to burn every book written by a problematic author, we would leave glaring wholes not just in our understanding of our own history and society, but in our understanding of how to avoid the same injustices and suffering caused by those authors. Dead or alive, the author’s right and control over who others interpret their work the moment they share it with the outside world.

2. You guys don’t know how JK makes money, do you?

I see all kinds of arguments out there about how engaging with, or - dare I even mention - paying for HP content is somehow a crime against transfolk because it directly supports a raging TERF and her platform. It doesn’t. Aside from the argument that JK makes all her money through investments and stock market trades - just like any rich person - She also DOESN’T OWN THE FRANCHISE. She retains intellectual property rights: AKA, she can write new books or shit if she likes (we have seen how that goes for her), and she is still treated as the primary source, but the IP and all production rights are owned by Warner Bros. JK doesn’t make a dime off of game, movies, or anything else that WB license or produce based on THEIR franchise. She already made her money by selling the franchise to them years ago. Honestly, she probably got the raw end of the deal at this point. At most, she might get some meager royalties that are eaten up entirely by the cost of paying someone to process them. That’s how publishing contracts and movie deals work - they are a fucking racket.  3. HP isn’t just something some people can throw away.

Like I said above, I sorta grew out of my HP phase, long before any of the issue of JK being a TERF ever came up. And I know that a lot of people who considered themselves fans have also willingly distanced themselves from the franchise in light of her shitty views and actions. But not everyone has that ability. To give you a different example: I grew up reading the Dune books. I finished the core series for the first time when I was 8, and have re-read the entire extended series more than a dozen times since then. It’s more than just my favorite book series, it’s a formative part of who I am as a person. So much of my beliefs and identity as a person have been informed or inspired by those books that I would argue it is impossible to truly understand myself without them. Hell - I’d argue the entire reason I started explore my gender and sexuality in the first place is because of the emphasis those books placed on the “Quisach Haderach” as the perfect fusion of male and female. Even if I were to verbally disavow the series for some reason, those books still define who I am today, and It would be physically impossible for me to separate myself from them Harry Potter is the same way for a lot of people. I think some of us loose sight of just how meaningful those books are to a generation. Not all of us - even within that generation - had the same connection, but for a lot of people who grew up reading them from the time they could turn a page, those books are just as formative and intrinsic to who they are as Dune is to me. they couldn’t separate themselves, even if they wanted to. And pissing all over someone for something they can’t change about themselves is exactly the sort of thing we are supposed to be fighting against! Same can be said of the bible, the Torah, the Quran or any other work that was meaningful and formative to a persons cultural upbringing. Even within the trans community, there are countless Christians, Jews, and Islamic followers. They make the faith their own, because it is an intrinsic and immutable part of who they are. If you are going to condemn Trans or Allies who can’t separate themselves form HP, then you are also condemning any Ally or Transperson who still practices or believes in some form of the religion the grew up with.  4. If we can reclaim slurs, we can reclaim this! I see so many of the same people who rail against HP, also writing or relogging posts about how important it is to reclaim slurs and other labels that have been historically used against us, and I agree. But that shit goes a lot further than just the names we have been called. Reclaiming something from those who would hurt you with it is like picking up the rock that was thrown at you, and saying “neat, this is mine now, you cant have it back”, as opposed to just kicking it back to the abuser so they can hurl it at you again. JK is a terrible person. which is all the more reason that we have a responsibility to take this beloved franchise away from her. She doesn’t deserve it, and as long as it remains in her power, she can continue to use it as a platform to hurt people. And this isn’t without precedent: Look at Butch Hartman, or Joss Wheaton, or Notch, or Gary Gygax. We have a history and a present filled with examples of taking beloved content away from shitty people a deciding “this is ours now, you can’t have it back.” We take those things that were or are important to us, and reframe them, re-write them, or reimagine them into something positive and supportive.  As an author myself, I know quite well how painful it can be to see your work taken away from you, and transformed by people who don’t share your vision. So lets hurt JK where it counts! Not in the wallet, not by railing against her on social media, but by taking away the one meaningful thing she has ever created in her miserable life. Because she doesn’t fucking deserve it.

[winterdeepelegy]

Prompt #8 - Shed

Driven by curiosity and tired of Sheol's nagging, Glace eventually went in search of the two Caern described by the chimera. He was guided not by exact maps or coordinates but by fleeting glimpses in some of the fever dreams bestowed upon him, and these led info the depths of the flagship in Azys Lla. He hated this place. He hated the memories which weren't his own and he hated what happened to some of his siblings here thanks to Garlemald. There was nothing good to find here, but if nothing else, there were still things which could be useful such as the myriad chimerae that still slept in their suspension chambers even after many others had broken out a long time ago. It was no surprise that the place smelled foul. It reeked of old death and ozone from perpetually running machines, and the corpses of both creatures and invaders who had made the mistake of breaking in in search of treasure. Though few and far between, there were still man-made monsters alive in here and they were hungry due to infrequent meals. Aside from spare fragments of imagery, Glace had no idea where to even begin. He came across recent leavings now and then but he wasn't about to invest his dignity on trying to determine what sort of chimera left it behind. It took several bells worth of searching to start finding clues in the form of scraps of scaled hide on the floor, still wet with blood. This was a smell where he could identify the beast it came from and its owner hadn't gone far judging by the intense, chaotic sound of metallic scraping just down the hall. Slow, soundless footfalls carried him closer and, there, in the next chamber was a large stag-like silhouette of a Caern rubbing its antlers against a support beam with all the deliberate urgency of one scratching an itch that never ceased. With every rub, more scraps of hide dislodged and rained to the floor while still more dangled from its brutal, sharpened rack like the remnants of a murder. And although Glace made no sound, the beast still stopped and turned to stare at him. Through him. Into his very core. "Command?" Its voice rolled through the chamber and off the metal walls like approaching thunder, and it lifted its head to take in the scent of the Elezen standing there. "We are Command," Glace answered with confidence in his voice even if he didn't feel it. "Sheol is with me." The third eye in the middle of the creature's forehead widened. "Sheol is carrion." Its maw opened to reveal jaws lined with sharp teeth, "Return Command to us." The lower jaw cracked and split apart again into a something resembling mandibles, allowing it to open in a way that the beast might have been able to devour Glace whole if he couldn't stop it. "Give us Command." Better do something quick, Sheol prodded at the back of Glace's mind. Remember, we are Command. So command him to do something. "Like what?" The question was a harsh whisper, almost as though Sheol were standing in the same room with him. Anything. I can't tell him, all I can do is issue a confirmation signal. "Great... uhm... play dead?" With intention... "Play dead!" The chimera tossed its head back with a roar and crumbled to the ground in dramatic fashion, its antlers sweeping from one side to the other to try and skewer any other living being nearby in a last ditch effort to drag them into Hell with it. A moment later it lay silent with its eyes rolled back in its head, mouth agape and tongue lolling onto the floor. Even its breathing had stopped. "Well shite," Glace breathed. "Alright, you clown, get up. The floor's no place for monsters like us." He hadn't even finished speaking when the Caern started moving again, clamoring back to its feet with its head held low in deference. "Command has returned to us. We are pleased."

[sp00kworm]

Claw Tracks

Pairing: Berold (Werebear/Bear Shifter) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Violence, Bodyhorror. 

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“Disgusting vermin!”

“Thief!”

“Scoundrel!”

The words had hurt but the rocks hurt more as they were hurled at the back of your head. One had caught you at the base of your skull and you could still feel the burning pain down into your neck as you shivered in the snow. The storm was in full swing now, and the icy wind burned your face and fingertips as you waded through the snow drifts along the side of the mountain. It hurt. You felt your arms starting to go numb and you hadn’t been able to feel your feet or hands for a long time. The cloak wrapped around you was tattered and worn. It had been years since you had had a new one, and this one was thread bare. It was the only thing you could grab before the townspeople had driven you out with pitchforks and fire. Your home was still smouldering in the distance. They’d called you a witch. A witch for what, you had asked, before they set the torches to your cabin. Nothing.

“Damn that stupid baker’s boy.” You cursed through chattering teeth as spots began to swim in your vision.

 The cold was blistering. You stopped again to try and tug your cloak tighter, cursing the wind, ice, snow and cold, and especially the Baker’s son. You had refused him one too many times. Proposal after proposal turned down. Now you were a witch to the entire town. The bell tolled below, signalling mass. It seemed ironic that they burned your home and almost killed you but were heading to mass like it was any other day. Suddenly, cursing anymore was exhausting, and you felt your legs finally go numb, the cold and trudging through the snow taking its toll. Suddenly your legs jittered, shaking violently before they sent you face first into the snow drift. The cold ached. You felt the burning in your joints and bones, deep into your core as you struggled with your hands deep in the snow drift. Your fingers wiggled in the snow but made no headway in getting you back upright. Snow pounded against your eyes, crystalising in your eyelashes as it melted and froze once again with the freezing wind. Agony. You were in agony. A sob wretched from your throat as the pain overwhelmed you and breathing became hard around your sobs and shivering.

 “I’m… going to die here…” You sobbed brokenly as the snow started to cover your thighs, burying you in the snow drift slowly. Black was seeping into the corners of your vision again and the cold was slowly becoming a numb sensation against your face. That was, until, a snort and a guttural growl rumbled over the drift. It was winter. Animals were hibernating. The only thing that should be alive and moving on the mountain was the reindeer that lived along a long, icy migration route. You wobbled as you clawed at the snow, peering over the ridge with a strained cry of burning pain through your body. A bear. A great, black cave bear stood in the drift in front of you, its nose lowered to your face, sniffing and huffing at your hair. The hot breath blew over your face before the wet end of its nose was pressed firmly into your hair. Dangerous teeth snapped in front of your face as the bear pulled away, strings of spit dripping from its jowls. It drew back enough for you to see its black eyes blown wide, staring at you through the left one. The other eye was cloudy, white and scarred. The bear grumbled again, watching you with one giant eye as you reached towards its muzzle. Your freezing cold fingers brushed the gnarled fur around its mouth, dipping into the thick, heavier fur around the bear’s ears.

 You collapsed into the snow. The burning cold met your face as you keeled over into the deep snow drift. Heavy breaths snuffled over your neck as blackness overtook you. A rumble sounded from the bear.

“Don’t…eat…me.”

 Warmth. There was something warm against your body. You felt a heavy weight over your back, stomach and legs. That was warm too. It was very warm. Cozy almost. Suddenly, drifting back to sleep seemed like the best idea.

“Best not to go back to sleep.” Someone rumbled from next to you, “You’ve taken two days to come ‘round as it is. I suggest you open your eyes.” It was harsh, a deep voice that carried an immediate pang of authority.

Sleepily, you dared to open your eyes and were met with a goliath of a man. His eyes were so dark they were almost black, but one was clouded with blindness, and his hair matched that, but was ladened with grey, like a salt and pepper waterfall down his back. The hair almost blended into the beard on his face and the hair over his chest and down his stomach. He snorted and blew hair from his eyes as he loomed over you, bare chested and only clothed in a thin pair of linen bottoms.

“Aren’t you cold…” You shivered, mumbling the words as your fingers finally came back to life beneath the thick, stitched fur quilt. Inside you were tucked in with several layers of blankets.

The man snorted before leaning over you to place another log onto the roaring flames. The fire was quick to start consuming the wood and you realised then that’s why you were so warm.

 “I’m not cold.” He grunted at you, “I have thick…” He looked at himself and then shrugged, “I don’t feel it like others.”

With a sleepy blink you looked from the flames to the man’s hardened face. He was older than you initially thought, but age did not make him any less large and well built, aside from the fat around his tummy, over the heavy set muscles of his form. He was infinitely tall, towering over you, standing at well over six and a half feet. A giant.

“You’re…a giant.” You cooed from the floor, eyelids drooping with tiredness.

“Something like that.” He tutted at your drooping eyelids, “Now. Eat. Drink. Then you can sleep.”

A cup was thrust at you before the man helped you sit up, his arm lifting you before he cupped your head and poured small sips of water into your mouth. You swallowed slowly, before realising how parched you were and drinking greater gulps.

“Slowly. You’ll be sick.” The man complained before he pulled the water away and started to feed you bits of gravy stewed meat. It was thick but delicious. Between your chewing he ate pieces of bread and stew before offering you more. Eventually you both cleaned out a bowl, and he went for seconds, slurping the mixture down before moving onto a great bunch of red, ripe winter berries, pushing the popping fruit between his lips by the handful.

 Tiredness set into your bones and you looked at the man as he shovelled another mouthful of berries into his mouth and chewed slowly.

“What are you starting at, human?” He grunted.

“What happened to that bear?” You asked quietly as you closed your eyes.

The man was quiet for a few moments before he answered, “We are one in the same.” He fluffed the pillow gently before sitting you up, “Come. You need to relieve yourself or you’ll get another kind of issue.” He eased you to your feet and helped you to relieve yourself before quietly tucking you back into the heated furs, “Now sleep. I will wake you again.” He promised as he settled himself in a wooden rocking chair next to you. You fell asleep just as he finished his sentence.

 Warmth woke you up again but this time you felt much more coherent. Drowsily you looked at the fire, still roaring in the hearth, and wondered what time it was as you pushed the blanket away from your legs and felt the urge to relieve yourself burn in your gut. With a huff you dared to stand on your own, wobbling back and forth before collapsing back into the furs with a grunt. The furs rumbled. With a gasp you squeezed the fur underneath your hands and were met with the thick, hot fat of a giant sleeping bear, curled around your mattress and blankets on the floor. It grumbled a deep, threatening growl before opening one black eye. Your hands were pushed against a thick, puckered scar in its fur and you recoiled with a soft gasp as it opened its mouth to yawn, revealing sharp teeth. The front right canine was cracked. With a fumble, you tried to crawl away over the furs. A giant paw slapped on top of your back, pinning you in place before the bear dragged you back towards its face. Its blind eye made you quiver but the nose that pressed to you made you squirm. It snuffled before tucking you under its arm and laying its giant head back down with a grunt before it dragged your furs closer again.

 “Hey, hey…No. I need to pee.” You groaned under the weight of the bear’s paw, trapped in the warm, thick fur.

The bear snorted before releasing you and bedding itself back against the floor, laid on its side. It ignored you as you stood up and took a deep, long breath as it drifted back off to sleep.

“One in the same huh…” You whispered as the bear slept soundly by your bed, its head rested on one of your pillows. You made a quick exit towards the back of the cabin and thieved Berold’s boots and giant fur coat before you headed to the small shed to relieve yourself. Your legs shook as you got back into the warmth, locking the door with a clunk as you headed back towards the nest in front of the fire. The bear was still asleep and you looked at the fur and then the scar over the eye.

“Berold the bear shifter, huh.” You looked at the bear as you warmed your face and hands by the fire, throwing another log into the flames to keep it alight, “Hibernating are you.”

The bear opened his good eye before growling lowly.

“Listening too.” You hummed, tucking yourself in with a fur before you looked back at the animal you assumed to be your saviour, “Thank you, then. For everything. I wouldn’t be alive otherwise.”

The bear eyed you before loping to its feet and shouldering its way into the other room.

 The sound of bones cracking and a man screaming sounded, and you rushed to your feet to see the last moment as Berold’s face cracked and snapped back into place, from muzzle to flat and human. You gasped as he heaved on the floor, catching his breath before he dared to stand up on his legs, wobbling back and forth before he looked at you through his one good eye and gestured to himself.

“The coat.” He grunted.

With a rush of embarrassment, you grabbed the fur coat and threw it to him before turning around. Berold covered himself quickly before tapping you when he was decent.

“You don’t have to thank me.” He said simply before he walked past you.

“Wait a minute!” You rushed after him, still shaking and weak from the brush with death, “Of course I do! You saved my life and…”

Berold held a finger to your lips, “Save your breath. Eat well, rest, and I will help you back to the village.”

 The village. You’d almost forgotten about the villagers. You eased your hand up the back of your neck and touched the place you had been struck by a rock. It was a lump now, the skin raised and inflamed. You felt your head spin as you drew your hand away to see blood. Berold rushed to catch you as you fell forwards towards the floor.

“I did not know you were injured.” He grumbled as his fingers raised your hair and peered at the wound, which was dripping fresh blood, down the back of your neck, “Sit.” He directed you down to the armchair he was sat in before and left you to go and collect some things. Your eyes rolled with pain as you leaned back, trying to stop the ceiling from spinning. Berold’s hot fingers returned to your face and his old, grizzled looking face appeared in front of you. He said something, but the words rang in your deaf ears as white noise echoed in your eardrums. The bear-shifter shook his head and eased your head forwards, cupped in his palm as he plucked at the wound and tutted. What followed next, you couldn’t remember. All you could remember was Berold’s warm fingers as they cleaned and applied things to your head.

 You woke up again wrapped in furs, your head rested on several pillows and wrapped in gauze. You groaned and opened your eyes to see an elf leaned over you. The elf was dark haired with skin of a purple tone, his red eyes covered by a pair of thick lensed glasses. He hummed before whispering something to Berold and then another person appeared. A fae of some kind with soft feathered wings of pure white and a beak to match. She ruffled her feathers before laying out a long looking mushroom and snapping her fingers. The mushroom wiggled before arms and legs popped from its stem.

“Come on, little one, we need that fruit.” She cooed softly with a trill.

The elf was quick to notice your eyes were open and hushed her with a finger to his lips, “You’re awake. Welcome back, but be still, human. We are not finished.” He pressed your head back and held you still as the little mushroom yawned and sat itself into a plant pot full of soil.

“Come, come, ‘ock you’re a lazy one.” The fae complained as she ushered the fungus along and touched her fingers to the pot from behind her great snowy wings. She was covered in soft downy feathers and you were entranced before looking at the elf too, his red eyes judgemental of the mushroom.

 “Berold. Please hold them.” The elf asked.

Berold moved to your side, gruff and huffy as he held your head back and watched the elf move to tease the fruit from the little mushroom’s head, “Thought you could handle this one, Slidrah?” He grumbled.

“Sometimes even the most unassuming patients are the unruliest.” Slidrah complained as the mushroom sneezed out a sporous fruit. He plucked it carefully before placing the fruit into the mortar and beginning to grind it into the paste.

“Slidrah can ye be nice for just once?” The fae trilled.

“Oh of course, Morganna, I will be the kindest elf to the rudest bear I know.” Slidrah complained as he mixed the paste and placed it over a thick padded bandage.

“You wouldn’t make it through the winter without me.” Berold growled as he touched your forehead and stroked your skin softly.

“Sure, Berold.” Slidrah rolled his eyes before he took the bandage and eased your head up. He placed it against the wound before Morganna pulled out a feather from her wing and gently laid it over your stomach as the paste stung against your wound.

“Gently now, dearie.” Morganna cooed at Slidrah before he whispered a word you had never heard before. Your eyes drooped suddenly as your fingers clutched at the feather, stroking the softness between two fingers before you gasped and reached for Berold’s hand. He put a finger to his lips, appearing as double and then triple as your eyes rolled and closed.

 “I know you’re awake.” Berold said as he eased your head up and carefully removed the bandages from around the back of your head, “Sit still.” He carefully peeled away the bandage before he took the paste and compress away, revealing a green mix with a very pungent smell.

“What happened?” You asked quietly, your throat dry and sore from being asleep.

Berold took a new compress to your head, the cloth smeared with a familiar looking paste, “Morganna put you to sleep to help you recover. The compress has helped. The wound is closed.” He eased your head back after he tied the bandage tight enough to hold the cloth and paste to your head, “You were lucky. Skilled healers are the only people who could have helped you. Had I been alone here, you would have died from the trauma.”

You were still tired but the weight of his words sat heavy in your stomach, “Thank you, then…For saving my life again.”

Berold snorted, “Slidrah and Morganna saved your life this time. They left this morning, but they will be back within the week no doubt, you can thank them then.” He stopped you from sitting up with a giant, warm hand pressed to your stomach. Even with one, blind cloudy eye, he still appeared viciously angry, “Stay still. Too much movement could open the wound again. Bed rest. Until Slidrah and Morganna come back.” He insisted with a growl before standing and heading out of the room.

 You gazed around quietly before reaching for the water next to the bed. After a few careful sips, you tugged at the furs and ran your fingers through the thick beaver hair and the pelt of a shaggy goat, which lived up on the cracks in the mountain. They were incredibly warm and you eased back, thankful for the heat of the small bedroom. The cabins’ rooms were made of solid, heavy timber, smelling of fragrant pine, and the small window was covered in glass, something only a rich man could afford, even if it was tiny. You looked at the chimney breast and again wondered how on earth Berold lived in such luxury. Your head swam with even the effort of turning it to peer around at the little room and you closed your eyes as your gut lurched and bile rose in your mouth.

Berold returned with a small bowl in his hands, his black eyes softening as he watched you retch against the furs, “Did I not tell you to stay still?” He said scathingly before he placed the food aside and eased you back against a great pile of overstuffed pillows.

The sweet smell of honey and oats made you wish you didn’t feel so sick, “What did they do to my head.” You complained before Berold pulled your fingers away from your head.

 “They healed it…With magic we don’t mention to anyone. What they did could get us all killed.” Berold seemed unconcerned despite the severity of what he was saying, “The villagers don’t come here. I want to keep it that way.” He brushed the greying streaks of hair from his face before he took hold of the bowl again.

“That smells like what Mrs Freist used to make us.” You murmured at the bear-shifter, “She had beehives.”

Berold held a spoonful of the mixture to your lips, “Its honeyed oat porridge. Eat. It will help you regain your strength.” He pressed the wooden spoon insistently to your lips and you opened your mouth to take the food inside, smiling like a child at the tooth rotting taste of too much honey.

“Have you eaten?” You asked quietly after a few mouthfuls.

Berold nodded, “Honey is a favourite of mine.” He confessed as he fed you another spoonful.

“Like a real bear.” You squeezed at the furs with a small laugh, “Its delicious.”

Dark eyes flashed with softness once again and you settled back against the cushions as Berold continued to feed you the bowl of food.

 It continued in a pattern. Twice a day Berold would sit and feed you and around midday he would come to check on you and offer you a meal you often never wanted. Slowly, your strength returned, and Berold trusted you to relieve yourself without falling over and dress yourself so long as you didn’t move too quickly. It was a month before you could walk around and do things without your head spinning, and the snow never seemed to stop for longer than a few days. The mountainside thawed a little and Berold disappeared to gather food and wood before the snow started again and you were trapped once more. A month of snow and ice then lead to a calm week of thawing. Berold was at the windows, his nose raised as he tasted at the air, and opened the door to let the chilly breeze into the cabin. You looked at the massive man from the kitchen as you dried a large pan and placed it away in his rickety cupboards. You had both eaten a thick and heavy stew from the night before for breakfast but Berold had seemed very uninterested in the food in favour of looking out of the window longingly.

 “It smells like spring.” He grumbled as he looked around outside at the slightly thawed snow, “Like…fresh grass.”

“I think the cabin fever has finally gotten to you old man.” You joked from the kitchen, “Maybe in the valleys, it tends to be thawed now with some grass, but the winter isn’t over just yet.” You placed away a spoon on the rack and turned back to see Berold’s good eye turned to watch you. His milky eye twitched at the ghosts of the shapes outside but he grinned, exposing white, sharp teeth at you.

“Old man?” He asked with a huffy chortle, “If I’m old then you’re a cub.”

“A cub?” You asked, “I’m old enough to have at least three little parasites to my name.” You gave a dry snort, “But that didn’t happen, thank the gods.”

“They make children have more children now?” Berold raised a dark eyebrow as he closed the door and headed towards the fire to look at the log pile along the side of the wall.

“Its worse elsewhere.” You insisted, “But thankfully no one wants the orphan with no dowery.”

“Dowery…You mean the money a father gives for a man to marry his child? I thought that practice ancient?” Berold looked at you in confusion again.

 “Just how long have you been up here?” You asked, not believing what you were hearing, “Did a snowball hit you too hard in the head?” You joked as you placed away the last of the bowls.

Berold chewed on his words for a minute, “I slept…for a long time.” He confessed, “We are akin to dragons, but my hibernation took some years from me after the arenas. I was taken as a young teenager and forced to fight in the pits, tearing little knights to pieces for the entertainment of some elven king. A foul-smelling fucker. He gave me this.” He dragged a black nail over his eye, “I took his arm off for the trouble.” He snarled and pointed to the bone laid on the mantle, “But I slept after that up in this mountain from being…” He shrugged, “I was old, but I was not grey.” He confessed, “But we live for a long time…”

 “Humans who wore bear skins were once Gods.” You whispered.

Berold’s teeth were exposed in another snarling smile, “We were once Gods of wisdom.” He tapped the wall with his nails, “But now we are dead and gone.”

“There are tales of shifters to the north, beyond here, why don’t you go there?” You asked.

“I have no need of a tribe, just as they had no need of me when they left me to die.” He shrugged and pulled his hair from his face, “Not one of them came to my aid when I screamed in the woodlands, impaled on spears and dragged to serve as a toy for a king of pointed eared fuckers. So, I will not go to them. They can rot in their woods with the nymphs.” Berold dismissed the questions with an annoyed flap of his hand.

“Where are you going?” You asked as he dragged his coat from the wall and pulled his boots on his feet.

“To bathe and ensure no one has decided this is now their territory.” Berold grunted as he opened the door again.

“There’s somewhere to bathe?” You asked with glee, “Can I…”

“You will freeze. It is a freezing lake beneath a waterfall.” He snapped at you before he closed the door, abruptly ending the conversation between the two of you. You felt anger churn in your gut but you rushed to grab one of his coats and some boots before tying everything closed and rushing after the shifter’s tracks in the snow.

 The tracks lead up the mountain, through the thawing slush, before turning into those of the giant bear who’s claws dragged along in the snow as he lumbered along. You cursed the giant bear-shifter as you followed him up the mountain side and then towards the crags where the path dipped down into an odd-looking alcove. You followed the path down into the hidden side of the mountain face until you heard the crashing of water. A great pool of water was hidden in the alcove, with a small waterfall crashing over the top of the cliff faces into the water below which led into another small waterfall and so on down the side of the mountain. It was surrounded with wildlife and greenery which could not survive on the mountainside against the wind, rain and cold, but could in the sheltered alcove. Berold’s coat and clothes sat in a bundle under the shrubbery closest to you, hidden from the elements and animals.

 You got to the base of the path and watched as Berold’s giant head exploded from under the water. The black bear shook his head and peered around, nose stuck in the air, and you made sure to duck low near his bundles of clothes, the coat and furs hopefully serving to disguise your scent on the wind. The bear huffed and growled before it swam to the edge of the pool and shook out its mass of shaggy fur before making its way to the tree, littered with claw marks and great gouges, before he began to rub his face and body over the bark, scratching and marking the area before the bear growled and fur began to disappear from its back. You watched as the bear howled, its head thrown up as the fur disappeared to reveal dark skin, which slowly melted into the scarred, pale skin of Berold. The muzzle snapped and flattened back towards the dark eyes, one cloudy and blind, and the other closed in agony as Berold began to take shape, his bones snapping and cracking back to reveal a tall, burly man, old and greying in many places. His chest was covered in a thick line of fur and his face was now beginning to grow a beard which was far too thick. He needed a clip, but the winter had left the both of you stuck inside, sleeping and eating most days. Berold seemed much more alert now as he sniffed the air again, naked, his muscles twitching with the cold, before he dove back into the water. He resurfaced a minute later with a snort of water and a grumble as he reached around the bank for his clothes.

 His hand wrapped around your boot, and before you could even yelp, you were dragged from under the bushes, leaves and rotten twigs catching in your hair and coat before you came face to face with Berold’s face. His salt and pepper hair hung around his shoulders but stuck to his face as he snarled at you with sharp, long canines. Water streaked over the muscles of his neck and shoulders as he dragged himself over the edge of the pool, leaning out to keep his weight on you, and to keep you pinned in place.

“I told you not to come with me.” He growled as he pulled the hair from his face with his other hand, “What part of you would freeze did you not understand?”

You yelped as his wet hand slapped over your thigh, holding you in place in the mud, “I want to get clean as well and…well I wanted to see where you were going…” You confessed in a rush as the werebear snorted over you, his nose twitching as he scented you and then the air again.

“Fine then. Strip off.” Berold grunted.

 You felt yourself go hot with embarrassment, “What do you mean strip?” You snarked at him, “Are you some kind of pervert?” You looked away from him as he stood in the pool, the waterline barely hiding his genitals from sight.

“You’re going to freeze either way, but at least your clothes will be dry if you strip them off.” Berold grumbled at you.

For a moment you considered throwing your clothes at him out of spite but with a huff you turned to strip away the coat, “Turn around…” You asked. With a small sigh, Berold turned and the water sloshed around his hips, “Thank you.” He only grunted in response. You carefully removed your clothes and folded the cloth and wool in a neat pile beside Berold’s under the bush.

“Its best if you just jump in.” Berold joked from the water, though his tone was as gruff and mean as usual.

“I don’t think I dare.” You confessed at the edge of the water, shivering before Berold whipped around, grabbing you by the thighs before he launched you up and into the water with a giant splash.

 Water blurred your vision until you broke the surface, coughing and splurting, gasping until you realised you could stand in the waist high water quite easily. Berold laughed, long and raspy as he leaned back and splashed back into the water. It was then you realised the water wasn’t cold. It was pleasantly warm. The shock on your face made Berold heave a great laugh again from where he was floating around the pool, his hair cascading out from him in waves.

“It’s heated by lava I think.” Berold hummed as he floated towards you, his eyes closed, the scars on his face not turned with upset for once but bent upwards with the smile on his lips.

“So why did you lie about it being cold?” You asked as you ducked to cover your body in water.

Berold opened one dark eye and shrugged, tipping himself into the water before turning to look at you, hidden against the edge, “Sometimes I don’t want you following me everywhere I go.” He offered gruffly, “You’re barely recovered to add to that. I didn’t want to have to carry you back home.” He confessed softly as he pushed water over his arms and pointed to the bank, “There’s soap in my coat. I will let you go first, then you can be out of my way.”

 “Sure…” You huffed as you took the soap from the furs and quickly set to work scrubbing your skin as good as you could manage. Once you had lathered up and washed yourself, you dunked your body low and turned to be met with one gleaming dark eye and one blind one, watching you, apparently that whole time.

“Pervert.” You hissed at the Werebear as you threw the soap at him.

Berold snatched the soap from the air, “Think what you want.” He growled as he turned to rub the soap against his shoulders, “Dress. I’ll lead us home.”

You pulled yourself from the small pool and wiped as much water as you could from your skin, grateful for the warm, dry clothes as you pulled them over your chilly skin. Turned away, you looked up the face of the mountain at the snow which was dripping water over the rocks. Berold sloshed in the water as he soaped his skin, and you listened to him move in the water, beating down the urge to turn around and see what the giant werebear looked like. There was a rush of snow from the side of the mountain which made you smile. It was followed by a bleating mountain goat which peered over the side with dark eyes, its shaggy white fur flopping over its eyes once again as it turned and carried on up the mountain, ignoring the two of you in the pool.

 Berold caught your arm a moment later, dressed and still burning hot despite the coolness of the air. He peered upwards, his eyes following the mountain goat with a sniff, “They make for good eating.”

“I’m sure we don’t need anymore food just yet.” You replied as you smiled and watched the goat go.

Berold’s gaze turned to your face, “You don’t smile like that often. It suits you.” He complimented gruffly.

“What do you mean?” You asked as he started back up the path towards his home, expecting you to follow him.

He waited for you to catch up before offering an arm for you to take as you clambered over roots and boulders, “Ever since you woke up you had this far away look on your face, like you were looking for something and just could never find it.” Carefully, he lifted you over a particularly large boulder and followed with a grunt, “You looked sad, until recently.”

You considered his words, remembering spending the first days recovering after Slidrah’s treatment staring longingly out of the small window as the snow battered up the mountainside, “I…” The words seemed to stick in your throat, “I lost the place I called my home and the people who were once the only family I ever had in a single day.” You replied, “All because the stupid baker’s boy couldn’t take a hint.” You picked up a stone on the path and threw it back into the pool, the anger fading with the splash of the water as the stone hit its surface.

 Berold watched the stone soar silently before he opened his mouth, “Then they weren’t your real family, were they?” He scoffed, “If a baker’s boy could call you a witch and Satan’s whore then they were hardly ever your family.”

You felt anger burn in your throat, “They were once. You don’t have to word it in a way that makes it seem like no one ever cared!”

Berold laughed at you as you snatched your arm from his, “The truth hurts, little cub, better get used to that before someone really hurts you.”

“I refuse to turn into a bitter, cruel man like you. Not everyone is out to hurt you!” You refused to let him see you cry as you stormed up the snowy banking, “And not everyone wants to become an emotionally stunted recluse like you either!”

The werebear grabbed you by the arm before you could carry on with your tantrum, “As much as your words hurt me.” He rolled his eyes, “I refuse to let you storm off, get lost and develop hypothermia, again.”

“Bite me.” You grumbled before Berold snarled and grappled you easily, hauling you over his shoulder as you struggled, pinning you in place before he started back to his cabin.

“You can have your childish, ignorant tantrum back where you won’t die.”

 You didn’t see Berold for a few days after the argument. He left you in the cabin and went out to collect wood and forage while the weather was good, and he could avoid being stranded in the snow. The tension was made somehow worse by his temper and you spent all the time you could avoiding him, reading the same books over and over in your room before collecting a meal and disappearing back into your room once more. You opened the tale of the origin of Solgren once more that day and huffed at the first page and its ancient map of the region. It was a hot country, far to the south, where it is said a race of snake creatures and lizardfolk are worshipped as deities and gods. You heard a merchant once talk about a Naga of fertility that birthed a thousand snakes into a ravine to produce a venomous pit into which no one could enter.

 A heavy knock sounded on your door.

“Yes?” You asked with less of the usual venom, “What is it, Berold?”

The werebear opened the door and looked at you, his good eye roving over you tucked in the furs reading. You had even snuck into his honey stash again out of the top of the cupboard, “I see I need to find somewhere new to hide the honey.” He offered lamely as he entered, “I have come to apologise.” He stated, watching your eyes widen, “I was cruel and brash. I did not intend to upset you, but I did not think… But I am sorry.”

You met his intense gaze and nodded, “Apology accepted, and…I’m sorry too.” You closed your book, “I was foul as well. I know you’ve been through a lot, just like me, and I don’t have the right to take that out on you.”

 Berold seemed satisfied by that statement, “It seems we both need to learn how to not upset one another…” He tugged over a stool and sat by the edge of your bed, “And I need to learn that opening up to people is not the end of the world.” With a gruff noise he reached and pulled his loose cotton shirt over his head, revealing the thick, puckered scars from over his shoulders. He twisted on the stool and you were graced with the full extent of the injuries. His back was covered in long, thick scars, pale and tough from where they had healed, now filled with collagen toughened tissue.

“Is this what they did to you?” You asked.

“When I did not perform, they used steel tipped whips. I could only ever endure about five, but it was five every time I couldn’t stand for almost thirty years of my life.” He offered, “A woman would come and cover them with a mint paste when she could. She was in charge of the animals… They still hurt.” He reached to touch the ones on his shoulders before flinching as his tough fingers met your own, “They are an ugly reminder of that place, but an even better reminder of what I did to all of them.”

 Burning fire flashed behind your eyes, a memory of your own tragedy, “Did you kill them all?” You asked quietly as you traced a thick scar down the centre of his spine.

Berold’s burning, black gaze turned to look at you, holding your gaze he nodded, “Every last one of them.” He curled his fist as his other hand took hold of your own, “It felt good, when I pulled that fucker’s arm off, but…It was hollow after that. I left him bleeding on his throne and made for the mountains. Walked for…I don’t know. Its hazy, the memories of my other side. I ate fish for days and slept in a cave before waking up with grey in my hair. Revenge made me old.” He finished with a sour joke as he turned back to face you head on and pulled his shirt back on over his head.

“I’m sorry people did that to you.” You wanted to cry but you tried to smile, “It seems we both have a little tragedy, huh?”

“It seems so.” Berold hummed before he offered you his hand, “But…There’s no reason we can’t build something a bit better.” He squeezed your hand gently.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” You joked.

He tugged your hand closer to his fangs, “Hardly…But some company up here wouldn’t go amiss.”

“Then I accept your proposal.” You squeezed his hand before offering him a look at the book cover, “Have you read this one?” You asked.

Berold shook his head of shaggy hair, “No. Read it to me?” He asked quietly, “I’ll make more honey tea.”

 Reading slowly became a routine. After dinner, the two of you would sit by the fire, and you would open a book to read to the werebear. Often, he ended up with his head in your lap and your hand in his hair, snoozing in the heat as you quietly read the story. It had started with him, shifted, curled on the floor by the fire, but as the days went on, Berold seemed to grow more comfortable and laid out his form over the cushions and furs and yourself. It was nice. His heat was soothing and his frame wrapped snuggly around your own. When he did finally drift off, you read for a while longer before easing his head onto a pillow and slipping away to bed. He never said anything the next day. This night was much the same, and you propped the book up in front of you as you stroked through his grey and black hair, winding the strands together aimlessly as you read the tale or Narbren and Senoot, two fae of the oaks who had once saved the fae realm. He was uninvested, but happily closed his eyes as you stroked through his hair.

“Senoot took the flames of the world tree in hand and cried, her tears dripping into the wood ashes with despair as she watched the leaves and bark burn before her eyes. Narben thrust his sword at the spirits, his own tears of fury soaking the ground. Together they mourned the tree in the burning fire…” You paused as there came a knock on the door, removing your fingers from Berold’s hair, “At this hour?” You asked breathily before Berold’s eyes turned angry. He pulled himself from the cushions and stood, his shoulders squared as he turned the lock with a clunk and opened the wood door inwards.

 The chilly breeze blew into the room and you tucked the furs around your legs as Berold filled the doorway, his giant, almost seven-foot-tall frame blocking much of his home from view. You peered around him to catch a glimpse of the guards stood at the door.

“Good evening, sir.” One guard tipped his helmet forwards, “I’m sorry to knock so late but we have a favour to ask of you.”

“Good evening…I’m not much in the way of favours.” Berold grunted, “I can’t spare you room to stay if that is what you are going to ask.”

“No, sir. We are after a witch.” The guard scowled before he pointed into the cabin, “We have a warrant to search every home until we find them.”

“How does that warrant affect me? This mountain is the border territory.” Berold snapped, “I will not have you come in here and ravage my home.”

“It is law. We will do it by force if necessary.” The guard threatened, “And we wish to speak with your…”

 Fear laced through you as Berold grunted, “That is my partner. We are to be married in the spring.” He grumbled at the guard, “Touch and I will rip you open.” But he moved to the side to allow the group inside. Their cloaks caught on the doorframe and you nodded to them as they entered the room, praying no one had given them a detailed description of your face.

The rest of the party moved into the house, leaving one with Berold and you, “You are to be married but why is your spouse with you?”

“They have no family.” Berold picked at his teeth with a dark nail, “Every winter we spend time here, but the weather has been too bad to return home.”

The guard gave a disbelieving look, “And visitors?” He asked.

“None. I trade with a few people over the mountain but as I said, the weather has been too bad.” Berold answered. You could see his temper wearing thin as the guards dropped something in the kitchen, but he stood by the door, as calmly as he could manage.

 “You.” The guard pointed to you, “Where are you from?” He asked.

You swallowed and smiled as best as you could, “The village Berold mentioned, sir, just over the mountain. I worked with a man named Slidrah, he’s the apothecary owner.”

“What’s the name of the place.” He pressed.

“Ignot.” You replied, praying you had heard Slidrah right on his last visit to the cabin. The guard eyed you for a moment more with his pinprick gaze before he seemed satisfied and moved back to questioning Berold about his comings and goings. You sat by the fire and pretended to read as they continued to look through the house and assess every nook and cranny of the building. Berold watched with furious eyes until they were ready to depart. The guards were curt with their depart and you watched them from the window, wrapped in a heavy blanket. Berold growled by the door, snorting and grumbling as he stretched and paced by the door.

 “Berold?” You asked as he reached for the door, his brows thickening and darkening as his sharp teeth protruded from out underneath his top lip.

“Stay inside.” He demanded, “They know. They’ll bring more.” He reached for the door handle and opened the wooden door again, letting the cold air in once again as he snarled and snorted, “No one comes in. You don’t let anyone in unless they knock four times.”

“Why four times?” You asked as you took hold of his shirt, “They’ll know if you kill them…”

“I’m doing this…This one thing to protect someone I care about, for once.” Berold confessed with another growl before he stormed out of the door, his face cracking with a shift, “Keep it locked until those knocks!” He shouted through his teeth and you slammed the door locked and removed the key with a deep breath as you listened to Berold stumble and howl in the snow, hobbling down the mountain on the tracks the guards had left behind.

 He didn’t return that night and you spent it huddled by the fire, sipping honey sweetened tea as you watched the fire and kept it hot, hoping Berold would return later.

 Four knocks woke you in the morning. They came slow and were lethargic, as though the person was exhausted.

“Its me.” Berold growled from outside, “Let me in.”

You rushed from the pillows and blankets in the chair and took the key to open the door. It swung open to reveal Berold, tired and drawn, but otherwise clean and uninjured.

“Are you okay?” You helped him inside and watched as he set himself down in the armchair, exhausted.

“I’m fine.” He grumbled, “But they’re not…I took them into the village and told them a bear attacked. The villagers seemed to buy it. They won’t be able to deliver their message.” He yawned against the furs before opening his eyes and tucking his hair behind his ears. He scrubbed at his beard before sighing, “I did it to protect you. I…” He took a long breath, “I think I have grown to love something but myself.” He uttered as his eyes slid closed a little, “You sit right here.” He pointed to his heart, “And I think I would…be sad if you were to leave me.” Berold reached for your face, tracing a gentle circle over your cheek before he smiled tiredly, “What this old bear is trying to say, is that I love you.”

 The words rang in your ears for a moment. Your face lit up with a smile.

“You’re a thick-headed idiot, you know that right?” You tucked a fur over his lap before Berold dragged you to him.

“Is that you saying you feel this way too?” He grumbled next to your neck as his hair tickled at your skin.

You pulled his head up and smiled before laying one kiss on his cheek, “Yes. I love you too.”

Berold dragged you closer and pressed your lips together, his teeth poking against your bottom lip as he turned his head and rubbed his hands along your sides. It was intense and you felt like you were drowning, smothered in the entirety of Berold for a moment before he pulled away and stroked at your neck and face, his face buried in your hair.

“Thank you.” He whispered.

“Don’t thank me.” You replied as you tucked his hair back, “But promise that’ll you’ll keep talking and letting me in.”

“I promise, dearest.” Berold whispered against your cheek as he dragged the furs over the two of you.

[maxwell-grant]

May I please ask what your preferred dynamic between Holmes & Lupin would be? (From what I can tell, the term 'frenemies' might have been invented for these two - if any two characters in fiction WOULD spend all their time trying to one-up each other it's these two, if only their diverse other commitments, challenges & interests left them the free time to do so: I'm also morally certain a sadly-hypothetical Holmes/Lupin team is one of the few things that could bring down Fantomas for Good).

I think "frenemies" is what ultimately works best for these two specifically, because there's a certain untouchability to icons as big as these two that limits the potential stories you can tell with them (although yes, definitely on board with the two having what it takes to bring down Fantomas, although probably not as cleanly and easily as they might expect).

The original Leblanc stories involving this premise are very much centered around one-upmanship, even embracing a theme of national rivalry of England vs France. They acknowledge Holmes's talents but without the awe, with a somewhat aged Holmes with mundane imperfections easily exploited by the daring young thief, someone deserving of his legend but who doesn't quite live up to it. Obviously Lupin's gotta have the upperhand, not just because it's his author writing it, but because the whole point of Lupin's creation was to be the new hotness, the counterpart to both the stuffy old Great Detectives as well as the aristocratic master burglars, and really, what kind of rising superstar would he be if he couldn't put one over the other guy? If he's gonna live up to his claim of being the greatest criminal ever, he's gotta be able to humble the greatest detective at least a little.

The treatment of Watson (Wilson) is tasteless and it's frankly a bit saddening to see that even back then writers were still shitting on Watson far too much, but on the whole I think Leblanc was a lot fairer to Holmes than he could have been (certainly other writers from this time period who added Holmes to their stories were not as fair), he makes it very clear Holmes is not just another Ganimard out of his depth and is very much as close to an equal Lupin's ever had. I think the description used to cap off their final meeting is very much on point:

"You see, monsieur, whatever we may do, we will never be on the same side. You are on one side of the fence; I am on the other. We can exchange greetings, shake hands, converse a moment, but the fence is always there.

You will remain Herlock Sholmes, detective, and I, Arsène Lupin, gentleman-burglar. And Herlock Sholmes will ever obey, more or less spontaneously, with more or less propriety, his instinct as a detective, which is to pursue the burglar and run him down, if possible.

And Arsène Lupin, in obedience to his burglarious instinct, will always be occupied in avoiding the reach of the detective, and making sport of the detective, if he can do it. And, this time, he can do it" - Arsene Lupin vs Herlock Sholmes

The consistent outcome is that Holmes "wins" the material battle while Lupin gets away with the spiritual or karmic victory. The first story, Holmes has Lupin figured out from a glance, robbing him of his greatest asset, and Lupin even tells Holmes under a guise that he has no greater admirer than himself. Holmes choses not to arrest Lupin, and instead solves the mystery as quickly as Lupin would. But he is also, well, inferior. His "commonplace appearence" dissappoints the guests and detectives at the crime scene, he doesn't resemble their expectations, he is gruff, ungracious, arrogant and all-business, an Englishman all the way, and Lupin one-ups him by returning to him his stolen watch, and Holmes is not a good sport about it.

The whole "Herlock Sholmes" name change, although it was out of legal obligation, almost reads like a cheeky courtesy of Leblanc, like he's giving Holmes enough of a courtesy in sparing him the embarassment of being the loser. And the following adventures stay consistent: Sholmes is smart, as smart as Lupin, and he's a gentleman. But he isn't as smart as he thinks he is, and he isn't as much of a gentleman as Lupin. He resorts to unsporting tactics like intimidating Lupin's lover and involving the police in their conflict, and in the end, he's solved the crime, but "sown the seeds of discord" in a family Lupin was protecting, becoming the villain for a change, a role reversion Lupin openly laughs at. Holmes wins the "loot", he wins the material battle, but Lupin has the last laugh, and despite being a self-proclaimed villain, Lupin gets the moral victory.

It's a quite unflattering view of Holmes and one perhaps not suited for a crossover outside of the specific context of Holmes being the old and stuffy intruder in an Arsene Lupin story. Then again, every great hero needs a lesson in humility every now and then.

There's a particularly interesting variant of this dynamic to be found within China's own takes on Sherlock Holmes and Arsene Lupin.

Sherlock Holmes was quite the breakout hit for Chinese audiences at the time of his release, revered as an alternative to Judge Bao and the court-case novels. It's estimated that from 1903 to 1909, detective fiction constituted over almost 50% percent of all Western translated fiction, and with Holmes followed others like Nick Carter and Charlie Chan, and then Arsene Lupin, and soon their own local versions. The most famous and popular of which was Huo Sang, created by Cheng Xiaoqing, who was one of the main translators for Conan Doyle's stories. Cheng Xiaoqing even wrote his own take on Sherlock Holmes vs Arsene Lupin called "The Diamond Necklace", intending on correcting Leblanc's take, although interestingly, he unintentionally recreates the exact outcome by giving Holmes an unsporting attitude, where he "wins" only because Lupin lets him, and Lupin gets away again with the moral high ground. He would fare off much better in correcting Holmes with his own character, Huo Sang.

Huo Sang has a lot of similarities to Holmes, even with his own Watson counterpart, but was also designed to represent a few more traditional Chinese values. He is a science teacher with no addictions who belittles the wealthy class and fights for the poor, and he is praised for humility, one story even making a point to criticize Holmes for arrogance. He is a very Westernized character, with suits and guns and cigarettes galore, but the books were very dictatic and the author marketed them as "disguised textbooks for science", playing up on a newfound social reverence to scientific methods and self-improvement and national rejuvenation.

The stories deal heavily with corruption of the police force and institutions. In the earlier stories he outright calls police detectives useless rice buckets only good for solving petty thefts and preying on those that can't defend themselves, and while they become less sinister in later stories, Huo Sang's relation with law enforcement is much more frayed than Holmes's own. He uses dirty police tactics of his own and sometimes takes the law into his own hands, thinking the law cannot possibly achieve justice on it's own. His biggest loyalty is to his country and he values his reputation above all else. He values justice more than the law, like Holmes. But like Holmes, he still prefers to work inside the law and within Chinese traditions.

"Bao Lang, you scholar, you're too idealistic. Don't you realize how weak the law is in modern society? Privilege and power, favors and money - the law has all these deadly enemies

"We investigate half to slake our thirst for knowledge, half out of duty to serve and uphold justice. In the realm of justice, we are never constrained by the wooden and unfeeling law. For in this society, which is gradually tending to surrender its core to material things, the spirit of the rule of law cannot be put into general practice, and the weak and ordinary people are aggrieved, more often than not unable to enjoy the protection of the law.

Lu Ping, as you'd expect from a counterpart to Lupin, was much different. In fact, right in his very first story, he was already pitted against Huo Sang and outsmarting him, in a story called "Wooden Puppet Play". The character is inspired by an already existing tradition within Chinese literature of the "chivalrous thief", shapeshifting masters of deception and martial arts, and considered admirable and benevolent opposite to the corrupt government officials they outwit.

His stories are more whimsical, energized, more varied, less dedicated to strict science. He whistles while committing crimes, is identifiable by a red tie and wooden puppets he uses to signal his goons on what outfit he's gonna be wearing, and even cracks asides to the reader. In many aspects Lu Ping is influenced by hard-boiled Western detective stories, and naturally, he has a much more contemptious view of the law than Huo Sang

Well then, was he willing, in his capacity as thief, to represent the sanctity of the law and catch the murderer? Yes, he would be quite happy to round up that murderer. But he wasn't at all willing to boost the reputation of the law. He'd always felt that the law was only something like an amulet that certain smart guys had fabricated to get them out of embarassing situations.

Such an amulet migh be good for scaring away idiots, but it oculdn't threaten the violent, crafty and arrogant evil ones. Not only could it not scare them away, a lot of them hid right behind it to work their evil tricks!

Conflicts between these two are not just rooted in one-upsmanship or the patriotic conflict between the two, but instead in two differing approaches to justice, their influence on fellow Chinese writers to step outside tradition, and the respective ways they address issues in society. Additionally, it's not just a conflict between Great Detective vs Gentleman Villain, but the Holmesian Detective and the Hardboiled Detective. And, naturally, when the two met, a pattern reocurred again.

Writing a Lu Ping tale in his usual manner, Sun Liaohong deprives the detective of the advantage he typically enjoys at the hand of Cheng Xiaoqing or any other follower of Conan Doyle - narration by the detective's coadjutor.

It is Huo Sang who slinks around like a thief, alarming hotel service personnel. He becomes rattled, and even so is vain and arrogant. He is a bit too positivist about searching for clues, and he spends a remarkable amount of time just relaxing and waiting for something to happen.

The figure of "wooden puppets" turns wicked when the author uses the term to refer to Huo Sang, Bao Lang, and the police. Satirizing the genre as a play in which the author woodenly manipulates his character. But Lu Ping as puppet is a genius, moving from one identity to another, whereas Huo Sang is a dumbbell - wooden indeed, bourgeois, ridiculed.

A gentleman's agreement occurs only at the end. Huo Sang has the formal victory. He frees Lu Ping in order to get the paining, but the exhibition is held a day late and it now bears Lu Ping's seal.

In wartime, peace talks, diplomacy and gentlemen's agreements are just smoke screens, the stuff of puppetry. Both Huo Sang and Lu Ping surround themselves with lies to reach their final accomodation. Perhaps they are both puppets - Chinese Justice, the Fiction: Law and Literature in Modern China, by Jeffrey C. Kinkley

Both characters were canned in 1949 when the CCP banned detective fiction, and it was replaced with anti-spy literature about how the party police would expose counterrevolutionary conspiracies. They never got to have a rematch, and to my understanding there were a couple of films made afterwards about them, Huo Sang had a very recent one in 2019, but never another meeting.

I guess the takeaway here time and time again is that, credit to Holmes and all, but:

[ettawritesnstudies]

Space dragons!!!! I'm curious, how do you think they'd navigate? I'm thinking about birds and magnetic fields, or sailors and stars, but both those things have complications when you're in literal space (aaaahh I'm so excited by this idea! Congrats on the very cool concept)

thank you!!!! I am very excited about it too. I have been yelling at @siarven about it nonstop for a week I'm sure they're sick of me by now (thank you quinn <3).

quickly googles magnetic fields because I got a B minus in E&M a year ago during quarantine and don't remember any of it

ok disclaimer all of the ahead is magic-technobabble and only somewhat-plausable theorizing on the part of a chemical engineering junior who should really be doing their mass separations homework.

The earth's magnetosphere is caused by the dynamo effect because the inside our our planet's outer core is made of molten iron and nickel alloy that's spinning really heckin fast and creating an electromagnetic field that encases the planet. It functions as a shield to keep our planet from getting blasted with UV rays and solar winds, which is quite useful for enabling survival and makes pretty auroras whenever they hit near the poles.

The catch is that asteroids don't have cores, much less molten ones. They're too small for gravity to make that happen. But what I am wondering is if the movement of the asteroids themselves (if enough of them were made of metal instead of rock) would generate a magnetic field in kind of a donut shape around the entire asteroid belt following the right hand rule, where the "current flow" isn't electrical flow but the movement of asteroids... If the magnetic field plausibly existed, I could then handwave that the dragons could have the ability to sense it and follow it home. Let me go bug one of my physics friends and get back to you on that.

“Real science” aside, my magic system is already loosely based off electromagnetism. There are 6 main kinds of magic that fall under two groups. External magic means you can effect the world around you but don’t hold any energy/power inside yourself, and includes manipulation, amplification, and nullification. Internal magic means you struggle to control what the magic does once it leaves your body, but you always carry a store of power, and includes generation, storage, and release. Everything has a magical “fingerprint” - most people have one favored type but can dabble in the others in their group with effort and training, while plants, animals, rocks, ect. all default to a “natural state.”

I could also say that each world has it’s own magical fingerprint that’s an average/accumulation of everything living on it’s surface + the makeup of the rock/metal in the asteroid itself. (and oh hey that gives me an idea for my universe as a whole...and names in runaways... maybe this could fix my connection issue)... Memorizing a planet’s magical signal would be kind of like like memorizing a song based only on the frequency waves without hearing it ever. But things that are born on that world share a part of that waveform in their own magical DNA. A dragon could find their way home by finding which planet resonates with their magic!

And of course constellations would be a way to navigate - just because you leave the planet doesn’t mean the whole sky changes so long as you stay in your same solar system. Yes the perspective would move, but bouncing around the asteroid ring would be the equivalent of our sky changing from summer to winter or the northern to southern hemispheres. It would be a lot to keep track of, but anyone who can can memorize/bring along a star map and a good sense of direction and they’d probably be ok.

[silkling]

Hey, Can you make (Bayverse) Starscream meets (TFP) Knock Out?

Knock Out came to with an aching helm and a curse on his lips. He groaned as he sat up, one palm dressing to his forehead and blinking away the static overlaying his vision. He looked around himself once he could see clearly, pausing when he noticed that he was in the middle of an organic forest. The realization made his upper lip curl faintly, and he looked down at himself. And that was when he froze in horror. His finish! It was ruined! There were scrapes in the paint and he was covered in all manner of dirt and other organic filth. He hated it. The medic scowled as he stood, red optics shining with rage. Whoever was responsible for this was going to pay very dearly, he decided. For now, though, he had to get back to base.

He paused as he heard jet engines overhead, optics narrowing. Now, was that one of the little squishies or was it one of the Decepticons? That question was answered when there was the sound of a transformation and a heavy metal form crashed through the tree tops to land in front of him. A red gaze landed on him, and Knock Out could see rage and disgust building in the flyer’s optics before he paused. The look was replaced with confusion and suspicion, and then he spoke.

“Autobots do not usually have red optics.” he growled, voice deep and with a permanent growl woven into it. “Yet I know of no Decepticon who wears such bright colors.” Those optics narrowed to pinpricks. “Speak, stranger. Who are you?”

It was at this point the medic paused. How did this flyer not know who he was? Knock Out was the only proper doctor in the entirety of the Decepticon army. (No, Hook did not count. He did not have the training or the license, for all he had the learned skill). All the others had been offlined in the War. He would have thought that every bot on either side knew him, if only because they knew what he was.

“I am Knock Out.” he said carefully. “And who are you?”

The flyer grinned here, the look savage and far to gleeful for his comfort. “I am Starscream, second in command of the Decepticons!” he announced.

Knock Out blinked slowly, once, twice, then a third time, before fury twisted his features and he let loose a litany of vicious, filthy curses in Cybertronian, combining several dialects and even throwing in one or two curses from the dead languages he’d enjoyed studying in his youth. It made Starscream rear back, optics wide with shock and and EM field buzzing with disbelief. After several long minutes, in which the Seeker could only stare in a growing sense of horrified fascination, (wait, Knock threatened to do what with an engine and an intake? Ouch. Starscream did not want to be in the place of whatever poor fool as angered the bright red Cybertronian), the Aston Martin spit out one last curse before his expression smoothed over and he turned to the Seeker. Starscream, by this point, had taken several steps back and was now hoping that this bot wouldn’t turn his ire on him.

“So sorry about that.” Knock Out said lightly. “I’m afraid I just understood how I got here, and the mech responsible for this mess is going to feel every bit of my wrath when I return.”

Starscream blinked. “I…see.” he said carefully.

Knock Out smirked. “I don’t think you do, so allow me to re-introduce myself.” He stepped forward, crossing an arm across his chest. “My name is Knock Out.” he said with a flourish. “Chief medic to the Decepticons.” he finished his introduction with a dramatic bow.

Starscream sneered. “Impossible!” he snarled. “The Decepticons have no medic. Our last one was offlined by Optimus Prime. This must be some puny Autobot trick!

Knock Out blinked. “Goodness, Sweet Rims actually offlined a bot that wasn’t just a Vehicon drone?” he mused. “This really is different.”

The Seeker reared back, reeling over the fact that this so-called “medic” had just called Optimus Prime Sweet Rims, of all things. Then the second statement caught up to him and he frowned. “Different.” he repeated in a deadpan.

“Yes!” Knock Out threw his hands to the air, the gesture wide and dramatic. “You see, my dear Starscream,” he purred, clasping his hands behind his back. “I am from another dimension entirely.”

Well, that was a new one.

“Explain.”

“In my world, the Great War between the Decepticons and Autobots ended up being brought to a small organic planet called Earth. I assume it’s the same here.” he said, gesturing around them. “Recently, Lord Megatron, that is, my Lord Megatron became aware of the existence of the Iacon Relics. They’re powerful artifacts that were stored in the vaults of Iacon before it’s destruction, and sent away from the planet before they could come into Decepticon possession.” he said. “Lord Megatron learned that possessing the relics granted whoever had them a rather significant advantage, especially certain specific relics like the Relics of the Primes.”

Starscream snorted. “Get to the point.”

Knock Out sighed dramatically. “Oh, very well.” he drawled. “The point is: myself and my partner were sent to retrieve a relic that had only just began putting out a detectable signal. According to our data files on it, it had been created by the old Senate before the war. Unfortunately, the research notes on the subject were corrupted, but what little of the research was clear suggested that the device had been created to study the multiverse theory.” Here, he paused and glanced around himself. “Given that you’re Starscream, and the Starscream I know looks nothing like you, and you do not know me, and the Decepticons have no medic…” he trailed off, raising his hands, palms up as he shrugged. “It would seem that the device was for more than just researching the multiverse theory. The last thing I remember is grabbing it and making for the ground bridge, only for that Pit damned Wrecker to shoot the device in hopes of keeping it from falling into Decepticon hands. Then there was a flash of light and a surge of energy, and what do you know, I’m waking up here!” he finished, through his arms out with a flourish.

Starscream frowned. That…actually lined up. He had been sent ahead of Sideways and Barricade, who were also on their way to this location, because the sensors at the hidden Decepticon base had picked up a surge of unknown energy. If Knock Out was the cause of that surge, and given the fact he was here at its location he might very well be, then it would stand to reason that his story was actually true. Even aside from that, Starscream could pick up no deception in his field or EM field. Granted, bots could still lie even without their voices or fields giving it away, but Starscream was a master at lying, and prided himself on being able to sniff out deception like a turbo-fox sniffing out cyber-rats. Nothing he could tell suggested Knock Out was lying. Which meant his story was, at the very least, partly true.

“I see.” he said, voice devoid of any intonation.

The medic narrowed his optics at the seeming non-reaction, his arms crossing almost delicately in front of his chassis. Something about the way this Starscream had said that made his instincts itch. He didn’t like it. This version of the Air Commander was so very different from his. His Starscream was more skittish and wary, though that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. In fact, given how his Megatron treated his second in command, the Aston Martin was entirely unsurprised at his Starscream’s more lacking confidence. As of late, Lord Megatron had been….well, even more unhinged than usual. Given how Megatron had taken to lashing out at Starscream for ever petty grievance, it was no wonder the more lithe Seeker was jumpy. This Starscream had many of the same core personality traits, from what he could see, but his behavior was quite a bit different.

“You needn’t worry about me causing any issues in your world.” he said airily, forcing his processor back in track. He dusted some dried dirt of off arm, lip curling upwards in disgust as the stuff flaked off his armor. “I’ll find a place to lay low and stay out of sight of any locals, be it Cybertronian or human. I’m certain Lord Megatron will either fix the device if it was broken or retrieve it if it was stolen and find a way to bring me back.” he said airily. His tone was confident, and though his words sounded like it, he wasn’t bragging.

It was a fact. The Decepticons needed him. None of the others knew how to do proper medical care. Breakdown could certainly perform the simpler procedures, and most soldiers knew basic field care, but Knock Out was the only one who could handle the injuries that went beyond that. Without him, the Decepticons of his world wouldn’t be able to heal their injured soldiers, which would mean more ‘Cons would die and they’d eventually deplete their numbers enough to put the Autobots at an advantage. As vain as it may sound, Knock Out knew that, right after Megatron and Soundwave, he was the most essential member of the Decepticon forces when it came to keeping the faction running,

Starscream clearly didn’t like his tone of voice, however, because the Seeker growled in displeasure. “Oh? And what makes you so certain?”

Knock Out snorted, one optic ridge arching up. “Oh, don’t get so sour.” he admonished. “I told you, I am the Chief Medic to the Decepticons. I am also, however, their only medic. I can put mechs back together from scrap metal, if I must.” he made a vague gesture with his hand. “I do not mean to sound so vain, but I am very much needed by the Decepticon forces back home.” he said airily. “I’m the only trained, licensed medic they have, after all.”

Starscream stared at him for a long moment, and Knock Out did not like the suddenly considering look in his sharp gaze. “I see.” he narrowed his eyes. “So you’re a skillful medic, then?”

The red mech paused. “I’m not as good as Ratchet,” he said carefully. “But I was in the top of the field before the War broke out.”

Starscream smirked, then, the expression showing just a hint of teeth. Knock about suddenly had a very, very bad feeling. “I see.” the Seeker repeated, sounding sickeningly pleased.

There was the sound of pede steps behind them, and two mechs stepped out from the foliage. Starscream lifted his gaze, head tilting with a dark grin. “Barricade, Sideways.” he hummed. “I see you finally made it.” He flashed teeth in an expression that bordered on a sneer. “I’d like you two to meet Knock Out,” He gestured at the increasingly tense medic. “Our newest medic.” He finished with a vicious grin.

Knock Out tensed, his armor plating clamping closed and tight. Oh, he’d been right. He didn’t like this. “Excuse me?” he hissed.

He was ignored. The two new mechs glanced at each other, then looked at him, clearly unimpressed. “He’s a medic? He’s very…bright. Is he a ‘Bot? The silver one asked, sounding dubious.

Starscream hummed. “No, Knock Out here is a certified Deception medic. We’ve been unable to fix any injured warriors properly ever since Prime took out Scalpel. Our new friend here is from…somewhere else.” he smirked. “But he should fill Scalpels’s pedes quite well.”

The black and white mech shrugged. “Works for me. He’s real colorful alright, but he looks too sharp for an Autobot. And Autobots’s don’t have red optics, either.” he sounded bemused.

Knock Out, by this point, had enough if being ignored. His hand transformed into his saw, and the blade whirled to life. “I think,” he snarled. “You will find that I am not quite so willing to go along with you, Starscream. I’ll be found by my own eventually, so I suggest you and your little friends frag off and leave me be.” he hissed.

There was the sound of smaller transformations, and all three mechs were pointing weapons at him. “Weapon away, doctor.” Starscream said, sickeningly sweet. “You are outnumbered, and if you offline one of us the other two will have you subdued easily enough.”

Knock Out snarled furiously, his engine all but roaring with his rage, but he knew the Seeker was right. He did as he was told, and the two mechs behind him stepped up, one on either side, to grip his arms and force them behind his back. He glared at the Seeker, gaze promising pain.

Starscream only stepped closer, reaching out to tap the medic’s chin with a finger. “I think, Knock Out,” He said with a dark grin. “That you will find Lord Megatron reluctant to simply allow you to be stolen away now that we have you. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if he orders Soundwave and perhaps even Shockwave to develop a way to ensure you cannot be tracked and retrieved by your friends.” He leaned in close, lips twisting in a mocking sneer. “You belong to us now, little medic.”

Knock Out was tense, his processor racing. This was bad. If that was true, then he doubted he’d be able to ever return home. Unless he could get away now, that is. But he likely wouldn’t be able to. He was the smallest mech here. All three of the duller Decepticons were taller and bulkier than he was. He wouldn’t be able to fight all of them. The medic growled, low and angry, and leaned forward against the hold the other two had on him. It caused their claws to dig into and scratch the paint of his arms, but for once he didn’t care. He got as close to Starscream’s face as he could, eyes holding dark promise.

“You had better pray to Primus that you never end up on my medical berth, Starscream.” He said, voice low. “Because while I may fix you, I will also ensure that your stay in my medical bay makes the Unmaker’s Pits seem like the Well of All Sparks.”

There was a rough laugh behind him, and then he was being yanked away from the still Seeker. “Come on, Doc. Time to get moving.” The silver mech grinned.

He was guided firmly through the forest, until they came to an empty road. He obeyed the cold order to transform from the black and white mech, and then they two larger bots followed suit and boxed him in. Making sure to keep the red medic trapped between them, they drove back towards the Decepticon base, the newest acquisition of the Deceptions firmly in tow.

Back at the clearing where Knock Out had appeared, Starscream remained frozen for a moment longer. Suddenly, he felt like he might have made his decision just a little too hastily, and he remembered the creative threats and curses the smaller bit had spat out. If Knock Out was actually capable of even half the things he had threatened in that little spiel, and Starscream got the unpleasant feeling he was, then he very, very much did in fact hope he never had to go to the medic for repairs. Though, given his luck as of late…he had a feeling he’d be seeing the doctor sooner than he thought.

Frag.

[unlikely-course]

The tl;drs of this very long post, which is about Gideon’s arc and her relationship to Harrow:

-Gideon’s arc in gtn is a corruption arc because tlt is not just goth but Gothic

-Gideon “forgives” Harrow because of Trauma and that’s definitely not the endpoint of how she feels about Harrow or their past

-The narrative knows what it’s doing

When Gideon says “For the Ninth!” as she dies, and thinks “this is the loyalty they always said I lacked, this is me making good” that’s not growth, that’s part of the tragedy of the moment. Like, the Ninth does not deserve her allegiance! It is, as Gideon was the first to remind us, rotten to the core. When she dies, it’s for Harrow, and her saying it’s for the Ninth does represent on some level that she’s come to new understanding about who Harrow is and how Harrow views herself *as* the Ninth, but like this is, I mean. Bad. Harrow herself does not deserve Gideon’s loyalty! Gideon gives it to her because it is a relief. Gideon is very good, yes, but the forgiveness is a response to trauma. The second Harrow shows even the slightest vulnerability or regard for Gideon, Gideon is eager to make amends because she has been starved for any positive association to others for her entire life, and Harrow was literally the only peer she ever had to associate with. She correctly identified that resistance to Ninth society was vital to her survival and selfhood, but also that shit is exhausting. That resistance is also partially formed by that society conveying to her: we have no place for you, we have no use for you as you are, and that makes you hateful to us.

Her response to Harrow and the cavalier role then is pretty classic! It is a relief to have a place, to be able to stop fighting, to give herself over to a structure sold to her as one in which she can support and be supported, to resolve the central conflict and most complicated relationship of her life. I maintain that you the reader are also supposed to feel initially relieved and even cheered by Gideon and Harrow growing closer and then gradually unsettled when Gideon embraces cavalierhood and the increasingly invasive demands of the trials, and has her mindset adjusted in increments toward sacrifice. To feel her thoughts turn in this direction is alarming! This is purposeful, and it is purposefully mixed in with good feelings, the same good feelings that Gideon is getting, to distract from and inoculate you against what is happening just as Gideon is inoculated against it.

In addition, Canaan House is a very particular crucible. This is not only the first time that Gideon has ever been bombarded with new people and experiences, but also the first time she’s faced these unknown external threats, which pushes her to unite with the familiar (Harrow) against them. Her past and present environments have made it so that the compassion she comes to feel for Harrow gets bound up in the idea of being loyal to her house, the ‘contract’ of her new role, and the positive interaction it gives her until the idea of her offering her life to Harrow is not simply necessary in the moment but good and right. Redeeming, even, when we as readers know she has nothing she needs redemption for. 

Gideon is so very angry when she comes to in htn, and it is not merely anger at those who have wronged Harrow or anger at Harrow for endangering herself. On the First, she made a simple deal: her life for relief from the emotional state she had to live it in. Forgiveness for some kind of peace. And when she wakes up that exchange is refuted. Gideon frames Harrow’s actions as a rejection of herself out of low self-esteem but also in an attempt to deal with unresolved anger she has towards Harrow, anger that cannot fit into the cavalier role she wants to embody, anger that she attempted to trade away but in actuality can’t. Because the role she was sold, the type of relationship the cavalier and necro is supposed to be, is ultimately false. It encompasses very real and deep relationships, as we have seen, but the framework uses these real elements to its own ends, the Empire’s ends, and despite its proclamations of mutual care the relationship is always at the cavalier’s expense.

This is what it means to say Gideon’s arc in gtn is a corruption arc. It’s not that she becomes “bad,” it’s that the corrupting forces of the narrative have reached out and altered her, worn her down, seduced her even. This is Gideon’s first contact with the wider Empire, in the seat and seed of its wretched power, and it has used her goodness, her capacity for connection (and yes for forgiveness as well!) against her to further ensnare her, to draw her in line with itself. And then she dies for it, as it demands! Wow. And the we have the other side of that, which is when Gideon says “For the Ninth!” she’s signaling to Harrow that she has come to value what Harrow values, just as Harrow herself, watching in horror, has come to realize her values are very fucked up.

And Harrow has indeed realized that by that time! Harrow really does travel such a distance in gtn, but this is largely obscured from us just the same as plot details are in the book, by the limits of Gideon’s perception. And let me be clear: this is a feature, not a bug. It is not a weakness. It is vital! Integral! To the above, and all it entails for Gideon as a character and the overall themes of the series, that Gideon forgive Harrow without Harrow having “earned” it or made real amends. The fact that she does conveys to us everything I’ve just been talking about!

Furthermore, this story is in conversation with a rather particular type of Christianity, but Gideon’s Jesus parallels are even more widely applicable. Forgiveness is kind of a whole theme with that guy, and the book is also plenty interested in what it costs for a human to forgive as divinely as scripture demands (to forgive as the bond demands, as the empire demands). In some ways there are good things that may come of it, sure, but it is not a purely redemptive force for the giver or receiver. It does not necessarily resolve.

I myself can’t say that I ship Gideon and Harrow in the way people traditionally think of shipping, nor as I have traditionally shipped other characters. Still, I reject the notion that that way of relating to each other is not a central part of the questions the book is asking. Like before, when I was talking about Gideon finding something to believe in in the way the adept/cavalier bond is sold to her—although we see that bond encompass many different types of relationships it is in Gideon and Harrow’s case speaking to how romantic love (much like that forgiveness!) is not immediately and entirely redemptive. I mean, Muir does say the series is about how love can be redemptive, but I think can be is the operative phrase here, in that it’s also first demonstrating the ways it’s not, or at least not always the way we think it will be--the limits and then the power. Trying to set that aspect of the relationship aside (like a “sisters” route or something similar) is a weak and queasy side-stepping of the issue.

Remember that interview where Muir says something along the lines of like, she didn’t write it as necessarily romantic but definitely homoerotic? Yeah. 

Despite all that I do want to make it clear that I hope Gideon and Harrow work it out in the end. Just don’t assume the narrative does not understand what working it out might entail. And who knows? I might have the read all wrong. Maybe Muir doesn’t understand what she’s doing. But I feel pretty compelled by the textual evidence.

[barnes-dameron]

Hi! I love your writing! Could you please add me to your taglist? And if I may make a request (if you're comfortable of course), could you please write a part 2 of Destruction of Government Property, maybe explaining how Frankie reacts to the call when he comes back home ,and how reader keeps her promise (if you catch what I mean...) Thank you so much!!

Further Destruction of Government Property

Frankie Morales x f!reader

Word Count: 3k

A/N: You’re added ;) I might’ve had a little too much fun writing this. Warning, this is smut

***

It was a regular Saturday, not very different compared to the others in the past few months. You woke up with the same feeling of disappointment. You knew he was gone, but it still disheartened you when you woke up to the other side of the bed cold and vacant. You got ready for the day, by yourself; no banter or jokes with your husband, or even telling him to hurry up in the shower only to have him yank you in with him. You ate breakfast by yourself; no talking about what to do today or argue about which breakfast food is the best. It was a quiet, uneventful morning like always whenever Frankie wasn’t home. 

You couldn’t help but look longingly at the photo of the two of you in the hallway, wishing that he was safe and that he would come home soon. You were grateful this was his last tour. That meant no more quiet mornings and no more cold beds. 

Sighing, you continued on, taking the day to clean the house in preparation for Frankie’s return. He was scheduled to come back in two weeks, but now might be the best time for you to get it done. You’ve been putting off cleaning the house for long enough. That was how you spent your day: vacuuming, polishing, mopping, dusting, washing the clothes, cleaning the bathroom, and finally organizing the kitchen. 

You were in the middle of placing the newly arranged tupperware in the kitchen cabinets, trying to make sure that everything fit. You were practically half way in the cabinet, your torso and head in with your ass hanging out, putting a stack of tupperware in the farthest corner. You were so distracted on your own thoughts as to what to do next after this, that you didn’t even hear the back door open, or the footsteps of heavy military boots. 

“Well this might be the best welcome home sight I ever got,” Frankie whistled, startling you and causing you to bang your head against the drawer above. 

You pulled yourself out of the cabinet and turned around to see your husband standing at the doorway, still wearing his uniform, holding a bouquet of flowers while wearing a wide grin. You hurriedly pushed yourself to your feet before launching yourself to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and breathing in the military issued soap. You felt Frankie’s hands on your back, pulling you closer to him after he set the flowers on the counter beside him. 

Tears began to swim in your eyes. He was home. He was home, he was okay, and he was right here with you. You pulled back, grabbing his face and pressing your lips to his, something you longed to do the past few months. Frankie returned with the same enthusiasm, licking along the seam of your lips to gain access into your mouth, which you granted. Like everything he did in life, he was thorough. He licked along every tooth before tangling his tongue with yours, exploring the cavern of your mouth after months of separation. 

You reluctantly pulled away from him, catching your breath while scanning his face, memorizing every detail and reminiscing on the features that you nearly forgot. You couldn’t help but give him a goofy grin, and he responded with his own as he let out a chuckle from the giddiness you both were radiating. 

“I can’t believe you’re back,” you finally said, nearly bouncing up and down from excitement. “I thought you weren’t coming back for another two weeks.” 

“I lied,” he admitted. “I wanted to surprise you, and it was worth it.”

You gave out a laugh before burying yourself into the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent that you were deprived of. You started to place kisses alongside his neck, feeling the soft skin beneath your lips. Then the memories began to wash over you: the two of you in the truck the day he left, the phone call...

All of the sudden, the both of you pulled back from each other while remaining in each other’s arms, with wide eye expressions. 

“Babe, there’s something I have to tell you,” you both said in uni-sent. 

“You first,” you conceded, wanting to hear him. 

“Okay,” Frankie began. “Remember our time in the truck before I left for my tour?” Catfish continued after seeing your nod. “Well, when I got to the base, the general saw the hickey that you gave me, and let’s just say I got in trouble for being ‘out of uniform’ or something like that.”

“I got a call,” you interrupted, but were too excited to hold back. 

“What?” Frankie asked, confused yet amused. 

“Yeah, I got a call. Apparently I was in trouble for ‘destruction of government property’ for the hickey I gave you. I told the guy off because he wanted to fine me, but instead left me off with a warning.”   

“You told a government official off?” Frankie asked, with one eyebrow raised. You nodded ruefully, biting your lip to see his reaction. “That’s sexy.” 

You laughed at him, before resuming kissing him. You dug your hands into his hair, gently tugging the locks of hair that were growing. Meanwhile, Frankie’s hands were everywhere, running down your back before cupping your ass, causing you to moan into his mouth. Frankie pulled away from the kiss, his eyes blown wide with lust, his gaze turning dark. 

“Baby,” he groaned, the sound making your panties wetter. “I need you.”

“I need you too,” you replied, gripping his biceps and giving him one more passionate kiss. “Let’s go upstairs.” 

The two of you ran from the kitchen to the staircase, making your way up. Every now and then, Frankie would give you a couple of slaps to make you go faster, even though you were running, and to feel your ass. When you finally reached the bedroom, he kicked the door shut before pulling you into him to kiss you. You tried to work on unbuttoning his coat, the material stiff and difficult to manage especially when you weren’t looking and only half concentrating. 

Frankie pulled away from your lips, grabbing the hem of your t-shirt and pulling it over his head. He dipped his head to kiss your neck, then making a trail down to your breasts. He reached behind you, unlatching your bra and casting it aside only to land on the lamp at the bedside. You moaned when he placed his mouth on your nipple, licking and sucking it until it hardened under his touch. He gave the other the same treatment, and you only stood there, gripping the back of his head and shoulder as you threw your head back in pleasure. Your moans alone was enough to fill the entire house. As Frankie continued to work, he reached a hand down your leggings, dipping into your panties to cup your aching core, then inserting two fingers briefly. He groaned, the vibrations setting another wave of pleasure. 

“Que mojada,” he let out, dragging his head away from your breasts to look at your panting face and lust blown eyes. He removed his hands from your pants, and brought his wet fingers up to his mouth, sucking off your juices without breaking eye contact once while letting out a noise of satisfaction. He took his fingers out of his mouth, only to point them at you. “Take everything else off.”

“Only if you do the same,” you countered, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Deal,” he said. 

You watched Frankie undo the buttons on his jacket as you pulled off your leggings and panties. You sauntered over to him, grabbing his attention as his eyes scanned your naked form. You pushed the jacket of his shoulders, and then pulled his undershirt up and over his head. 

“You were taking too long,” you said, giving him a kiss before undoing his belt and unbuttoning his pants. 

Frankie watched you undress him, his eyes tracing over your body as his cock continued to harden. His pants fell to the floor, and pulled his underwear down to join them. You watched as Frankie tried to kick it off his ankles, but he never took his boots off. He was about to reach down to undo the laces, but you stopped his movements with a simple hand to his shoulder. Instead, you slowly lowered yourself to the floor, kneeling on the ground undoing the ties and pulling his socks and boots off. You heard Frankie gasp, and looked up to see why. When you breathed out, you were really breathing on his hard cock that was near your face. You smiled to yourself, placing a kiss along the head causing Frankie to groan louder. You were about to continue, but he pulled you from your arms so that you were standing before him. 

“No teasing,” he huffed out. “I need to be inside you. I can’t wait any longer.”

Frankie pulled you close, fusing your mouths together as he made his way to the bed, sitting on it as he pulled you onto his lap. You moaned when you felt his hard length beneath you, so close to the place that was aching for it. You felt Frankie tap your thigh, signalling you to move your hips up. Once you did, he positioned his length, then sank you down on his cock. 

You moaned into his mouth feeling his hard length impale you in the most delicious way. He filled the space within your cunt, the veins rubbing against your walls perfectly. He fit perfectly. Frankie groaned into your mouth, pulling away to rest his forehead on yours. 

“You’re so tight,” he panted out. “I would think about this pussy every night.”

You settled your head into the crook of his neck, kissing and sucking on the side of his neck determined to leave marks. Frankie grabbed your hips, moving you to slide up and down on his cock, setting a slow pace to feel every stretch of you. Once satisfied, you moved to another spot, right below his ear as he continued to move you. 

“Tell me more,” you whispered, loving the feeling of him filling you up over and over again. 

“I would think about eating your cunt,” he said in strangled groans. “Think about how you looked under me: sweaty, panting, and begging for more.”

You moaned, then moved to a spot near his Adam’s apple, sucking and biting. 

“Think about you riding my cock. Think about your ass, and how it moves when I’m taking you from behind.” 

You moved to the other side of his neck, making more marks which is driving Frankie crazy. Feeling your lips on his neck, your teeth biting and grazing his skin, your soaking cunt surrounding his cock, your damp skin sliding along his, it was overwhelming to him. 

“Think about fucking you over, and over, and over again. Until you can’t walk right, and everyone knows that you were thoroughly fucked by me, and only me.” 

You tore yourself away from his neck, placing a wet kiss on his mouth before pulling away to look at him. You grasped his shoulders as you began to bounce yourself faster on his cock, moaning and panting out his name while doing so. Frankie gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on your hips as he pulled you down harder on him. He began to thrust up as well to match your pace. You closed your eyes in pleasure; Frankie and the way that he feels being the only thing on your mind. You threw your head back, relishing in the way that this man was wrecking you. As you bounced on him, Frankie’s cock found your G-spot, causing you to let you a loud moan. 

“Frankie!” you yelled. “There, there.”

Frankie continued to hit that same spot, making you pant harder as pleasure was overwhelming you. He snuck a hand between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit. Frankie began to rub circles over it, setting your nerves on fire. 

“Come on, amor,” he panted, watching your face contort in bliss. “Cum for me.”

You let out another loud moan as your orgasm washed over you, causing you to fall forward, pressing your chest to his and placing your head into the crook of his neck. Frankie groaned as he felt your walls strangle his cock. He thrusted faster, triggering his own release. You moaned once again, feeling his hot cum gush within you, a feeling that you’ve missed. 

You felt Frankie’s hands rub your back as he placed a kiss on your forehead. You hummed at the feelings, moving your head and opening your eyes to look at your husband. He had his own blissed out expression, giving you a lopsided grin. You couldn’t help but kiss him, giving him all the love he deserves from being away for so long. He kissed you back with the same eagerness. 

Frankie pulled away, pulling you off of him causing you both to groan, and then settled you on the bed. You sunk into the mattress, welcoming the comfort as Frankie went into the attached bathroom. You threw an arm behind your head, as you hummed to yourself.

“I definitely missed that,” you said. 

You heard Frankie laugh alongside the sound of water running from the faucet. 

“You and me both,” he replied. “Holy shit.”

“What?” you asked, sitting up and looking towards the bathroom with wide eyes. 

You watched as Frankie emerged from the bathroom, holding a wash cloth in one hand, and the other resting on his neck. 

“You marked me good, babe,” he chucked. “I look like a damn cheetah.” 

You laughed and admired your work on his neck. It was scattered with multiple red marks all around. Maybe you got a little too carried away. 

“That’s because it’s my ‘fuck you’ to the government,” you revealed, as Frankie sat beside you in the bed. “If they thought one hickey was enough to destroy ‘government property’ then they haven’t seen this.”

Catfish laughed, then opened your legs. He began to clean your inner thighs with the warm clothe, being gentle with his ministrations. 

“I’m beginning to wish they could see it,” he said while he wiped. 

You put your hand under his chin, grasping it and turning his head towards you. 

“I don’t,” you replied softly. “Because that would mean that you will be away from me again.”

Frankie’s eyes softened, and gave you a sweet kiss on your lips before resting his forehead against yours.  

“I’m never leaving you,” he whispered, looking into your eyes. “Never again.” 

“That’s all I want,” you said.

“Then it’s what you get.”

You kissed Frankie again. It was different from the passionate kisses shared before, but it still communicated the love you both felt for each other. You both pulled away at the same time; Frankie finished cleaning you up and then moving to throw the clothe in the hamper. 

“You gotta admit though,” he said, looking at himself in the mirror. “I look good with these.” 

“Very sexy,” you agreed. 

You watched Frankie turn around, his dark gaze returning. 

“Now it’s my turn,” he replied, before making his way to you on the bed. 

Taglist: @tangledlove27 @absurdthirst @caswinchester2000 @16boyfriends-and-me @notabotiswear

[tarhalindur]

Hurr durr.  I have been a fool.

So, I was thinking through a “how to fix Sotsu” post, and noting that unlike some people I didn’t exactly mind the Gou episode 17 reveal because I got the impression that my old “the biggest deception in Gou is that it’s a mystery to be solved at all” take is correct and the core arc of Sotsugou is something other than a mystery.

And then it hit me: I’ve seen this kind of arc before, and I should have realized this quite a bit earlier than I did considering where I’ve seen it.

Satokowashi-hen and Sotsu don’t follow the structure of an OG Higurashi arc.  They might follow the structure of a broader Umineko character arc - my only partial familiarity with Seacats is showing.  But what Satokowashi-hen and Sotsu definitely follow is the structure of a *PMMM* arc.  That is to say, Sotsugou isn’t a mystery - rather, it is a *tragedy*.

(Sotsugou is nowhere near as good at it as PMMM is, mind you.  Gen “Urobutcher” Urobutchi might seriously be the best tragedy writer in at least a century, and while I can’t speak to Umineko Ryukishi07′s attempt at a tragic character arc in OG Higurashi might well be my pick for the single weakest element of the original - it’s a rather typical kind of bad, too, reminds me very much of Elfen Lied (and I’ve seen similar criticisms leveled at a couple of MagiReco character backstories).  But the core structure is the same, and honestly I can see a pretty solid argument that the core arc is better-executed than the relevant OG Higurashi element and the issues come from Sotsugou’s execution more generally.)

Spoilery explanation (for both franchises) under the cut:

A character runs into an unpleasant situation that’s ultimately quite minor in the grand scheme of things (something that happens to actual people all the time), is unable to really cope with it due to untreated mental illness, and this is then escalated into a larger catastrophe due to the intervention of an outside being offering a deal that ultimately results in the character becoming a Witch?  That’s a pretty fair summation of Satoko’s Sotsugou arc (where the untreated mental illness is ADHD plus social anxiety - we know she’s been diagnosed with the latter, courtesy of Dr. Irie in Minagoroshi-hen).  It is also a precise summation of Sayaka’s character arc in main series PMMM (where the mental illness is depression), and if you expand the terms a little (moderately less common situation with more supernatural influence courtesy of first timeline Madoka, majo -> akuma) and include Rebellion Homura’s character arc pretty much fits the description as well (not sure about ADHD, but I’d be shocked if Homura isn’t on the autism spectrum and suffering from Rejection-Sensitive Dysphoria herself).  (Half the reason I’m facepalming is because I’ve only been making “Higurashi no Naku Koro Ni: The Rebellion Story” not-actually-jokes-anymore for almost a year now, and I raised the Eua-Kyubey comparison during Satokowashi-hen to boot.)  Honestly, if this is right then one of the single biggest Sotsugou mistakes is never using the resident author avatar (just to be clear, that’s spelled “Eua”) to explicitly point this out because we’re all so used to mystery mode that we weren’t going to switch gears without prompting..

It would also neatly explain parts of Sotsu’s structure.  At some level the answer to every murder mystery’s whydunnit is a tragedy, the explanation of exactly what drove a character to the unspeakable (see also: Othello).  If Sotsugou is in fact supposed to be a tragedy disguised as a mystery, then conceptually the framework they built the structure on makes sense: reveal the culprit at the point when the show fully transitions into a PMMM-style tragedy, then frame the tragic arc as an extended whydunnit.  Fair enough.

(Aside: ... Uh, hmm.  My brain spit out another idea: is part of the reason for the sheer amount of repetition in Sotsu that it’s inspired by how Madoka changes on a rewatch (the signature Madoka rewatch experience: shouting “YOU CHEEKY MOTHERFUCKERS” at the screen as you notice yet another piece of blatant foreshadowing hiding in plain sight)?  I wouldn’t put it past Ryukishi07, though if so either he or someone at Passione seriously botched the execution.  Oh wait, that’s basically Sotsugou’s tagline as a whole, so...)

(You could also argue that Sotsugou is using a Butch Gen plot as well more than a Ryukishi07 one; refusal to compromise leading to disastrous consequences is another Urobutcher thing.)

Now, if this is actually the intent then they fucked it up.  First, as mentioned above the extant fanbase was primed to view Sotsugou’s structure as the traditional When They Cry arc structure - question arcs setting up the mystery, followed by answer arcs gradually narrowing down the solution space until the truth is revealed.  If you’re going to break from that and want your existing fans to follow along, you need a signal that the rules have changed, and they didn’t give a good enough one.  (Or Ryukishi07 was intentionally trying to pull one over on the fans, but that only works if the fans notice.)  Second. they chased two rabbits and lost them both by trying to bring in other Umineko concepts at the same time (mostly the poorly set-up illusions to illusions solve for Tataridamashi-hen); on a related note, if the plan after Nekodamashi-hen was actually a tragedy then they really needed to focus on Satoko even more than they did.  Third, the characterizations of the most important characters feel off; Satoko goes off the deep end too quickly for a proper tragic arc, Rika has a major disjoint with her OG characterization (manga Nekodamashi-hen fixes this to some extent, so this may be an anime staff issue).  One of Butch Gen’s core themes as a writer is hamartia, tragedy driven by the flaws of the characters, and these issues with characterization put a major damper on any attempt on Sotsugou’s part to replicate that.  Relatedly and compounding this, as I have noted before it sure does feel like part of Ryukishi07's thought process  when writing Lambdatoko was looking at Homura’s detractors and going “let me show you what a character this actually applies to looks like” (which would also play into Ryukishi07′s usual “even the worst monsters can be redeemed” theme), but this works at cross purposes with the tragic arc (I don’t think it theoretically *has* to, but making it work would take much better execution than Sotsugou has).  Fourth and finally, they forgot the Endless Eight lesson when writing the Sotsu answer arcs.  (If Sotsugou does end next week without any sign of another season or movie then add 5) they made the redemption a little too cheap.  Again.  OG had the same issue, after all.  When They Cry themes as a solution to PMMM’s questions makes a ton of sense - there’s a reason I got the idea for that crossover, and it wasn’t just both casts yelling at me to make it - but there needs to be actual work for it.)

That said... if this is right, then the base idea is solid.  It *could* have worked.  It just didn’t.

[evolutionsvoid]

If one has read through my previous entries on Slimes, you should know by now that they are an incredibly adaptable and versatile species. Though they are just a heart and a pseudobody, their special signals and incredible slime allow them to create a variety of shapes and forms. From sticky Flayers who cover themselves in adhesive goo and bone shards, to volatile Fire Slimes that secrete flammable liquids and use gathered flint to light it all aflame! It is no surprise that this species has thrived and spread for so long! However, at times this versatility can lead to some issues. Like any other beast, Slimes are susceptible to parasites, disease and the ravages of time. Horrible things that can mess with their minds and hijack their signals. When a Slime is struck by one of these terrible fates, you either wish for a speedy recovery or a merciful death. Cruel as it sounds, things can become a real problem when these illnesses choose to linger. Be it parasite or virus, one can take over the form of a Slime and turn them into something even worse. I have written about Slime Dragons before, and how those abominations come to be. To quickly recap, Slime colonies tend to have buried networks of elder hearts that aid in reproduction and knowledge transfer. Slimes can physically connect to these networks to share nutrients, information or transfer their young. In most cases, these networks get along just fine, but age can start to wear on the oldest of hearts. As the decades pass by, an elder heart may start to degrade and fail. Most cases end with these dying organs being put of their misery and absorbed, but there are rare instances where the network is too late in realizing this weakness. In extreme cases, a fading heart may start to produce a "rotted signal," a droning message that is simple and infectious. Slimes use signals generated by their hearts to control their goo and communicate with others. They can share signals with one another without a problem, but rotted signals are not so kind. Due to their nature, these signals are capable of overwriting the signals of other Slimes and causing their hearts to pump out the same infectious message. All Slimes who come in contact with an infected heart or pseudobody will be hijacked and added to the collective. Slime Dragons are beasts that can result from a rotted signal taking over, but they are only one outcome for this dire situation. You see, a rotted signal is not just gibberish or useless noise, it often is a normal message that a Slime would use that has become corrupted. For Slime Dragons, the signal that births them is the same signal Slimes use when they are hungry or look to feed. It is a blaring message to consume that takes them over and creates this gluttonous monstrosity. So that means a different signal can lead to a different outcome, which is where the Slime's versatility takes a cruel turn. For each type of rotted signal, their is a corresponding abomination that is born from it, and each is specially equipped to bring a whole lot of misery and destruction. The diseased amalgamation I wish to write about today is known as the Mind Sink. While it is a network that has succumbed to an infection like a Slime Dragon, it is quite different from those slithering, hungering brutes. Their congealed and hardening slime will form skittering legs, and a bizarre frame. While its outside has grown dark and thickened by the corrupted fusion of so many Slimes, within this brittle cage will form a gooey writhing core. Here is where the infested hearts lie, and from there comes a multitude of flailing tendrils and snaring tentacles. I imagine it is a freaky sight to behold, and one I have thankfully never witnessed! The Mind Sink is one of these abominations I am most disturbed by, as it hungers for something more than flesh! The signal that becomes corrupted is the one Slimes will use to transfer knowledge to one another. It is a message that kind of says "can I copy your notes?" which the other Slime will agree to and they will share their information. When it grows foul, though, this message does not ask for permission. Rather, it becomes more of theft than a collaboration, as the infested Slimes mindlessly drain the information out of the victim. Slimes that are caught by these serpentine limbs will immediately be linked to the corrupted network and they will begin to draw out all their knowledge. In moments, the Slime will be emptied of all their information and thoughts, and will instead start to pump out the rotted signal. They will be pulled into the core and will join their infested brethren, ready to seek out the next victim. I know some may think that it is a rough process for the Slimes, and to that I must make a correction. It is a rough process for everyone, because the Mind Sink does not just prey on its own. 

It has been thought that the signals from a Slime's heart shares some similarities with the signals our brains create. While that is a whole field of study and wondering I am not well versed in, I can say that Mind Sink has given us a bit of confirmation on that. Mind Sinks not only hunger for the knowledge of their fellow Slimes, but they will target other creatures as well. Doesn't matter if it is man, beast or thinking plant, if it has a brain or a similar organ, it wants inside. Non-Slimes who are seized by a Mind Sink's arms will be entangled and immobilized in its grip. Coils of slime will pin their limbs in a cocoon, and slithering tendrils will seek out the source of the victim's thoughts. They somehow have a way of pinpointing the location of the brain and, once they do, they find the quickest way to access it. The point of entry is usually a facial orifice, be it nose, mouth, ears or eyes. They will burrow to the brain and the corrupted goop will make physical contact. From there, it will hijack the signals and quickly learn how to manipulate the organ, giving it access to their memories, knowledge and life experiences. With the mental feast now ready, the Mind Sink will say "I will have everything!" and start to drain. So far it has not been found if there is any order to what it consumes first, or if there is any logic behind it. Like a whirlpool, it just sucks in whatever it can. The mind will be siphoned away by this hungering mass, and the victim is quite powerless to do anything about it. When your brain is taken over by a gooey monstrosity, you aren't exactly in the right state of mind to fight back. Due to the difference between Slimes and species like us, the brain draining process takes much longer. Think of it like trying to transcribe an entire book in a language you don't understand. Yeah, you can do it by just copying the symbols, but it will take you longer. It appears that it takes a few minutes for a fleshy or plant-based victim to be fully emptied, and then they will simply be tossed aside. Those that fall to this awful fate will not have much of a mind left. Memories will be gone, any knowledge or skills they had will be wiped out and their own thoughts will be a scrambled mess due to the brutal takeover their brain experienced. Most become comatose, while some may flop around like a fish and babble nonsense. It is a truly horrible thing, and a cure or remedy has yet to be found.   Due to how much longer it takes to fully feed off a victim, one can be saved from the grasp of a Mind Sink before they are truly lost. If one can sever the tendril that holds the prisoner and cut them off from the network, the slime will collapse in a useless heap. The connection with their brain will end and so will the drain. It should be noted that freeing a victim from a hungering tendril is just the first step, because the Mind Sink has a dozen more and it will be eager to reclaim its prize. Best to grab them the second they are let go and run as fast as you can! Severing this link before the mind can be fully consumed is certainly a good thing, but damages will still occur. It depends on how long they were being fed on, as that decides how much was removed from the brain. Those that were held for only a few moments won't notice too much of a difference after they have rested and recovered, but some things will certainly be lost. Probably a handful of distant memories and mental tidbits were taken, but they won't notice their absence right away. Those fed upon for longer will have patchy memory loss, temporary issues with physical functions and scattered thoughts. It will be like someone took the book of their life and ripped out random pages. Thankfully, the book will mostly remain, so that means recovery is possible. Physical therapy will be required for any functions that were damaged by the hijacking, and the mind will need some help too. Not only will they need to relearn lost skills and forgotten memories, but their mind will need to recoup as well. Meditation, therapy and other calming activities are needed to help them stabilize their thoughts and reorganize their scattered mental archives. Recovery is not the fastest thing, but time and patience will help heal the wounds and fill the gaps torn in their heads. No doubt now that it has become obvious that Mind Sinks are incredibly dangerous and need to be exterminated whenever they rise. These are diseased amalgamations that will cause untold damage and tragedy as long as they are alive, and there does not seem to be any peaceful way to resolve their rampage. Like Slime Dragons, the way to bring down these monstrosities is to target the original heart that is creating the rotted signal. That is where the signal is originating from, and the other hearts are merely mimicking it. Kill the source and the others will soon fall silent, causing the fusion to fall apart. When it perishes, all the other Slimes are set free, but they won't be the same as they were before they were assimilated. All the knowledge they had was taken by the Mind Sink, and where all that information goes is quite random. As far as we know, all that it absorbs is held in a condensed mess of noise and thoughts that is shared by all the consumed hearts. Its mind eating abilities may make it seem like it can take memories and knowledge then use them against their foes, but that isn't the case. They do not weaponize what they take, they don't even seem to pay the stolen information any mind. Their own mind is like a garbage can, and anything they get their tendrils on is just chucked inside without a second thought. They don't want to use it or interpret it, they just want it. So with all this knowledge shoved into one mangled ball of mental energy, there is no telling what belongs to who or who belongs to what! When the Mind Sink is terminated, all that knowledge is fractured and dumped randomly into the freed hearts. The Slimes who emerge from the collapsed amalgamation will have a stew of memories and thoughts that are not their own. Some will be completely different from before, while some will be fumbling with the fractured mess they have been given. Not only will they be mixed up with their own selves, but there can also be a whole bunch of information that was stolen from non-Slimes that is now stuck in them! Some may be in bits and pieces, while some Slimes can have whole chunks of a person's life inside them! There is a tale that has gone around about a monster slayer going out to kill a rampaging Mind Sink. He failed to defeat the beast and was consumed by it, but eventually someone brought it down. What was brought back to his family was an empty shell, and they cared for him in this comatose state. The family prayed that one day he would get better, that somehow his mind and faculties would return. One morning, his wife heard someone walking around the house and his voice started to call for her. Believing that a miracle had been granted, she rushed to him only to find him still in his bed and still in a coma. What walked in to greet her in her husband's voice was a Slime, who had somehow wound up with a big chunk of his memories and personality. I personally don't think this story is true, because the ending to this tale has several different versions. Some say she took the Slime as a replacement for her husband, while others say she killed it in horror on the spot. I have heard some say that the Slime returned all the memories to the comatose husband and he was cured, but that one is certainly fake. It would be nice if that could happen, but Slimes are incapable of putting things into our heads like that. Our minds are like colorful sandpaintings, and the Mind Sink just reached in and yanked out handfuls of it. Can you just take those fistfuls and put them back so easily? I say that about returning memories and how that is impossible, but then I remember that there is an exception to that: the Slimes themselves. While they can come out all scrambled, it is possible for the Slimes to rearrange themselves back into facsimiles of their old selves. Slimes can already transfer stuff to one another, so they could puzzle out what parts belong to who and then sort them out. I have no clue how you can tell if a memory is yours or not, but then again, I don't have the ability to copy and share my brain (I wish I did, though! It would make teaching so much easier)! So Slimes can return what was lost between them, but they will still wind up with pieces of non-Slime information. What they do with this is unknown and up to who wields it, but some believe that Slimes have gained portions of their knowledge by recovering stolen thoughts from a Mind Sink. Supposedly an ancient Mind Sink fed upon human settlements and was finally slain, and the Slimes that emerged claimed all the knowledge and skills of its victims. Could it have happened? Maybe. Do I believe it? No, because I do not like the light it paints Slimes in. The theory is essentially saying they stole all their knowledge and wisdom from others, and proposes that they couldn't have come across this any other way. Seems more like it is derogatory towards Slimes than it is trying to learn more about them. Doesn't help that the people I have met who believe this theory have all kind of been jerks towards Slimes. After all this talk about Mind Sinks and their horrific abilities, I bet some think that I can offer tips on how to kill one. In truth, I got nothing. Take out the original rotted heart and the rest falls apart. How do you do that? Not really my department there. I am a researcher not a warrior, and I personally don't want to be anywhere near one of these things. As someone who has spent years learning and seeking knowledge, the concept of a brain-sucking monster is absolutely terrifying to me. All my experiences, all my work drained away in minutes, reducing me to a mindless vegetable! No thank you! I like my thoughts right where they are, and I got enough of a scatter brain already! The only way I want to share my knowledge is through my writings and teachings! Read my life's work, don't yank it out of my skull! Speaking of that, I better watch my tongue. Enough talk about a mind-wiping monster and Eucella might hire one and sic it on me. It would be way easier to chop up my writings and sell a book if I was brainless idiot! Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian - You know I read these, right? This is not helping your case in the slightest. And also you might want to drop the "if" and change the "was" on the brainless idiot part.     - Eucella - ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Slimes, Slimes, I love Slimes!      

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Sinners in a Pod (Chapter 1)

Updates for this will start posting after Witcher of the Night is finished. So, chapter 1 for this will only be posted right now and shall continue its updates soon. Currently, this is on hiatus. But, please do tell me what you think if you manage to read this! Thank you! 💞

PROLOGUE (Summary)

Characters:  Mob/Professor!Henry Cavill x small!stalker!reader (AU)

Warnings: 18+ Blood. Death. Psychopathic issues. The Mafia. Suggestive content and thinking. Stalker and manipulative reader. The word ‘Daddy’ used in different ways? (I don’t even know why this is a warning?) Y/L/N means Your Last Name. 

Words: 6.3k

A/N: Il babbo means Father and il compagno means comrade. Tell me if I’m wrong, I’m using google translate on this one. Sorry, if I’m making this on a hiatus. I wanna see how this will click for anyone. Also, the Geralt fic comes first because I wanna finish it. Hehehehe.

TAGLIST WILL BE OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! (I hope you would, bb!) IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE! Sorry for the grammatical errors and such because English isn’t my mother tongue!

Disclaimer: PNG’s and pictures used in edits are not mine even the GIF’s too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi.

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

9:35 AM.

Mr. Cavill has been well-known in just his first day of becoming the substitute for your previous professor who has died due to an infectious disease that still had no cure. He has been the main topic of every person in the campus. Your professor in History was a complete hot-shot. An additional fact about him being attractive was his unconventional pedagogic style that can get students listening to every word that leaves his mouth, leaving you all wanting to hear more than just his educational discussions.

His presence definitely aroused each and every women's curiosity in your campus; hearing gossips about how they were willing to be the teacher's pet to have a piece of what your professor could offer like he was being treated as a play thing or some sort of food that they wanted to have a taste despite of how indecent it sounded. The hungry felines were willing and taking their chances, seeming to want and do it to also save their grades from their previous quizzes and special tests that they have taken from the deceased professor.

Until, You started to realized that you were even included in one of those students who was thoroughly affected by his presence; lately comprehending that he was being the main image of your filthy fantasies every night.

Especially whenever you notice how he tries to keep eye contact with you whenever he discusses. Your best friend can see how he kept on taking secretive glimpses without anyone noticing. Nonetheless, one person did and he was unlucky to have been caught by your best friend who promised to never lie and keep secrets when it involves you.

Though, there are certain situations that should be kept from her. Specifically the part about what happens every night with the idea of your professor fucking you like he'd never want you to walk for seven days straight.

That kind of fucking where you both can be considered as animals in a rut.

It took one look from your best friend to know that he was staring again. You could imagine his piercing ocean blue eyes that had a speck of brown drowning with it; observing every breath and move you make under those black spectacles of his. Curly hair gelled back looking professional but so tempting to be yanked hard.

You suddenly shook your head at the thought, blinking hard while you tried to keep focus on your paper.

Your best friend was done with her pre-test, but you weren't. She kept on silently but repeatedly snapping her fingers under her desk, giving you a signal that he was doing it again. You tried hard ignoring your best friend who was just clearly beside you; bringing you into a much more dangerous scenario by having your test incomplete or rather receiving a failing grade that would make you repeat this subject again.

Then, you'd remember the professor who could get you writhing under his gaze. He was also one of your fantasies---the one and only who could get you off every night---though, leaving you insatiable and craving for more.

Immodest thinking, but it was worth it every time you came.

"Daddy's lookin' again, hunny! Oh, teach me your ways, please! I would so let him fuck my ass raw, I tell you," She whisper-yelled knowingly. Only silence can be heard from around the four corners of the room, constant pages being flipped one by one, triggering you into panicking more than you should because you were still stuck on page one. You eyed the multiple choice that was written. 'Is it A? B? Or C?'

Your eyes narrowed on your test paper, struggling to think of an answer for the last question of the first page. The pen in your hand stopped on letter B, and in one quick motion. You encircled the whole letter before turning to the next page in a jiffy, never thinking whether your answer was right or wrong.

A small creak from your best friend's chair caught your attention, half on the test and half on your noisy best friend; seeming to be the person who was asking you answers when you haven't even finished the damned test yet.

"Psst! Bitch!"

You've sighed an exasperated one from being constantly distracted by everyone and especially from the penetrating gaze you could feel whenever Mr. Cavill tries to check on how everyone was doing from his desk.

"Ms. Rodriguez, I would rather like it if you try and keep your hands on your desk when you're done with the test,"

All together, the whole class turned their heads towards your best friend who had a panicking, shocked look written on her face. Her eyes seeming to tell she was guilty of trying to distract you while you answer the paper at hand. She evidently gulped, nodding silently and tentatively slipping her palms across her desk like a child getting a scolding. Embarrassment filling her body, the paper beneath her hands appearing to be more interesting rather than the gossip she ought to tell.

Mr. Cavill looked to be insouciant from her tricks, His eyes completely blank, cochineal lips forming a thin line from what he had in mind, "You all have thirty minutes left," the suave and sophisticated twang of his accent got you shifting in your seat. His baritone timbre that kept you up every night; never failing to give your core a throb whenever you get to listen to it personally rather than imagining it had you fidgeting with the sharp ends of your test paper.

He leaned back in his seat, the obvious bulk in his arms protruding once it was crossed. Your professor had always wore that extra tight, white dress shirt despite how it was popping out due to his sinewy biceps. The thatch of his chest hair slipping above the second to the last button of his clothing. You knew he was jacked in the flesh, the filament of his muscles straining out of his clothing which gives you images of what he could be like when he was stark-naked.

You had a bad habit of daydreaming in the wrong time.

Those Lapis Lazuli were brilliant under the morning sunlight that was escaping through the windows. Those eyes that you've been able to memorize landed on you, a sudden jolt in your insides made you feel warm and tingly.

"Please, do finish the test before the time is up, Students."

You were the first to break his gaze, the papers were an important matter and you didn't want to fail. Reason to that is because you didn't want to disappoint him by giving him a result that could make him think that you were never actually have been listening to his lessons and have just been daydreaming about his pretty little mouth on yours every day.

It was illicit of you to even think about having his mouth on yours or all over your body, exploring you till his curiosity would be answered and the same goes to yours. The devil was probably grinning in hell because of how risquè your thoughts have been.

Your soul was probably going to burn in hell.

Yet, on second thought; all seemed to be worth it.

Especially when you've been trying to stalk him for about two weeks already.

You haven't been caught yet; but, the idea of being collared seem to be a prize when you were a sinner.

10:05 AM.

"Time's up, everyone." Mr. Cavill's smooth, reverberant voice made you jump in your seat. You were only on the third page of your test and there were three pages left. The sheer frustration went to your head, emitting a vocal groan and a hard bite on your dried up lips. Every loud beat of your heart made your hand tremble in panic. Your eyes skimmed through every question, randomly circling any letter as long as you get to finish the damn test and not be left alone. Despite how anxious it made you feel, deep inside; you knew you were anticipating such a moment.

"Its time to pass your papers. Get your bags and you can go, I'll be seeing you guys tomorrow," He spoke in a monotone manner, his chair creaking once he stood up tall and lusty, grabbing onto the pile of papers, neatly stocking every test one by one with those hefty, streaking fingers of his as each student passed by in front of him. Some women slyly sparing him a glance, trying to check him out and that outstanding derriere of his as they smirked and quietly giggled on their way out.

Your tall, lanky but quite fit block mate stood along the threshold. His bright hazel eyes, tanned skin and dark red lips drawn with a grin as he held onto nothing but his pen; known to be a nerd but also a philanderer who had innocuous looks that appeared to be like he spends his time nose diving in games and books, "Have a great day, Mr. Cavill!"

"You too, Brent."

You could feel your breath shortening, grappling to answer your test urgently. Your breath hitched when somebody tapped your shoulder, you turned to look at the person you were expecting, but was left disappointed when you saw your best friend eyeing your papers; scrutinizing everything inside her head.

"Oh, you're doomed, Y/N." She inspected your answers and observed how her brows raise in an uncanny way, obtrusively telling that your answers were beyond incorrect. There were still students inside the room, slowly taking their time to leave before undergoing another set of lessons to be learned soon from their other professors.

"---I'll get going now, see you later, Chiquitita!"

She didn't even gave you a chance to ask some answers to your tests. What are friends even for?

Once the door was shut by her and others who left one by one, it was like every blood in your veins stopped cycling. No noise could be heard. You could feel an intense pair of ocean blue eyes began shooting you holes through your body that gave you the shivers.

Now, it was just you, him and nobody else.

You mentally gave yourself a slap for not reviewing for his test. It was quite embarrassing for him to see how you were struggling for a test that was undoubtedly easy for everyone.

"Ms. Y/L/N," Your professor started completely unfazed by your endeavor to get the test done in a minute. You breathed out a breath in utter frustration, closing your eyes and capping your pen closed. The time was up.

A large, warm hand gently clasped your shoulder, and you were sure you felt the imaginary sparks from it that also held a flush of shivers, creating a reaction that made your whole body go rigid.

"---Don't rush, you have all the time." Mr. Cavill surprisingly spoke in his calm, low voice. Warm, comforting heat gathered in a close proximity and before you could even realize what was happening; he was already hovering from behind, checking your answers for you.

His breathtaking face were inches away from you, his perfect side profile seen from your peripheral vision and his spectacles slightly falling on his tall, pointy nose. The dimple on his nose winsome for your taste and for every thirsty felines as well. Eyelashes long that can be considered as pretty, an exact length to beautify his eyes a lot more than it would. There was something mysterious about what lies beneath his bright azure eyes. Something dark was laying deep inside of it but it was a locked up window that nobody could ever get to see and understand.

Something about him was making you more intrigued for what his lifestyle is and the more curious you are, the more you were getting yourself at risk. Deeper. Intrusive. You were going to risk it all.

The deep scar on the top of his right eye brow distracted you from thinking anymore else. It looked like a battle scar that he once got from a fight, and it was quite interesting to see such a perfect face that held a flaw; telling you he was actually human after all and not a prince in your dreams.

"Ms. Y/L/N, I suppose you never listen to any of my lessons, am I correct?"

Oh, the way he says your last name always made you sin. Heat traveled towards your face, and some even had the audacity to travel down south. It was wrong.

You had to stop.

"I-I..I do, Sir." You struggled to keep your mind straight. Your eyes stared straight at the whiteboard in front of you, never giving him a glance.

Those heavy gaze of his fell on you; piercing and utterly inquisitive; giving your heart a chance to leave the curiosity before he would want to pry a lot about you that you couldn't imagine him to know, you could feel the disappointment within his eyes that crushed your hopes in making him proud.

"All of your answers are incorrect. It seemed like you've been guessing your answers the whole time,"

Shame and guilt was all you felt at that exact moment. The ends of Mr. Cavill's lips formed a tight thin line before languidly curving into a small, sinister smile that he never gave to any of his students. Yet, you were an exception.

"Must I say, do I sound uninteresting for you?"

An excruciating ring of your school bell rang loudly enough for you to jerk on your seat. You couldn't deny the intense attraction you were feeling towards your professor. The windows weren't locked anymore, and you knew for a fact that you've seen the treacherous glint in his eyes; giving you the key for you to decide if you wanted to enter. Deep down something diabolical lived inside and it left you curious enough to dig down whatever hidden darkness it could be.

"I..I.." You anxiously trailed off and stared into his eyes, feeling yourself get enticed by the gorgeous hues around his dark pupils. He was bold enough to stare back, his face too close for your liking.

"You think I don't notice it at all, do you? you're interested---curious even and that curiosity of yours will risk you a lot, sweetheart."

The words that came out of his mouth were utmost accurate, you felt your throat become dry from getting caught red-handed and from how he could read you with his eyes. Your professor was totally unbelievable and you didn't know whether or not he was just too conceited enough to say it straight to your face like it wasn't wrong nor indecent.

"I think...y-you got everything wrong, sir." you quickly scrambled out of your seat, books falling from your hands and you crouched down to get it, yet your professor was faster than you. He gathered those fallen books and stood undeniably tall, placing them on your opened palms. His eyes absolutely unreadable. You couldn't see what his emotions are at the moment, and it was terrifying to see that he looked like a sociopath for one second before playfulness have been replaced within his eyes.

He looked down at you, a small smile on show, "You think? No, Darling,---" Mr. Cavill momentarily paused with a smirk that got you swallowing the uncomfortable, heated feeling down your throat.

"---I know what's running inside those pretty head of yours and I assure you, it can be shameless and utterly unchaste as it can get,"

Without any second thought, you had everything around your arms; running out of the room. Never looking back at your professor who lowly chuckled to himself, seeing how he connected the dots with the right pattern. He knew you would end up walking with the same path as him, together and as one because of how you were hunting him down behind his back.

You were only acting. He could feel it.

Your unfinished paper was left on your desk, the ends of your test so wrinkly from the hard tugs while you tried remembering the right answers to those questions on his test. He remembered your face, he remembers every move you make all day and Henry knew you've been his shadow for the last two weeks like a canine he didn't remember that he has adopted.

Mr. Cavill had your papers at hand. He smiled to himself and with no doubt, he ticked every question correct despite of your wrong answers.

You passed his test and darkness was bound to happen soon.

10:20 PM.

The strange encounter you had with your professor didn't stop your undying attraction towards him, to be honest. It lured you into knowing more about him; becoming selfish to the point of being invasive, secretly following him around to find details about him and his life. All you knew was his name and that he was your History teacher.

William Cavill. That was his name. Other than that, there was nothing you ever did know except for where he lived. In a basic, plain rental apartments where everyone had one gate to begin with. You've noted that in your hidden diary made just for men who'd reach the point of being stalked by yourself. The kind of level where you plan on breaking inside his house to find more information because your lack of knowledge about him was frustrating you from the start.

You would try breaking into his apartment soon enough.

His place wasn't extravagant like how you imagined him to be, owning no car as he walks home and sometimes take public vehicles to arrive in your university like a normal human.

He wasn't rich. Though, his features could mistake him as a prince. Deserving more than to live in a ramshackle apartment.

You've lost track of Mr. Cavill and his whereabouts. One minute you were just following him in discreet, and now he was nowhere to be seen after turning at a sketchy street that made your feet stop from following him.

'Am I turning into a nutjob? No. I'm doing this to know him better, know what he likes or dislikes, knowing more about him that a typical woman would do. This is for the better and he probably will like it if he knew, I need to jot down things that will make him like me,'  You thought to yourself, your feet trembling with every step you took; the brisk, cold wind making it difficult for you to keep steady as you walked through the dark, strange street that your professor just walked in minutes ago.

There was finally light after walking through a dark path; feeling like it could've been a new beginning for your life if you were being metaphoric. You've seen a streetlamp beside a locked up door and a dumpster. It was the only light you could see. From your perspective, the end of the street was a dead end.

You were about to turn around, thinking that this might be a trap for being caught because your professor was no where to be seen. Up until, you've squinted your eyes at two men talking farther away from the lamp, hiding amongst the silhouette of the night sky. One voice quite foreign and the other recognizable by your ears.

The pitter-patters of your feet were stealthy, strolling closer and closer towards danger zone.

"Did the Rossi's hired you?" there was a hint of Italian from the stranger's voice, you managed to move and hide beside the huge dumpster, and it was the right hiding place because you could see and hear everything.

Everything including Mr. Cavill's features. Howbeit, without the black spectacles.

Why was he here and why is he interrogating a man? a man that also seemed familiar to you?

"You just don't know when to shut up, will you?" He curtly spat, the usual calmness whenever he talks in front of his students was now gone and replaced with a very ill-mannered tone. A tone you didn't expect to come out from him because he was pretty much a reserved and refined man.

"I am living a good life by being a professor in St. Hallmark Institute. But, you've come to try and ruin everything,"

"I've never ruined anything in the first place. It was you who made your own destiny. You've told secrets to other people that was meant to be buried deep in the ground, Henry. Finally, I found you---we were all looking for you,"

Henry? who was Henry? All you knew was that his name was 'William Cavill' and not the Henry that he was talking about.

Your hands began trembling with your back against the dumpster, eyes popping out of its eye sockets from all the scenarios happening.

The more you wait, the clamorous and intense their voices have become, "You're a Cavill, yes? I've known that unimpeachable but minatory gaze in your eyes. A family where everyone kills for a living, one of his son's best known hit man in Jersey; definitely the best out of the rest and people have been striving to find you---wanting to experience services that would definitely be worth the shot because you've struggled to learn everything---trained to become unstoppable. Although, there is one mistake that runs in the family,---" pause, "Your daddy never misses, yes?" The man dragged on and on, he was walking on a path of burning coal and fire. Hence, you were sure he was soon going to get a beating out of what gossips he was saying.

You closed your eyes, breathing quieter than normal; scared to get caught listening to their conversation. You heard a thud on the wall beside you, and it was because your professor boldly strangled the man around his neck, choking him to the point of taking his life out of it. His rage seen from how the veins on his temples were protruding and aching to burst from his anger.

Your fingers trembled from the sudden violence. Downright feeling frightened for what was going to happen with the pestilent man who wanted to get onto his wick, provoking to turn him into a savage animal who wouldn't deliberate for the kill. This man was bringing back memories that Henry wanted to avoid and forget after months of thriving.

But, it never happens because he was born to assassinate and the memories and guilt continued to haunt him forever.

"U-Until, he missed the part that your mother wasn't the target, but your weak, senile, clumsy il babbo aimed the sniper at her head," The man was trudging with fire, a fire that wouldn't be easy to kill.

You heard a cock of somebody's gun, and a deep hitch of breath from the stranger. He violently thrashed against his hold as he could see the gun tucked between the side of his pants. The barrel of the gun shiny beneath the moon light. The Italian clawed on Henry's large hand that was wrapped around his neck with a vice grip. Your professor didn't felt any remorse, nor guilt. Only amusement after trying to spur him on.

"It's quite a shame that you think of me that way," he smiled, a pure wicked beam that you haven't seen since then, cocking his head to the side as he gave him a frightening glare and a simple raise of his eyebrow, "---I'm definitely not like my father because when I hold a gun?" Mr. Cavill seethed through clenched teeth and a tight jaw, "---missing a target would be one of my greatest mistakes and I haven't had any blunders since then,"

"---I never risk to make any mistakes, Leo. I'm far different from my father. When I annihilate a target, I don't think twice and I know you've heard the gossips,"

Leonardo Bianchi desperately tried to fight off the hand that was slowly killing him. After a few more attempts, he have seen that there was no escape and that he'd click the switch inside Henry's head to become the lethal weapon that he was born to be.

The family has given him the go signal. Leonardo has only been a pawn for the family's success into whatever decision they had for the only Cavill that was left alive. But, he had hunt him down; catching the beast as to where it lived; hunting down its location. But, tonight will be the night he reaches his demise, and the man definitely knows it when he'd been given the order to stay close and find what they needed.

Leonardo was just merely their cat's paw.

He loudly laughed manically, breathing labored as the latter heaved to live for his family that was held hostage by the organization that he was in. If he wasn't alive before they get to track him down then his very own family---the real ones---will lose a father and a person who protects them from treacherous doings that he had been involved.

"I won't be the only one rotting in hell, Henry---" he deadpanned, "---you are too because revenge can be bittersweet and you're living for it,"

Mr. Cavill's smile turned upside down into a phlegmatic grimace, sliding the pistol out of his black trench coat that was tucked in between his pants before closely aiming the gun right in the middle of Leonardo's forehead, sweat began to roll down Leonardo's temples from the fear of being dead in the middle of a dead end street. Henry's eyes held no sympathy and just undying wrath for how his past was haunting him down no matter what he does. No matter what he does, they always crawl back like they have been hiding under his bed since then.

Leonardo Bianchi shut his eyes before death could even take him. He knew then and there he was going to die because whenever one does get to find the hit man that every familia wanted to get a hold to, they die in that exact day; complicating their trackers and showing them the wrong location until Henry decides to leave whatever life he created in his current one.

Though, he doubt that he'll be leaving this place for good today. Maybe, fate was about to take its turn and play the wild card.

"Let's share hell together then, il compagno."

It didn't take two seconds before you've heard the blaring sound of a gun going off; never thinking twice about pulling the trigger. He was dead, just like that; leaving his family in the past of his sins.

An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

Everything was gory. The bullet punctured the wall where Leonardo's head was roughly pushed with his dreams and faith that has been crushed in just a single bullet and because of one malefactor that you didn't expect to see.

Mr. Cavill killed a man with his gun and he wasn't just any man; the Italian man was his co-worker, a fellow professor too who went with the name 'Aaron Anderson' who also hid his Italian accent with a rough southern intonation of his tongue.

He was your new Physical Education professor last week ago and now Mr. Anderson was laying on the cold, hard ground on a dead end street.

Henry slipped the gun in his trench coat for safety; audibly sighing for a sight that he never knew would happen again. However, they took three months before he was found again rather than those weeks that they've taken for him to be hunted down. He didn't need another re-location of his life in another country or place; the latter was pleased to be a professor in your university, living in a secluded and a slightly run down rental apartment which was needed for his bolthole; so he would hardly be found.

Crimson blood pooled along the ground, he crouched before Leonardo; his eyes wide opened to tell that he was fighting to live with a gun on his head. Yet, Henry apathetically stared at his pale, bloody face, showing no ounce of pity for the whole situation. He took his white handkerchief tucked in his coat pockets, expunging the blood that coated on his thick fingers before bluntly throwing it on Leonardo's face. Once his rue was clean and forgotten, he firmly stood on his feet like this has been a daily occurrence for years end.

Curiosity killed the cat and care was too obsessed over the Cheshire cat. Now, she was left to deteriorate for letting her other professor be killed by his own co-worker.

Your hands began trembling and your breath was getting the best of you. Hence, it added more panic when the rough, relaxed sounds of footfall started to echo closer and closer before it ceased before the dumps that was behind you.

A faint click of a button has been heard before hearing his low, satiny timbre of his voice nearby; feeling as if eyes were boring into your head while you have been rooted, crouching beside the dumps.

"Blind alley. East side. You know where I am because I know you track me down, Huntsman. Go check your fucking tracker---yeah, yeah. Another bullshit of a carcass. Shot in the head, mate. Got blood on my hands again---it was the first time for the last three months though,"

He sounded like he was just talking dinner with the caller on his phone. Too stolid for what he has done after the shooting. Thus, you've heard soft tapping of his foot on the ground, nearer than it ever has been.

"---I want the whole fucking alley pasteurized in less than ten minutes, got it?" he brusquely ordered around, giving a moment for the caller to finish whatever he or she was saying before you've heard Henry scoff from above your head; making you audibly hitch your breath, "---Don't act like you aren't following me around and that you live nearby,"

You were caught. The cat was captured from her sheer curiosity. Cats have seven lives based on the sayings. Nevertheless, you only had one left for tonight.

It felt as if a bucket of ice was thrown on your head. The eerie, tranquil silence for waiting whatever it is that his friend wanted to say was killing you alive. You began to breathe fast, hyperventilating in your space as your nails scratched the clothing of your knees, panic was rising through and becoming uncontrollable.

Sure, you were a stalker. But, did you deserve to die in the same place where your P.E professor has been killed? will you accept the fact that you'll be perished by the man who was worth the obsession before you knew he was a convict?

If so, then why was your core still throbbing to be caught like it was giving you thrill and excitement to be lured in?

"---Might have caught a witness this time," Henry bluntly confessed, his tone quite exuberant from the expected emotion you imagined him to be in; sounding like he caught the biggest fish in the sea as he went on to talk.

"---Don't worry. This one's mine. I'll do all the interrogating tonight,"

Then, you've heard the shuffling of his clothes, thinking that he'd tuck his phone inside his pockets before you've felt him crouch beside you; slowly and painstakingly.

Warm set of thick fingers clasped onto your fretful ones, his touch sending sparks and probably knives from how tender yet threatening it felt; like his softness had a trade of contract with the Grim Reaper because he didn't seem to be like a person whose heart was delicate, virtuous and guileless like how you've imagined him to be.

His face can trick you into imagining him to be the opposite of what he actually was. An unfortunate disguise that he had which infatuated you to the core. Literally.

He pried those hands away from fidgeting over your knee, his eyes burning you alive as it felt so heavy on the side of your face.

"You shouldn't have followed me, sweetheart."

His presence was near. Too near for you to handle the bad omen lingering around. Your heart stopped beating from the moment those thick, rough, calloused fingers reach out to lightly clasp around the width of your soft, silky neck. The loose grip more frightening than to receive a rougher one because it was giving you mixed signals that you've hit a nerve and your death was just being postponed for minutes.

You've unconsciously swallowed, "You've seen the murder. I know you were a smart one no matter how you were always misbehaving---but, this time; you behaved like the good girl that your parents have always believed in," Henry whispered in your ear; his fiery, hot breath fanning the side of your face in ways that got your heart pounding in such crazy exhilaration. Shivers began to shake your spine, leaving you scared and thrilled for your life.

His thumb grazed along the edge of your jaw, your primal focus on his hand ghosting over your neck like he was planning to choke you alive. Henry could have it, he could do just that with how you've easily submitted to the murderer of your night.

Those cobalt eyes were cryptic. An enigma that kept you insane and wanting for more because of how secretive he was that got you following him around. But, you obviously couldn't deny the tremor of being caught by the man himself.

Your professor forcefully turned your head to look straight into his face. Thus, there you notice splotches of blood has painted his face; such perfect canvas that has been ruined by the blood of the person's life that he has taken. Henry was almost perfect, too perfect that it leaves you thoroughly intrigued for what flaw he had because you knew, deep down; there was something more.

His nose nuzzled upon yours, the dimples of his nose slightly grazing as he lowly seethed with spite and utter sophistication, "If you were any normal person, you should have left me alone since the last two weeks,"

He knew.

Mr. Cavill knows he was being followed by you and nothing was more frightening than a smirking devil who hid behind a picturesque face that would make you kneel before him like his Acolyte. Though, you were just thinking about it that you haven't even realized you were already glorifying him before you even know it.

His breath met your mouth. Your veins were flowing faster than it ever does before, much more than your orgasms could ever take. You lightly scoffed, sounding a little more shakier than how you imagined it to be, worried about everything you've done for the last two weeks. Your actions thoroughly inconspicuous.

The stalker title taken seriously like you have done it for a long time.

"But, I'm far from sane, Sir."

You knew you were. Saying it out loud was so bold in your part. But, if you were being honest it felt like this whole shaken girl that he was seeing has just been all an act that you wanted to manipulate.

Manipulation was just the icing on the cake because you could do more than that for the man you love. The facade that everyone sees was just merely a veil that came with your fancy dress, drinking wine as you let all the plans go through your head that was written inside your secret diary that was buried under the Sycamore tree that your mother loves to disregard because of how high maintenance it was, close to reaching its death as you noticed the leaves falling every day like bad-omen was coming. Hence, she didn't like how ghastly it appeared to be like; making it a better spot for your secrets to be kept under the pile of shattered dreams and bones.

If your mother wouldn't love the horrible ones, then you were willing to appreciate its natural beauty despite of how hideous it was for everyone.

Once you love someone or something, you never let it go that easily; reaching to the level that you would do everything in your will power to get and have what you want.

Henry's grip tightened in a way that got you grinning like a Cheshire cat, he was playing a game where he was trying to let you run for the hills. Mr. Cavill was mindlessly telling you that your life wasn't useful nor significant to him; though, you knew he didn't have it in him to place the gun on your temples because if he did then you should've been dead right now.

Deep within the waves of his ocean, you've seen something valuable that can be useful for you. Your lips curled wider as you've read his eyes that secretly tells you that he was more than interested for the poker game because of the cards he set beneath his palms; confidently assured that he would win.

He had a three of a kind.

But, you hold out a straight flush.

"---I doubt you're sane for stalking me around like it is a normal thing for a student like you,"

You quietly giggled beneath being dominated within his reach. Your tongue slipped out of your mouth, the wet muscle sticking out to lick the cupid's bow of his lips which made your crime-filled professor growl from the sudden action. He harshly huffed out of his mouth, giving you a menacing flicker of his Cobalt eyes which made you laugh out louder as the pungent, metallic scent of blood wafted through both of your noses.

Tag, he was it.

Now, you had more reasons to pry into his life more than how you were invited. Howbeit, Invitations weren't needed because your strong determination was enough to trespass into his dangerous world.

FEEDBACKS ARE VERY MUCH APPRECIATED, BB! (Strikethrough means I couldn’t tag the user. Please do check your settings, dollies!) PLEASE DO REBLOG! 🥰

Taglist for Sinners in a Pod: @amirahiddleston​, @iloveyouyen​, @godohammers​, @uncoolcloudyhead​, @marvelousell​, @boundtomyfate​, @evansislife​, @rahdaleigh​, @justine-en​, @agniavateira​, @maan24​, @fangirl-inthe-us​, @mary-ann84​ @snatchedbylele​

[sohin-ace]

SDC - Periods

This is cross-posted from Wattpad and available on AO3.

Enjoy~

Scenario with the crusaders

Being the only girl in the crusaders was really something. It was fun to be with the boys, and they never treated you bad or underestimated your abilities because you were a woman. In fact, they respected you a lot which you appreciated.

You always felt safe with them and knew you could trust them and count on them. But of course, there were some times and some matters that were hardly discussable with the group.

If you had any sensitive matters to talk about, you'd rather go find Joseph or Abdol since they were the most mature of the group and the most likely to understand your concerns. Especially Joseph, as he was a father, after all.

Today was one of those days sadly. The days were you had to deal with feminine problems.

That's right. Periods.

Everyone was a little bit on edge since a stand user could be attacking at any time. Even if it was a perfect time and place for a little bit of sightseeing, you couldn't let your guards down.

You were all walking around the streets, directing yourselves towards the nearest hotel when you started to feel cramps.

At first it wasn't pain, just an unpleasant feeling in your lower region, basically your uterus signaling you that it was time. You ignored it as it was tolerable. But then ten minutes passed, and the feeling grew into slight pain which made you scrunch your face and grunt a little.

'Jeez, not now. We're almost at the hotel, hold on.' you thought to yourself, trying to control the situation.

But it just got worse with every passing minute until you started to have a hard time walking and breathing. You put your hands over your stomach and slowed down a little.

"A-aah..." you moaned in pain. The boys noticed and turned to look at you and stopped in their tracks.

They looked at you concerned, but before any of them could ask you what was wrong, a sharp, piercing pain suddenly shot through your core, like you were being stabbed.

"Aaarghhh...!" You cried very suddenly. You clenched at your stomach and bent forward trying to suppress the agonizing pain.

"Hey Y/N are you okay??" Polnareff asked panicking. Abdol instantly grabbed your shoulders, afraid that you might collapse.

"What's wrong Y/N? Are you hurt?!" Kakyoin checked on you for potential injuries.

"Could it be... A stand user?" Jotaro looked around, scanning the area for a potential suspect passing by who might have sneak-attacked you.

This is exactly what you wanted to avoid. You were in too much pain to walk properly, but you also wanted them to stop worrying and just go since there was no danger.

"I-I'm fine guys let's jus-uughh!" you tried to argue but got cut off by another wave of pain that caused you to start shaking.

Joseph started to understand what was going on and suggested they just continued to the hotel and he would carry you. But Jotaro, Kakyoin and Polnareff were confident at this point, that your pain was caused by a potential underling of Dio.

"No Mr. Joestar, if someone has the ability to attack without us seeing them, they have to be dealt with as soon as possible!" Kakyoin told Joseph with blind determination.

Jotaro already got Star Platinum out and was ready to beat the crap out of any passerby for information while Polnareff was glaring daggers into the distance.

"Tch... It could be another invisible stand... Maybe even... the stand infected her body somehow! Y/N did you eat anything that none of us had recently??"

This was getting out of hand. You tried to stand up straight and move forward to persuade the boys to continue walking towards the original destination.

"No, It's okay Pol' I-ah... I'm fine really! Guys it's not a stand, I just need some painkillers, let's go-" Kakyoin cut you off by grabbing your hands reassuringly.

"It's okay Y/N don't push yourself, we'll deal with it okay? You go to the hotel with Mr Joestar, and we'll find that stand user and come back to you both" He said with confidence as he started walking off with Polnareff and Jotaro who seemed way too determined.

"Abdol, we'll need you and Magician Red in this, come with us." Abdol then sighed, he glanced at Joseph who gave him a knowing look, thinking on how he could tell them without shocking their poor souls.

You sighed in desperation. These boys were so damn stubborn they never listened. You looked at Joseph and wanted to tell him, maybe he'll find better words than you to explain the situation to the boys and bring them back.

"Mr. Joestar, actually I-"

"I know Y/N, I get it. For now let's get you to the hotel, I'll buy you some medications and supplies. Can you walk?"

You nodded quietly, a bit surprised and relieved at how well he handled the situation. What a man, you thought to yourself as he grabbed your shoulder so you could lean on him for support.

The entire walk was spent with you being embarassed at how you couldn't manage the chaos caused by your feminine cycle and convice the guys that it wasn't anything to worry about.

You were finally brought to your hotel room by Joseph. He kindly put you to bed and told you he would take care of the situation with the boys and that you could rest peacefully until he was back with everything you needed.

"Thank you Mr. Joestar... I'm so sorry, this is embarassing..."

"No, don't worry about a thing Y/N, you can't expect them to understand those things. Alright, don't sweat it, I'll be right back." He covered you with the blanket and walked off silently.

After a while, when Joseph finally came back, you were already fast asleep. By the same occasion he brought back the boys who were feeling very stupid, but decided not to bring it up in front of you, so that they wouldn't embarass you as you already must be.

"She's brave.... She pulls up with 5 guys with no one to understand her, and yet she never says anything and acts like she's no different than us." Kakyoin muttered softly and with sympathy as he looked at your sleeping form.

"I mean, she could have told me! I'm a very open-minded and attentive person. I don't judge, she can tell me anything, I'm not scared of girl stuff!" Polnareff exclaimed like he was obviously the first person to come to to talk about feminine issues.

"You wouldn't even know what tampons look like, shut up." Jotaro deadpanned.

"We should let her rest for now, let's go to our rooms until she wakes up." Abdol inquired and everyone agreed while exiting the room.

After two hours you woke up feeling better, but still a bit drowsy. You saw a plastic bag filled with painkillers, a bottle of water, (tampons/pads) and a little box of chocolate. You smiled and secretely thanked Joseph for his incredible consideration. You'll have to do something for him later.

After you prepared yourself, you decided to go face the boys. You came out of your room and guessed they would probably be staying in the adjacent rooms, so you knocked on the room next door.

You were greeted by Kakyoin who was staying with Jotaro. The red head smiled softly at you.

"Y/N, It's good to see you all well." he started.

"So uh..." you sheepishly rubbed your hands together in embarrassment. "It's not a stand user... I'm just-"

"Don't bother." he put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "We know. I'm sorry we acted like a bunch of children, we should have tried to understand you first. You're the only girl of the group after all, we should be expecting those things."

He smiled warmly at you and you relaxed a bit. Thank god Kakyoin was kind and knew how to carefully choose his words. You thanked him silently.

"You want to come inside?" He stepped aside to let you in, and you saw Jotaro laid down on one of the beds, his back facing you.

"I think I'll let Jojo rest, but thank you." As you said this, Jotaro slowly got up and walked towards you. He then put his large hand over your head and rubbed your hair, a bit too roughly, but in a nice gesture. You smiled at him and put a hand over his as to reciprocate the affectionate act.

"Come on, I'll show you the others' rooms" He said bluntly while walking down the corridor. You waved at your cherry-haired friend and followed Jotaro.

At the end of the day, you were surrounded by a bunch of dorks who couldn't understand you entirely, but at least they tried their best to make you feel right at home.

They were the kindest and most caring people you've ever met, and you wouldn't trade them for anything in this world.

Bonus:

"You could have told me you were on your periods! I would have taken care of you! I know these things, I know stuff about women!"

"Stop being so loud Polnareff, we're in public!! This is embarassing! And how would you take care of me, I can take care of myself!"

"Like, don't you need help putting that stuff inside your pu-" you smacked his face with your stand, efficiently shutting him up.

"YOU PERV!"

[generallypo]

“I heard your voice, so I came... Aoba-san.”

Hooo-boy, if that doesn’t get me emotional every single time. Call it my bias for eccentric bundles of sunshine and softness, or my crippling weakness for the secretly-handsome-and-devastatingly-earnest type, but you can’t change my mind: Clear is, hands down, DMMD’s best love interest. Character development-wise, thematically, romantically, he nails every trial thrown at him, gets his man,  and proceeds to break your heart in the tenderest, sincerest way possible. I am hopping with Huge Fan Energy, so this post is gonna be unapologetically long and self-indulgent and grossly enthusiastic. Yeeeee.

———— 

Look, DMMD meta analysis has been done to death, I get it. This game is old. But I think it stands as testament to its excellent production that it’s still a game worth revisiting years later — especially during these times when social contact is so hard pressed to come by and we all rabidly devour digital media like a horde of screeching feral gremlins. (Have you seen Netflix’s stock value now? The exploding MMO server populations? Astonishing.) It’s pure, simple human nature to want to connect, to cling to members of our network out of biological imperative and our psychological dependency on each other. As cold and primitive at that sounds, social contact also fulfills us on a higher level: the community is always stronger than the individual; genuine trust begets a mutually supportive relationship of exchange and evolution. People learn from each other, and grow into stronger, wiser, better versions of themselves.

Yeah, I’m being deliberately obtuse about this. Of course I’m talking about Clear. Clear, who is a robot. Clear, who is nearly childlike in his insatiable curiosity regarding the human condition.

And it’s a classic literary tactic, using non-human entities to question the intangible constructs of a concept like ‘humanity’ — think Frankenstein, or Tokyo Ghoul, or Detroit: Become Human, among so, so many works in various media — all tackling that question from countless angles, all with varying measures of success. What does it mean to be human? To be good? Who are we, and where do we stand in the grand scheme of things? Is there even a scheme to follow? … Wait, what?

Jokes aside, there are so many ways that the whole approaching-human-yet-not-quite-there schtick can be abused into edgy, joyless existential griping. Nothing wrong with that if it’s what you’re looking for, except that we’re talking about a boys’ love game here. But DMMD neatly, sweetly side steps that particular wrinkle, giving us a wonderfully grounded character to work with as a result. 

Character Design — a see-through secret

Let’s start small: Clear’s design and premise. Unlike so many other lost, clueless robo-lambs across media, Clear does have a small guiding presence early on in his life. It takes the form of his grandfather, who teaches Clear about the world while also sheltering him from his origins. It means he learns enough to blend sufficiently into society; it also means that Clear has even more questions that sprout from his limited understanding of the world.

Told that he must never remove his mask lest he expose his identity as a non-human, Clear’s perpetual fear of rejection for what he is drives much of his eccentricity and challenges him throughout much of his route. As for the player, the mystery of what lies underneath his mask is a carrot that the writers get to dangle until the peak moment of emotional payoff. Even if it’s not hard to guess that there’s probably a hottie of legendary proportions stuck under there, there’s still significance in waiting for that good moment to happen. And when it does, it feels great.

His upbringing contextualizes and affirms his odd choice of fashion: deliberately generic, bashfully covered from the public eye, and colored nearly in pure white - the quintessential signal of a blank slate, of innocence. Contrasted with the rest of DMMD’s flashy, colorful crew, Clear is probably the most difficult to read on a superficial scale, not falling into the fiery, bare-chest sex appeal of a womanizer, or the techno-nerd rebel aesthetic that Noiz somehow rocks. Goofy weirdo? Possibly a serial killer? Honestly, both seem plausible at the start.

And that’s the funny thing, because as damn hard as he tries to physically cover himself up from society, Clear is irrepressibly true to his name: transparent to a fault. He’s a walking, talking contradiction, and it’s not hard to realize that this mysterious, masked stranger… is really just an open book. By far the most effusive and straightforward of the entire cast, his actions are wildly unconventional and sometimes wholly inexplicable. But given time to explain himself, he is always, always sincere in his intentions — and unlike the rest of the love interests, naturally inclined to offer bits of himself to Aoba. It doesn’t take the entire character arc to figure out his big, bad secret — our main character gets an inkling about halfway through his route — and what’s even better is that he embraces it, understanding that his abilities also allow him to protect what he cherishes: Aoba. 

So what if he doesn’t fit into an easily recognizable box of daydream boyfriend material? He’s contradictory, and contradiction is interesting. Dons a gas mask, but isn’t an edgelord. Blandly dressed, but ridiculously charming. Unreadable and modestly intimidating — until he opens his mouth. Even without the benefit of traversing his route, there’s already so much good stuff to work with, and sure as hell, you’re kept guessing all the way to the end.

Character Development — from reckless devotion into complaisant subservience, complaisant subservience into mutual understanding. And then, of course: free will, and true love. 

At its core, DMMD is about a dude with magic mind-melding powers and his merry band of attractive men with — surprise! — crippling emotional baggage. Each route follows the same pattern, simply remixing the individual character interactions and the pace of the program: Aoba finds himself isolated with the love interest, faces various communication issues varying on the scale of frustrating to downright dangerous, wanders into a sketchy section of Platinum Jail, bonds with the love interest over shared duress, breaks into the Oval Tower, faces mental assault by the big bad — and finally, finally, destroys those internal demons plaguing the love interest, releasing the couple onto the path of a real heart-to-heart conversation. And then, you know, the lovey-dovey stuff. 

Here’s the thing: as far as romantic progression goes, it’s really not a bad structure. There’s room to bump heads, but also to bond. The Scrap scene is a thematically cohesive and clever way to squeeze in the full breadth of character backstory while simultaneously advancing the plot. In this part, Aoba must become the hero to each of his love interests and save them from themselves. Having become privy to each other’s deepest thoughts and reaching a mutual understanding of each other, their feelings afterwards slide much more naturally into romantic territory. They break free of Oval Tower, make their way home, and have hot, emotionally fulfilling sex or otherwise some variation on the last few steps. The end. 

That is, except for Clear. 

Clear’s route is refreshing in that he needs none of these things — the climax of his emotional arc actually comes a little after the halfway point of his route. When Clear’s true origins are revealed, he comes entirely clean to Aoba, fighting against his fear of rejection but also trusting that Aoba will listen. It’s a quiet, vulnerable moment, rather than the action-packed tension we normally experience during a Scrap scene. 

That doesn’t mean it’s prematurely written in — it simply means that he reaches his potential faster than the other characters. Because of that, he’s free to pursue the next level of his route’s development much, much sooner in the timeline: he overcomes his fears of his appearance, he confesses his love to Aoba, he leaves the confines of a largely dubious master-servant relationship and allows himself to be Aoba’s equal. Clear’s sprite art mirrors his emotional transformation all the way through, exposing him to the literal bone — and Aoba’s affection for him doesn’t change a single bit. Beautiful.

The whammy of incredible moments doesn’t just stop there, though. I don’t exactly recall the order the routes DMMD is ideally meant to be played in, but I believe Clear’s is meant to be last. And if you do, I can guarantee that it becomes a hugely delightful gameplay experience — in order to achieve his good ending, you must do absolutely nothing with Scrap. It doesn’t just subvert our player expectations of proactively clicking and interacting with our love interests; it grabs the story by its thematic reins and yanks it all back to the forefront of our scene. 

In every route besides Clear’s, Scrap is a tool used to insert Aoba’s influence into and interfere with his target’s mind. Using his powers of destruction, Aoba is able to prune whatever maligned thoughts are harming his target; in any conventional situation, using Scrap is the right choice. 

But one of the central problems in Clear’s route is his conflict between the impulses of his conditioning and his desire to live freely as a human would. Breaking free of Toue’s programming is what initially made him unique; growing beyond the rules imposed by his grandfather is what makes him human. In the final conflict scene, Clear’s decision to destroy his key-lock is an action of true autonomy, made with perfect understanding of the consequences and a sincere, selflessly selfish desire to protect someone he loves. In order to receive his good end, you have to respect his decision. It doesn’t matter which option you pick — by using Scrap, Aoba turns his back on every positive choice he made with Clear and attempts to exert his authority over him. This is Aoba becoming Toue; this is Aoba trying to reinstate himself as ‘Master’ right as he approved Clear as his equal. That’s blatant hypocrisy, and it doesn’t matter if Aoba is trying to do it for Clear’s ‘own good’ — that’s not Aoba’s call to make. If you truly wish to respect Clear’s free will, you will stand by. This is the truth of the moment: Clear has no emotional blockages that Aoba needs to fix. Believe in him, just as he believed in you.

The path to his heart is, and always has been, clear. Scrap was never needed from the start.

While Aoba might be the main character, Clear is undeniably a hero in his own route just as much. Tirelessly earnest and always curious, he leaps headlong into the unknown and emerges with his newfound enlightenment. He’s unafraid of weathering trials, even to the point of accepting death, and returns anew from oblivion to a sweet, cathartic ending. That’s about as textbook hero’s journey as it gets — if that doesn’t make him unquestionably, certifiably, unconditionally human, then I will scream.

And only finally… there is the free end. The final CG is like a throwback to our first impression of him: indistinct, purposefully obscured from proper view. But this time, we know better — and so does Aoba. Looks were never what mattered in Clear’s route. If you were patient, and you were open-minded, and you listened… well, what we realize now is that Clear was doing the exact same thing for you, too.

From a carefree, aimless robot-man with only the gimmick of “eccentric ditz” to carry him forward, we get a supremely more interesting character by the end: a man who has graduated from the well-intentioned but claustrophobic conditioning of his childhood; a weapon who has defied the imperatives placed on him by his creator’s programming; a wanderer who has, through unconditional patience and empathy, discovered love, and striven to become a better person for it. Who was it that ever doubted Clear’s character? He’s the goddamn goodest boy that ever wanted to be a real boy. Of course Clear is human. And in fact, he does it better than every single one of the actually human love interests. You can’t change my mind.

The Romance — kindness is really fucking attractive, okay.

Like I’ve said earlier, I have my Big Fan Blinds stuck on pretty tight. I might be conjuring sparks from thin air. But I think every choice was a deliberate creative decision on the writers’ part, and they deserve all the kudos for it — I’m just the lucky player who gets to enjoy it. But aside from Noiz (who I also think is a perfect darling as well — I could go on and on about him), Clear’s route is a model example for consent and healthy relationships in VN storytelling. This is reciprocated on both sides: never does Aoba infringe on Clear’s boundaries, and neither does Clear. They’re sensitive to each other’s needs and concerns; they ask for permission and stop when it isn’t granted (and when it is, boy do they get frisky — I’m not complaining!) I don’t need to say much more, because I think that consent is both fantastic and yes, incredibly hot (the scene in DMMD is tons more sad, go play Re:connect!). Good writing shows off the massive erotic potential enthusiastic consent puts into intimacy, and Aoba’s and Clear’s relationship is honestly a dream playground. The point is, I think Aoba and Clear genuinely do find equal balance in their relationship by the end of his route (and certainly through Re:connect). If you follow through Re:connect’s storyline, there’s even more thematic richness that comes through in the form of Clear’s greatest asset: communication. The couple get to discuss the long-term implications of them being together; they both offer concerns, points, and assurances to the other, and it’s just a soft, honest moment not so unlike the worries of a real relationship. Hearing is kind of Clear’s motif sense, but it’s really great to see that Aoba also subtly picks it up, really flexes his own communication skills to better engage with Clear. 

Point is, Clear’s route spoke to me on a lot of little levels. Design-wise, he’s already got a ton going for him, and his story builds upon it rather than against it, enriching his development and grounding him a little more solidly in the DMMD universe (and in my heart). His route, aside from being emotionally ruinous, carries a pretty solid chunk of world-building (only beaten out by Mink’s and Ren’s, probably), and the romance feels organic, healthy, and realistic. He’s not the only one with an excellent route, but he’s my favorite. If you read through all of this, you’re a real trooper and I’m extremely impressed. Thanks for tuning in. Peace.

[siribear]

the brotherhood, apparently, doesn’t have the resources to pick them up. even when the new trio makes it back to greentop nursery, they’re told to make most of the journey back to the airport, and they’ll be picked up once they get closer. danse is understanding, as is brandis; whisper feels like they’d have been picked up as far out as the bunker if she wasn’t part of the group.

we don’t abandon our own. whisper runs her hands through her hair with a sigh. just a few more days, then. if elder maxson wants to be petty, so be it.

-

danse and whisper take turns watching over brandis even in the safety of the nursery. the older paladin stirs and talks in his sleep. sometimes he wakes in a panic, and it’s then that they have to calm him. their progress is slower on their way toward the city, but brandis does his best to keep up. halfway back, danse has to change out his fusion core when his gait slows to a crawl and his armor stalls in the middle of a field. whisper changes it out for him, struggling with the removal until brandis lends a hand. with a grunt, he turns the latch handle, warped from their skirmish at the satellite array, and together they remove the fusion core.

‘thanks,’ she says, standing on her toes to insert the new fusion core.

brandis hums in acknowledgement. ‘astlin was about your height,’ he muses, a smile twisting his beard. ‘she had trouble with this too.’

the fusion core clicks into place, power humming through the suit once more. ‘i’m sorry it took so long to find any of you.’ maybe if she had followed the distress signal when she found it, if she hadn’t held onto it for leverage -

brandis holds up the collection of holotags. ‘but you found me. and them. and as long as i live, i will not forget them.’

whisper twists her wedding ring, sighing as her thoughts go to its partner tucked away in her bag. and her partner tucked away in the depths of vault 111. ‘i know how you feel.’

‘we’ll be at the airport soon if we keep up our pace,’ danse says, slowly. ‘thank you for the assistance, alice. we should get moving.’

-

there is no welcoming party for them at the airport, just the familiar noise of soldiers moving supplies and working machinery. a few of the idling knights recognize them as they walk across the ruined tarmac. danse signals to one, who radios up to the prydwen, and they don’t have to wait long for a vertibird to descend from the airship. danse and brandis stand at attention as elder maxson steps down to approach them. whisper crosses her arms.

‘the brotherhood is glad to have you back, paladin brandis. paladin danse,’ he greets the two members. ‘general,’ he adds.

‘elder.’ she looks over his shoulder, into the vertibird. no power armor. she holds back a sigh. a waste.

‘paladin danse, if you’ll escort paladin brandis up to knight captain cade for a full evaluation. he’s expecting you. also, you’ll find the general’s... reward,’ - there’s a notable, if questionable, pause - ‘has been set aside. bring it down once you’re done.’ maxson stands aside. ‘i’d like to talk to you,’ he says, to her, ‘in the meantime.’

brandis shakes her hand and departs with a sincere, ‘thank you.’

‘now,’ maxson says, after the two have left. ‘follow me.’ she does, to a more secluded area of the airport, away from lingering soldiers. ‘i apologize for being curt with you, but i admit i had my doubts, even now. but one moment after another, you’ve proven yourself, alice.’

‘thank you,’ she says, carefully. he’s leading up to something. wants something. ‘didn’t want your subordinates to hear you praising a minuteman?’

he bows his head, his eyes harder when he looks back to her. ‘no. but that is what i wanted to talk to you about: your being a minuteman. their general.’

‘and what of it?’

‘how much have you been able to do with them?’ he interrupts her before she can respond. ‘not for them. what have the minutemen been able to do for you, alice? remember, you had to come to us for help.’

she scoffs. ‘and i had to help you, so get to the point.’

‘fine. join the brotherhood. paladin danse told me you turned us down before, but i’m offering again. leave the minutemen and join us. together, we can find your son and take down the institute, much quicker than you can with the minutemen.’

whisper frowns. ‘those are my people, elder maxson. i can’t leave them any more than you could leave the brotherhood.’

‘i see. then we’ll leave our truce as it is, though my offer stands.’ the sound of a vertibird draws their attention: danse in a different suit of power armor. ‘paladin danse will have your armor, as you asked. good luck, general.’

-

whisper removes the fusion core from the brotherhood power armor. the moment she entered the armor, an alert appeared on the display inside her helmet: a warning for the fuel level in the fusion core. ‘did i get someone’s old, used fusion core?’

danse winces. ‘it’ll last until you return to the castle.’ there’s an unspoken, understood maybe.

she bites back a growl. the fusion core back in sanctuary might get her out to the glowing sea, but back? ‘the quartermaster - ’

‘isn’t allowed to sell one to anyone outside the brotherhood.’

well, shit. maxson’s slight for not joining them. or maybe it’s her punishment for working with them at all. the railroad - she’ll go to the railroad, instead. tinker tom has to have a spare fusion core lying around -

danse’s hand on her arm stops her before she can climb back into the armor. ‘here. i noticed the alert, so i bought a few replacements. these should last you through the glowing sea.’ he pulls a pair of fusion cores from a bag on the ground and passes them to her.

‘i - won’t elder maxson be upset? obviously he didn’t want to give me any more supplies than he had to.’

danse shrugs, surprisingly cavalier about going against the elder. ‘it’s in our best interest that you make it to the glowing sea, isn’t it? this shouldn’t be an issue.’

the fusion cores fit into her bag, tucked in next to her other supplies and random salvage. ‘thank you.’ whisper places a hand on his cheek. with a soft kiss to his other cheek, she says, ‘you’re a good man, danse. if only you were a minuteman.’

-

whisper listens to the radio, hooked up to the internal speakers of the power armor from her pipboy, as travis reports on her past week’s exploits. with his own twist, of course, praising the her for continuing to expand the minutemen in the same breath he worries about her working for the brotherhood. and worrying, of course, that they’re all going to die before quickly switching to the wanderer.

in another life, she caught nate singing along to the song on the radio in the late morning. in another life, he kissed her and made her dance with him until the end. the kitchen had smelled like burnt eggs the rest of that morning. whisper hums along.

the old, familiar songs carry her back to the road before the castle, until the fuel warnings blaring in her ears drown out the music. though she mutes the alarm, bright red text still flashes in the corner of her vision. a few of the minutemen clearing debris from the neighborhood pause to look at her, some even following behind. another runs ahead of her, ducking through the castle’s repaired doors.

one if by land - a brotherhood soldier approaches the castle.

preston emerges, flanked by two other minutemen. whisper doesn’t halt her approach, instead removing her helmet as she gets closer. ‘running on fumes,’ she explains. the two minutemen part the way for her. preston falls into step beside her. ‘i want to park this thing inside.’

preston nods. ‘let sturges know,’ he says to one of the minutemen. ‘welcome home, general.’

home. ‘thank you, pres-’ the armor refuses to take another step, just in front of radio freedom. she sighs and wonders again if maxson planned this all out. ‘thank you.’

‘still not used to that armor, huh, boss?’ sturges teases as she wobbles, stepping down from the armor. ‘how’re you gonna make it across the sea like that?’

she huffs. ‘just have to learn how to swim. i have another project for you, though.’

‘anything you need.’

she raps a knuckle against a metal arm. ‘how good are you at painting?’

sturges smiles, lopsided and pleased. ‘preston told us we might be needing some. managed to find some cans in garages down the road.’ whisper tells him to start in the morning, and he dismisses himself with a lazy salute.

‘you’re sure this is a good idea?’ preston asks. he steps around the armor to stand in front of her.

‘it’s only a new coat of paint, preston.’

‘i don’t mean that, though i can’t say i like having anything with the brotherhood insignia here. i mean going to the glowing sea. nothing survives out there.’

the sun begins to set on the water, turning it bright orange. ‘an institute scientist did.’

he groans. ‘let me come with you, then. i can’t let you go out there alone.’

'hey,’ she begins, softly, exhaustion beginning to set in. she wants to sleep. to rest somewhere she knows is safe. maybe that’s home. ‘you don’t have to mother hen me, preston. i can take care of myself.’

he sighs, his shoulders sagging in defeat. ‘i know. but if there’s anything i can do...’

‘keep this place from blowing up for a few hours so i can sleep?’ she offers.

when he laughs, it’s genuine. ‘i think i can manage that. good night, general.’

-

if deacon has planned his arrival correctly, whisper should have returned to the castle just the day before. and he has planned it correctly. his contacts have been keeping him appraised of any new changes in the commonwealth in the past few weeks, and two things have stuck out: minutemen territory has expanded further east, and a mismatched squad of brotherhood soldiers was seen returning to the airport. basically, his partner has been busy. and if the lone power armor tracks heading up through the castle’s neighborhood tell him anything, it’s that she was successful.

not that he’s surprised. he follows her for a reason, and it’s because she’s efficient. that’s all.

or so he would have told himself before. even if whatever happened between them in goodneighbor was a fluke, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy traveling with her just to travel with her. he believes in her, in what she’s doing. what she wants to do.

he sighs to himself. getting old, deacon. lost in his own thoughts, he finds he’s wandered halfway down the newly built up neighborhood. little shops and homes have started popping up. skeletons of pre-war buildings housing whisper’s future. it’s a testament to her that he even feels safe enough to walk openly down this road without fear of being ambushed.

one minuteman makes to approach him, gun at the ready, before another stops him. the other deacon recognizes as one of the minutemen that helped them take the castle. guess he does take breaks from manning the radio. he catches the tail end of ‘- he’s with the general‘ before he completely passes them. he absolutely doesn’t puff out his chest in response.

nah.

inside the castle, there’s some bustle. an older woman he doesn’t recognize orders around a group of minutemen, each one looking more green than the woman’s army fatigues. ah, fresh recruits. it’s almost adorable how hard they try not to poke each other’s eyes out with their laser rifles. just opposite them, a guy in dirty overalls surrounds himself with scrap metal as he works on a gun bigger than he is tall. deacon looks up the walls of the castle, to another minuteman standing in front of another huge gun, this one operational. goddamn. no one mentioned the minutemen managed to arm themselves with artillery.

he’d be worried if across the courtyard wasn’t his favorite person, overseeing a project of her own. she leans in close to garvey, points across the way and gestures; preston moves closer to listen over the din and nods at whatever she’s saying. deacon might have been delirious with fever at the time, but he remembers what he inadvertently interrupted in the rain. thankfully, everyone’s too preoccupied to notice deacon walk faster.

‘i told you,’ deacon hears her say. ‘that shade of blue looks so much better. we need to make that part of our uniform. create some unity here instead of...’

‘old colonial jackets and army uniforms?’ preston finishes for her.

‘exactly. maybe even just a patch so we can recognize each other.’

‘i’ll do what i can.’

she beams at him in a way only a wife who’s gotten her way can. deacon steps up next to her, puts an arm on her shoulder and leans. whisper shifts immediately to take his weight.

‘howdy, partner.’ he tips the brim of her new, overly sized hat. he definitely doesn’t remember her having that before. ‘preston.’ preston nods in acknowledgement before turning his attention away.

‘deacon,’ she returns, still smiling. ‘welcome back.’

‘and yourself. congratulations on surviving the brotherhood.’ he stands up straight, removing his weight from her shoulder, but still finds himself leaning into her. ‘how’d you manage to swing that?’ he asks, gesturing toward the power armor currently getting a minuteman makeover.

‘i asked nicely, of course.’

deacon raises an eyebrow. ‘asking nicely took you two weeks across the commonwealth?’

there’s that grin, wicked and knowing. because he shouldn’t know that she went so far, but he does. ‘preston, if you’ll excuse us,’ is all she says before half-dragging deacon back into the secluded corridors of the castle. ‘what happened to not going back to your stalking days, hm?’

‘can i help it if travis makes it easy to follow you? anyone paying attention can read between the lines.’

she exhales heavily. ‘i see. and - what are you wearing?’

took her long enough to notice. maybe two weeks without him put her out of practice. ‘this old thing? tom had it just laying around.’ he picks at the sleeve of his hazmat suit, dug out of, indeed, tom’s stash. the genius was almost unwilling to part with it - ‘it blocks radiation in the air and the institute’s brain control waves!’ - until deacon mentioned he needed it to assist whisper. and once desdemona heard that? it was as good as his.

‘oh,’ she says quietly. ‘so you are coming with me?’ said soft enough to break his heart.

‘like i said,’ he half-turns, looking out into the courtyard, because even behind his sunglasses he’s afraid he might give too much away. ‘i’m with you.’

[boywivlove]

| Please Don't Go |

Kim Seokjin x Reader 

Summary | You and were partners in the Police force, and soon became romantic with each other. After investigating a murder you are gunned down during an on foot pursuit. Not knowing if you will pull through, Jin stays by your side in the hospital, not knowing if he will ever get an answer to questions left unsaid.

Warnings | swearing , blood, descriptions of violence, fatal injuries. 

AN | This is my fic for the `April Showers Bring May Flowers` collaboration with @bangtanscenery​ I hope you enjoy it! I based the concept on the song `Please Don't Go` by Joel Adams listen to it if you can its a great song <3 Please enjoy and lemme know what you think!!

There was no doubt in your mind that joining the Seoul Police Force was the job for you. You had always been set on becoming a cop like your father, he was the greatest man you knew, and when he died on duty, you made a promise to yourself you would become a great cop. After months of hard work, you graduated from the police academy, finally reaching your dream. 

Your partner, Kim Seokjin, had graduated from the academy four years before you, and you hung to his every word as he showed you the ropes. Jin was a great partner, his arrest record was one of the highest in the precinct, and his face wasn't bad to look at either. He was professional as he could be with his work, but he had a jovial charm that made him approachable. He always had a cheesy dad joke ready for when you would see each other at the office, and each time, he would crack you up. The best thing about your friendship is the nickname he gave you, sunflower, he knew you loved the colour yellow, and You guess it just stuck. Every greeting to you was followed with `Sunflower`

`Good morning Sunflower`

`Gloomy weather we're having Sunflower`

`Coffee?  Sunflower`

You never caught on, but Jin was starting to fall for you, outside of work when the district officers would go for drinks or a meal, Jin always sat next to you, banter was always exchanged and aside from work you had a great deal in common. He wanted to keep it professional, he knew how distracting office relationships were, but it happened, he fell for you. He fought off his feelings for as long as he could, but seeing your smiling face greet him everyday at work got him. 

He didn't even know if you felt the same, you never hinted that  you wanted anything more than friendship from him, and on several occasions, you voiced how you couldn't see how office romances work out, either romantically or professionally. Jin had to agree, especially in the police force, there was too much to factor in, but he threw caution to the wind.

Jin had turned up at your apartment at 10pm, which you immediately thought was strange, social calls at night were not usually Jin's thing. But as you greeted your friend you were surprised by the bouquet of sunflowers, and his out of breath ramblings to you

` if I don't try, I'll never know… I don't know if this will work with us, but, i want to try…`

And the rest was history.  Two years later and you and Jin were still going strong, 

To say you were stressed is an overstatement. You haven't eaten all day, working on this case was the most important task in your eyes. Jungkook had to eventually drag you from your desk and take you out to a diner to your objection, only relenting when it was agreed to bring your paperwork along. The whole force was still grieving and doing their best. But you felt a personal grievance in this particular case. It had all started a few weeks ago, There had been a string of murders in the area, and the police were on the hunt for a suspected serial killer. It seemed the suspects M.O was targeted at doctors, nurses and emergency responders. Whoever this killer was, it seemed he had not planned these murders, all spur of the moments, possibly driven by a grievance, feeling wronged in some way by the people working in medical care. This killer had the same method of killing, gunning their victim down in a moment of opportunity, but after they had killed the victim, the killer gave one more bullet, an execution style shot to the head. 

The personal connection she had in this case was felt by the whole force. The murderer had changed his M.O, and gunned down a police officer who was working the case. Officer Kim Taehyung graduated from the academy with you and a few other officers on the squad.You had been close with Taehyung, you introduced him to his wife Seol, and he had teased you about Jin's sunflower nickname for you. He was a great cop, and a great husband. He and Seol had just welcomed their first child, a little boy, Kim Sung Jae. Now, Tehyung will never see his son grow up, and Sung Jae will never get to know his father. Your heart broke for the boy, as you yourself know what it's like to grow up without your father. 

You and Jungkook had spent hours at the diner, and the paperwork was finally done, now you were nursing a coffee when Jungkook decided to ask about Jin, honestly since taehyung's death, you'd barely seen him, he and Namjoon had been moved to the night shift weeks prior to work on different cases and fill out paperwork, and with you and Jungkook on day shift, you barely get time with him. You knew he had not been sleeping well either, he and Taehyung had gotten close after you had both started dating, and he had taken his sudden death just as badly as you had. 

“ Im sorry for your  loss Y/n, I didn't know Taehyung that well, but he was a great officer.”

“Yeah, I just hate that he will never see Sung Jae grow up, I know what it's like to lose your father in duty…”

You sighed and sipped on the now cold coffee, it was just as sad and bitter like this whole situation. Lost in thought you didn't register Jungkook taking your hand in his, a firm grip reassuring you slightly.

“We will catch this guy Y/N,” 

The way Jungkook said it with such conviction moved you, he was a good kid. Jungkook was  one of the youngest officers on the squad, and to you he became something like a younger brother

.“I know we will, we have to.”

With the paperwork done and the coffee now ice cold, you and Jungkook left the diner and headed to your squad car, you wondered how Jin was holding up. You didn't want to make an issue out of nothing, but recently, Jin was acting odd. The grief and working late was one thing, but it was like he was trying to hide something from you, and it made you slightly worry.

You find yourself coming out thinking about him, you barely registered Jungkook pulling you down behind the passenger side door as the window shattered into pieces falling onto you both. 

You snapped out of your inner thoughts, another loud noise making its way into your ears. A gunshot. Jungkook radios for backup as he notes that shots have been fired in the area, you look towards the back street of the diner, seeing a shadowy figure with its gun pointed at you, and as you draw your gun your partner lets out a shot of his own. The shadowy figure doesn't seem phased and lets off another round of shots towards you both before his gun clicks, signally it's empty. You see the figure make a run for it towards the main street. You were sure, more sure than anything in your career as a cop, that this was the guy you were looking for. The guy who killed Taehyung. Not wanting to let him get away, you and Jungkook speed off after the culprit, radioing once again to update the situation. 

“ This is officer Jeon, requesting back up….shots fired …..were in pursuit of the culprit approximately  five foot male grey hoodie, black jeans…”

You ran ahead of Jungkook, ramming through pedestrians and across the busy roads, he was not about to get away, not after all the pain he's caused people. You see him duck into an alleyway and you quickly run after him, your gun aimed and ready to shoot should he not surrender peacefully. Your eyes were looking over every little detail, the alley led out to the back streets  of the high street, he couldn't have run straight though, the alley being lengthy and blocked by rather large dumpsters. You cautiously made your way forward. You could hear your rapid pulse in your head, every beat getting louder and louder. You scanned ahead and while making your way forward, you heard it, the sound of a can being kicked across the floor. Coming from behind you. 

You turned quickly and then you felt something heavy connect with the side of your head. Your vision flashed with white as you fell disoriented to the ground, The perp had hit you with a brick, the corner covered in blood as he dropped it to the ground, you could feel the warm sticky liquid start to run down your head and seep into the collar of your shirt. You could see double, the alleyway swaying as the perp made his way to where you had dropped to the floor. You felt the wind go out of your lungs as he landed a sharp kick to your stomach. The pain and the force of the kick only seemed to magnify the harsh vibrations your head wound was giving you. You tried to reach for your gun, which had dropped after the blow to your head, but the perp was faster. He seemed to toy with the idea of what to do, looking at the gun with his head tilted to the side.

 You had never felt this scared in your whole career. Risking your life was just a part of the job, but the pain you felt was frightening. You felt as though you were staring into the abyss when he looked you in the eyes. His black orbs seemed to stare through to your core, seeing every part off you, and when he registered your fear. He didn't even seem to relish it as you thought he would. If you weren't so disoriented, you would think that maybe this was why he killed his victims with a shot to the head, simple and quick. This was rushed and sloppy for him. A shot rang out. The warm feeling in the side of your head had spread to your abdomen. Looking down, you see the pool of red that surrounds you, the metallic taste in your mouth was stronger, it was getting harder and harder for you to breathe. you stay awake just long enough to see the perp aim his gun at someone making their way into the alley.

Jungkook, finally caught up with you, let out three gunshots, killing the perp on the shot. The commotion from the main streets starting to zone in on the gunshots, Jungkook rushes to check you over, your pulse faint, and your skin cold to the touch. His jacket is pressed into your stomach, trying to stem the blood that was covering you from the waist down. You could faintly hear him screaming at the radio com for the EMTs to get here. 

Four weeks, it had been four weeks since Jin's whole world stopped. He hadn't slept, shaved, or had a decent meal in two weeks. How could he? He was almost certain his heart had stopped beating the moment he got the news.

 He had been making his way to work when he got the call, the captain, he had been vague, asking him to come to the hospital, but he knew, he knew it had something to do with you. He hadn't heard from you all day. But recently, that was the norm. This case had everyone on edge and overtime was greatly needed. The only time Jin saw you that wasn't in passing was when you were heading out and he was coming home, and vice versa. He had also been avoiding you for a reason. He didn't want you to find out during all this, he had wanted to wait for the right moment, not wanting to spring this on you on top of grieving and working overtime. Jin had met Jungkook at the reception, his shirt was stained red, his usual black work blazer was missing from his usual attire, he knew. Jin knew the moment he was Jungkook that something bad had happened to you. 

“Doctor please. How is she!? Is she alright? No one will say anything to me…”  He was desperate to know, but Jungkook was silent, his face seemed to be like marble, threatening to crack.

The doctors eventually got Jin alone, away from the busy hallways of the intensive care unit. Jin felt his whole world crash, his sun dropping from the sky like a led balloon.

“The shots perforated her stomach and penetrated the large and smaller intestines… we resected what we could… but the damage was severe…her head injury had caused slight swelling on the brain and has caused her to enter a comatose state...mr Kim… I'll be frank. With this amount of damage...there's a slim chance of her pulling through..but..”

“But what…”

“You might want to get in contact with her family, let them know she may not wake up”

He made his way to his destination, the light from the early sunset had illuminated the hall in a warm amber glow, he bathed in its warmth for a moment, the feeling of the sun on his skin felt like a hug from you. 

The soft, yellow, warmth. It was you. 

He came to the same place he'd been coming to for weeks, the flowers he had placed days ago had wilted, the petals dry and falling to the floor. 

Sunflowers. Your favourite. 

He replaced the dead flowers with new freshly cut ones, disposing of the old ones in the waste bin.  Jin then sat down and looked out of the window. The same soft amber glow from the hallway had made its way inside the room.

His mind replayed the moment he first walked into this room. The hurt and anguish still stained on his memory.

You had looked so broken. Your pale skin, the needles that stuck out of you from the I.V, the bandages. It was so hard for Jin not to break down right there on the floor. 

It had been four weeks since you were brought to the intensive care unit. And Jin had been given leave to get himself together while you tried to pull through. You had stabilised, but you still remained in the coma. Jin had to take that with a grain of salt. You were fighting, and that's all he asked for. There was so much he still wanted to say to you. So many moments you and he had yet to go though. Jin had to hold onto those yet to be moments, as a reminder everyday that you were fighting to come back to him. 

“Hey sunflower, I brought you some more, the last ones had started to wilt again, I got you a bigger bouquet this time, thought i'd make up for how fast you go through them…”

Jin sat beside you, his hand takes yours in his, stroking your knuckles slowly. He brought your hand up to his face as he traced kisses over each knuckle, and then your palm. He would give anything to hold you properly. He would give anything to see your beautiful eyes shine in the light again. His breathing hitched as he trained himself not to cry.

“Love, I know you're fighting, and I know you can hear me. But I need you to fight more. I have so much I have to say to you. I should have asked you a year ago when I bought this, but I could never find the perfect moment.”

Jin looked to the bedside table, the velvet box sat next to the sunflowers, and he kissed your fingers one by one. 

“I promise, I will ask you the moment you wake up. Just come back to me Y/N, please.”

“Please don't go.”