#when the actual killer made his intentions and purpose clear?

[howlsofbloodhounds]

I was thinking and what is stopping Killer from being labeled as god level or at least Demi-god level. So I was thinking what do all the gods and self proclaimed gods have that Killer doesn’t. Ink canonically isn’t actually that strong in battle but the fandom still labels him a god so it isn’t raw power. Nightmare and Dream aren’t ever scripted having abilities to destroy or affect an entire Au effortlessly even they have limits so it’s not that perhaps being a god in the Undertale fandom is all about purpose to be considered a god or god level you must hold domain over something and so I ask what is stoppping Killer from realistically being labeled god level when honestly knowing his lore he should be I feel as if his own strengths are pushed to the side, forgotten, or underestimated becomes Nightmare was able to capture and manipulate him. He’s able to take on both Dream and ink even when their working together and they themself are often labeled as god level Nightmare wouldn’t stand a chance if it wasn’t for the fact that he can only be damaged by one specific thing but that doesn’t meat he can’t be outwit. The closest thing we have to a god in Undertale is Asriel/Flowey that way we can more easily scale things. Flowey after absorbing six souls same power level as Color can still technically be defeated as long as such a being didn’t have determination although it can’t really be compared to pacifist or genocide run human as in one get break the rules of the game to take a second turn doing unknown amount of damage the second human is then able to erase the world a power Flowey doesn’t seem to be able to acces but Asriel can. As a god Asriel has the power to erase the world and easily bring it back same as Chara it’s not a power that just anyone can access but Killer is known to have access to and yes Nightmare was shown to be able to destroy his button but that hardly matters when Asgore does the same and the human can bring it back. We might not have enough data of Killer full abilities since he is know to hold back but seeing how he can fight the entirety of the Star Sanses without breaking a sweat he definitely holds back more then he shows. But, what if his battle with Blue I love him but he isn’t beating Killer. Killer didn’t even loose but the fact that he Blue unintentionally brought up upsetting emotions and feelings along with him acting and speaking just like Papyrus his hardest enemy no wonder the fight went poorly at first after that Blue couldn’t really escape or do anything against him. Sorry for the rant

~Musical Anon.

As Killer stated himself, all depends on what “universe” and interpretation a Player is going with—on who’s the strongest. Fandom often sees people like Dream, Nightmare, Error and Ink the equivalent of Gods—so they are surprised to learn that Ink isn’t really, and taking him down isn’t really that hard. Not to mention Ink has been stated to not jump straight to violence as their first option.

Also relevant to mention that Blue has reasons to hold back in the fight with Killer, and was approaching him with intentions to help—whereas Killer had every intention of making him give up and go away.

Even if that meant playing with Swap’s emotions and fighting ugly and dirty—using underhanded tricks, even including making Blue believe that he was willingly to stop fighting and accept help only to stab him in the eye when he let his guard down.

Killer doesn’t care about the Star Sanses. It’s his job to deal with them, and as he says, he unfortunately is not allowed to kill them. They, in contrast, have shown a desire to understand Killer—why he’s doing this—and help him.

They want to help him, at least Blue and Dream do, and they don’t want to hurt him. Killer has made it clear he won’t hesitate to use that against them, and the most he seems effected by Dream’s attempts at first is that he found it boring that Dream wasn’t doing anything back against him.

In large part, Killer fights very differently than the three of them do. So I’d say that is one big reason why he wins—some may view it as him being stronger or more skilled and intelligent, or it can simply be because the four of them are different people with different experiences and values. Either or, or a mix.

But thinking of Killer is something on a God or Demi-God level would be interesting..

[bestworstcase]

Any thoughts on what the role of the Maidens are in the overarching narrative of RWBY. Because they are developed as characters and not as just keys to get the plot coupons of the relics.

conceptually the maidens represent ozma's dedication to the divine mandate, right. reading between the lines of the fairytale in context with what we know about how ozpin operates, it is pretty obvious that he empowered the maidens intending them to act as his agents in his crusade against salem. in this sense his present-day conspiracy's dehumanizing treatment of the maidens as relic-guardians is not a corruption of their "true purpose" but the extreme logical end result of what ozma made them to be.

with respect to ozma as a character, the obvious symbolic line between his four daughters and the four maidens suggests some things about how ozma might have viewed his own children—particularly if taken into consideration with 1. his abject horror when the eldest turned out magical without the blessings of his god, and 2. all four girls vanishing from the scene as ozma moves to attack salem, which presumably indicates he has no idea what happened to them after that point. we don't actually know why ozma tried to sneak the girls away that night, and the common assumption that he feared salem was a danger to them and went down fighting to protect them from her has some obvious holes (the girls are not shown during the fight, ozma isn't even depicted as fighting defensively at all, and when the smoke clears after the castle falls, salem's a pile of ash).

and then there's this in his commentary on 'the story of the seasons':

However, despite the prevalence of powerful wizards and witches in our fairy tales, the world has never known the levels of magic described here—for which we should be grateful. I fear that if unrestricted magic use were possible, the results would be chaotic and catastrophic. Better to leave such fanciful notions comfortably in the realm of fantasy!

given how ozma reacted to his daughter's magic, and how tightly ozpin controls the maidens, "unrestricted" strikes me as the key word here. the god of light told him that humankind was diminished, a mere fraction of what they once were, without the brothers' presence and ozma understood that to mean "humans can't have magic except by divine fiat" and his ideological view on magic is accordingly uneasy.

i think the narrative purpose of the maidens is to interrogate that discomfort: he created them by imparting his own god-given magic to young women he trusted to faithfully serve his divine mandate… and then he lost control of that power because it developed an inheritance system directly at odds with his intention. (if a maiden dies violently, and her killer is a young woman, the magic will most likely be inherited by her killer; and if she dies without a suitable candidate in her final thoughts, the magic chooses a new vessel in accordance with its own will. ozma cannot use the maidens to attack salem without effectively ceding that power to her. i am inclined to think that's precisely WHY the magic passes itself on in this manner.)

and of course the narrative thread connecting each seasonal arc is that the maidens are all in some way breaking free from ozpin's control: cinder kills him, raven walked away, penny chooses who she wants (winter) instead of making the pragmatic choice (weiss), winter leaves ironwood behind to fall with his city. by virtue of being the literal keys to ozpin's reliquaries the maidens are sort of the locus of his ideological failures; literally human beings reduced to objects.

(<- all of this is one of my reasons for thinking the branwen twins' shapeshifting is the key to whatever additional protections ozpin put in place to conceal the beacon vault.)

salem's side of this is also interesting in that she has always struck a rather ambivalent tone with cinder regarding the maidens: "your newfound strength brings with it a crippling weakness," "remember that it comes with a cost," and so forth. notably, her interest in the maidens is strictly in relation to the vaults, which have only housed the relics since ozpin's tenure as headmaster, and both ozpin and qrow have referenced circumstances in which the identity of the maidens became "unclear" (as opposed to maidens ending up under salem's control). i am unconvinced that salem cared about the maidens in the slightest before ozpin decided to link them to the vaults.

i do think there is probably a thread being developed here in regard to the ozlem girls, if only because the symbolic line is very clear (the original four maidens in the fairytale were sisters and their colors match the ozlem girls); i don't think the maidens are the daughters in any literal sense, whether whole or in part. the implicit similarity between ozma's exploitation of the maidens and his interest in ruby's silver eyes—when silver-eyed bloodlines originated from him—is probably telling. his implicit assumption that salem intended to use their daughters, coupled with his obvious projection of his own suicidal ideation onto her, likewise. we know that he lied to and manipulated salem throughout their marriage because the god of light told him she was irredeemable; to what degree would that perception of her color his relationship with their children?

<- the maidens are inextricable from this question because he made them by sharing his magic between four sisters whom he apparently, if the fairytale colors are any indication, emotionally associated with his daughters. and in the broader sense, the maidens represent the family he sacrificed on the mandate's altar; representations of his daughters that he can use as pawns in his crusade against salem.

there's also a more general purpose the maidens serve in relation to salem's "no victory in strength" thesis in that the point of a character becoming a maiden is not to Be Powerful, and in fact the maidens are all defined by their vulnerability:

amber is introduced in a coma pending extraction of her soul

pyrrha is coerced into becoming a vessel for someone else

cinder loses her eye and her arm as a consequence of becoming the fall maiden

the last spring maiden died under circumstances that have left raven emotionally shattered more than a decade later

fria is subjected to extreme medical neglect in a futile attempt to control her final thoughts

penny is mutilated, infected with a virus to strip her of agency, and ultimately murdered because of the maiden's power

winter receives the magic as a gift but spirals into guilt-stricken despair because she couldn't save her friend or her sister

all underscored by salem's repeated warnings that the power comes with a cost and various illustrations of how "godlike power" not only isn't a trump card but becomes a liability if treated like a trump card (see: amber vs CEM and penny vs ace-ops). so the maidens are an important building block in that theme as well.

[heretic-altias]

FFXIVWrite Day 29 - Contravention

New POV bc I've never actually written from his before. I honestly just couldn't find the right way to approach this one from Kito's POV, bc while it's part of his overarching WoL story, this particular story's weight is simply not his. When did the evil brother become a compelling character of his own and get a whole arc in my head anyway?

Don’t know my characters? Here’s a basic breakdown to help you out!

~

The end of the world was something that brought people together. Especially when it was the Scions calling them. Their journey had been long and their connections widespread, so it seemed as if nearly the entire world answered their call.

That also meant Sharlayan had too many visitors arriving at once to properly track. Or maybe they just had stopped caring when it was clear everyone was showing up for this purpose.

Either way, nobody noticed when a man wanted in three Alliance nations entered the city.

After all, his intent was the same as the rest of them.

Word had reached Kotah where he had been sitting restlessly in the Rising Stones unable to do anything. No one wanted to risk the Scions’ reputation by bringing him anywhere so he had remained. Even as the skies burned, and the very world threatened to crumble. Even as word came back of more and more death.

But the moment he’d heard about what the Scions planned to do, something had snapped. He couldn’t keep doing nothing, no matter what anyone thought.

So he’d dragged himself to Sharlayan along with every other ally the Scions had ever made. It had been easy, so many people were going that all he had to do was say he was a friend of the Scions and one of the groups had let him onto their boat in exchange for a little help moving their cargo around. He’d always wanted to go, but he’d never imagined ‘impending doom’ would be the circumstance. He had stood upon the deck of that boat as it approached the city feeling no joy, only the weight of many lives in the bag that thumped against his side with every step he took.

He knew he wouldn’t get the chance to see the city he’d always dreamed about. He didn’t deserve to anyway. But he had something to offer the cause, and he would see it into the right hands himself. His own had been the wrong ones for all too long, he would not risk allowing another to use it in that way.

It took him a bit to find Kito in the collection of people that had moved from the docks to Labyrinthos to work on the starship. But the moment they locked eyes, Kotah was ready for the lecture he got.

“What are you doing here? You can’t just walk into Sharlayan! We told you that!” Kito demanded, pulling him off to the side.

“I know. But there was something I had to give you. It’s not nearly enough, but this has a lot of aether stored in it. You know where it came from. I couldn’t place it in any hands others than yours directly” Kotah told him, opening the bag and holding its contents out.

It was an unusual stone, polished to perfection. Marred only by the strange Allagan technology fused to its surface.

Kotah knew Kito would recognize it. It had sat atop Kotah’s staff for a long time. The same staff he had taken many innocent lives with in pursuit of utter madness.

“You… you brought that here?” Kito’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“This aether was stolen. Lives were taken to collect it. Lives that didn’t deserve it. I will suffer the consequences for that for the rest of my life, as you have told me countless times. But… maybe their souls can find peace if it’s used for something good? Your ship needs power, and this is a lot of power” Kotah told him.

A part of him also just wanted to be rid of it. Looking at it made him sick. What had he done? What had he become? Would he have ever snapped out of his insanity without being forcibly removed from the world itself?

That wasn’t the man he was anymore. But that man’s shadow would always follow him. He should not and would not be forgiven. He was a terrible man, a killer and a criminal who had hurt countless people. Such things didn’t simply go away when you realized your wrongs. Not when they were that big.

There were times it broke him. The weight of his actions. Times he cursed himself for falling into that madness. Times he wished he could go back and redo his life and make everyone see him differently.

The greatest punishment of all, was simply continuing to live with it all.

But he could spend the time he still had trying to be better. And this seemed like the right choice.

“I don’t know. I don’t know if the Scions will want it. We’d have to talk to them…” Kito sighed.

“Do you want it?” Kotah asked.

Kito’s ears twitched in surprise.

“The Scions are great people. I’m glad you have them. And Urianger has become a good friend of mine. But you’re my brother. Whatever they decide, I want your thoughts first” Kotah added quickly.

“It’s… complicated. I’m not sure how I feel about it. But I think you have the right idea. That aether should be used for something good if it’s going to be used at all. And leaving it there is just asking for someone with other ideas to find it eventually, if not now then someday long after we’re dead. Using it for something truly good… I think that’s the only thing that can be done to honor those lives” Kito answered after a long moment of silent thought.

Kotah nodded, and the two of them set off to find the Scions.

How much Kito had grown. Kotah could still remember the shy child he’d been years ago, only lighting up outside their family when the conversation turned to plants. Now, even just walking across the settlement in Labyrinthos, the Miqo’te carried himself with a certain strength and nobility one could only describe as what a hero should be. He had become someone good. Someone worth following. Someone people believed in. Someone who’s legacy would continue to inspire people until the world ceased to be, as a long averted future had told them all too well.

How had Kotah ended up so far off track? They’d both suffered the same loss. And yet it had set them on such different paths. He had become someone to be feared. Someone unworthy of trust. Someone history would be quick to blot from its pages for fear his name would sully the images of the worthy.

And somehow the better one of the two was risking everything to save the world. Could Kotah really stay here yet again and wait for an unknown? Could he continue on in a crumbling world knowing his brother had died trying to save it if the worst came to pass?

His hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms.

No. He could not. Maybe his efforts would make no difference. But he had to try. He had to protect the family he had left. If nothing else, he could do that little bit of good for this world and for his family.

These were thoughts running through his mind, so intense that he barely even paid attention to Kito’s quick hushed conversation with the Scions as he pulled them all aside. He only heard enough to know their answer: they would accept his offering. They agreed that if anything would offer any release to these souls, it was this.

And so as they thanked him for what he’d chosen to do, he ended up blurting out what he knew he wanted to do.

“I’m coming with you. I have to. Please���

Glances were exchanged between the Scions and Warrior of Light. Kotah’s long viera ears fell against his head, making him look suddenly much smaller and less determined than he’d felt.

“I know it probably looks bad. I know my presence in anything looks bad. But I can’t let you do this alone. If you don’t come back I can’t sit here watching the world burn knowing I could have done something. And even if you succeed, what if the cost is too high? I can’t be left down here knowing this world could have had all of you. I wouldn’t be a big loss out there if it came to it, but any of you would be. Let me help you” he pleaded.

The Scions quickly gathered close together and spoke in hushed voices. It was Urianger who gave their answer, his expression soft and understanding.

“This is not a matter of politics. That has always been the primary reason thy presence has been a delicate matter. Thou hast proven thy loyalty to us back upon the First, and I would never deny thy strength when I was the one who mentored thee in astrology. But one cannot go to battle intending to give their life over to death’s grasp. Thou art welcome to fight alongside us, but do not throw thine own life away so swiftly. Thy goal must be to return alongside us” 

“I can do my best. I won’t let any of you die, but I know full well you all feel the same way about each other. And for the world with your plan to go at all. I will only risk as much as the rest of you, I promise” Kotah swore.

And that was how a criminal, a man deserving of no honor, ended up traveling to the edge of the universe alongside the world’s most beloved heroes.

[spidersmiceandeverythingnice]

Thinking about Morally Gray characters.

...

A good example of a morally gray hero is Kurama from Yu Yu Hakusho. He's an ancient, immortal fox demon who turned to thievery out of boredom with his long life. A remorseless killer who has no true friends or loved ones, he winds up on the wrong side of the law and winds up hiding his soul in a human body after he's injured; knowing that he'll need at least sixteen years in the human world to recover, he chooses a newborn baby as his vessel.

This human woman, Mrs Minamino, dutifully raises her son even though it is clear to everyone that there is Something Weird about this kid. He's unnaturally smart - a genius! They say - and Kurama is barely able to disguise his apathy and hate for humans in this form. He is actively planning his escape to the demon world at every moment.

Until one day, Mrs. Minamino rescues her son from a falling tree.

There was no danger to Kurama - even in the body of a human child, he has unnaturally fast reflexes and would have walked away without so much as a scratch - but Mrs. Minamino still put herself in mortal danger to protect him. Because he's her son.

Kurama realizes that his "mother" truly does love him. And through her selfless love, he grows a conscious.

Those sixteen years pass and Kurama no longer has any intention of leaving the human world; he's completely devoted to caring for his mother as she battles a life-threatening illness. He even intends to sacrifice his life to restore her health and protects the protagonist from demons who want to harm him. As he joins the main team, he acts as the wise guy, the hypercompetent strategist who has a plan for everything.

And then we actually see him fight - and it becomes extremely clear how DANGEROUS Kurama still is.

His magic extends to all plant life, so he can grow poisonous flowers in an opponent's bloodstream by inflicting simple wounds. He has an arsenal of carnivorous plants which gleefully would eat him alive along with his opponents. When he fears he no longer has enough power in his human body to keep up his win streak, he resorts to taking dubious magical medicines to boost his strength temporarily. Its all for a good cause, of course. They're saving Human World! Kurama really is so self-sacrificing, huh.

Eventually, we see how far he's actually willing to go in the Chapter Black arc. Chapter Black is a legendary video tape which is said to record all of the worst atrocities that humankind has ever committed. Most demons want to get their hands on it to justify their hate of humans - but we learn that it's fallen into the hands of a human named Sensui, who has now started a genocidal death cult dedicated to ending the human world forever.

Kurama has no interest in watching Chapter Black - anymore. After all, his mother is human and he loves her. He wants to protect her, and the world that she lives in. He's grown to care for his human friends, too.

So, eventually Sensui engineers a situation where the gang may have to kill a child - this child was groomed into joining Sensui's cult and doesn't really understand what he's signed up to do.

Kurama kills the child without hesitation once he understands Sensui's purpose. He even volunteers to do it so no one else has to.

He then immediately goes on to trap one of their enemies in an eternal mental prison of anguish, where they won't be allowed to expire and die - just out of anger, that he was put in that situation to begin with.

And THAT is how you do morally gray. We understand that Kurama is one of our heroes, a good guy who loves his mom, values his friends, who makes jokes and offers advice. But every time the gang has to make a tough choice, Kurama is the one to suggest the most ruthless and cutthroat option - which sometimes means sacrificing himself, to save the others, yes, but Kurama also has one of the highest kill counts of our characters. He habitually is the one to kill his opponents in ways that are tailor-made to torment them and cause pain. He's so dangerous that even our Token Evil Teammate who calls murder a hobby respects and admires him for his violence. (At one point in the story, both Kurama and the Evil Teammate guy are trying to tough up one of their human friends and Kurama says, "Your weakness and his honor cause him to hold back [in training you] - but I will not.") Kurama often feels guilty about his choices - but he never accepts pity from the others. He's always fully aware of what he's doing and why. The fact that he has morals now is just another layer to the character's psyche.

Anyway this post was about Rhysand and the type of character he COULD have been if SJM was a good writer.

[adrasian]

Adrasia stared hard at the other man as Roland closed his eyes, pleading silently in his heart for anything to reach him, to make it past all the layers of distance between them that made him worry it was a doomed effort to try to understand each other at all. In the smallest way, it would be like getting through to him, if the celestial could impress even a fraction of meaning of his words without Roland flippantly dismissing him. Anticipating a rebuke, poised to defend himself verbally or physically, Adrasia found his own anger disarmed near-instantly as Roland's eyes opened again and the other man, remarkably, slid into Adrasia's lap. His hands went to Roland's waist without thinking, as if he needed to steady him there, Adrasia's eyes wide as Roland spoke and actually answered him instead.

Answered him as much as the vampire could, it seemed. Adrasia's grip tightened, there were more questions written clear across the slave's face that he now knew he could not ask, putting together hushed gossip and stories to realize all too clearly what must have happened even if the details were too distant for him to understand. This was a killer, an ancient with power over countless human lives and yet Roland's pain was... heartbreak. The revelation of it nearly confounded Adrasia, twisted back many of his assumptions on themselves. It was so -- human. And how many times over the centuries had Adrasia seen how mortals grabbed for intimacy to escape their agonies? Even as Roland made himself look away, past Adrasia and the potential for Adrasia's rejection, the celestial could not. He searched the vampire's face intently for a long, long moment, too deep in his own conflicting thoughts to even remember breath.

In the end, Adrasia couldn't rebuke his own heart, no matter if he quarreled with it. Roland had given him a glimpse of a greater truth about himself. How could he punish anyone for that, even a vampire? He took in a breath, let his own conviction settle heavy in his gut, and leaned in just as Roland had when he first embraced him, resting his forehead against the other's. "Who could better understand wanting an escape?" Adrasia's words came out quiet but steady -- not an accusation, but his own strange offer of truth. The celestial had held someone he loved like this, before. He couldn't treat Roland with the same tender adoration, it wasn't possible. But Adrasia was built for worship. It would always come easier than scorn. He bent around the shape of Roland cradled against him, pressed his lips to the vampire's bare shoulder and knew with a flicker of sudden fearful certainty that he could not let himself make a habit of it after tonight. "I can try." Another murmur, another kiss, closer to the neck this time, hands still braced above Roland's hips. Adrasia went slow at first, light, giving enough time for Roland to still change his mind. By the time his mouth had reached that soft place beneath the vampire's jaw, though, the kisses were firmer things, purposeful. An agreement, for now, that he would let it lie.

Whatever he'd been expecting from Adrasia in response to his words it wasn't anger. The sudden outburst was surprising, surprising enough to jar Roland out of his own hurt feelings and downward spiral for a moment as he glanced at the celestial, eyes a little wide. Of course his wanting mattered, hadn't he shown that before? He was about to say that when his wrist was grabbed and he stopped trying to pull away, though he could've easily if he really wanted to but he let Adrasia stop him and listened to the next words. The expression on the slave's face was just as startling as the emotion, how pained it was, perhaps mirroring Roland's own pain though undoubtedly for different reasons. That brittle anger and defensiveness seemed to blow away entirely. "Of course it matters." The tone was dull and almost tired again, like he'd had the wind knocked out of his sails, no energy to keep up that brief spark of anger. "It's always mattered. Why else would I go to such effort to draw it out of you if it didn't matter?" Granted, there had been other reasons for why he'd played the game the way he had the first time, his own smug satisfaction in getting a celestial to give in to such earthly desires being a large part of that. But he was still telling the truth, for the most part. Roland didn't enjoy it if everyone wasn't enjoying it, however he might tease and playfully torment and frustrate. Ironic, when the slaves didn't really have a choice and on some level Roland realised that. Yet still, he didn't force, didn't mind control them into thinking they wanted it. If none of his seductions actually worked, he didn't take it. He remembered all too well...well, he wasn't about to go there. He had his reasons.

The surprise had worn off some as Adrasia continued, something about the crack in his voice, the note of desperation, resonating with Roland's own and slowly his expression softened. He remained quiet as Adrasia continued getting the words out, touched the collar when his hand was pushed there. The slave now seemed just as tormented as Roland was and while the vampire rarely cared about the feelings of others unless they were dear to him at this moment it reached him. He was trapped, certainly moreso than Roland himself given his circumstances no matter what prison Roland's feelings had made for him at the moment. He wanted to be told what Roland wanted. That would mean, of course, being open, being more vulnerable than he already had been. Maybe not telling him everything but at least what he was looking for with this rental and he balked at that. Then again, it wasn't like he could hide his tumultuous emotions right now so Adrasia already knew something was gravely wrong, that much was obvious. That was at least partially the source of the slave's own maelstrom of emotion, clearly, that he couldn't just ignore whatever was affecting Roland. A curious thing in itself. Most would have tried.

The vampire swallowed and closed his eyes. He probably should've been angry, shouldn't have let a slave speak to him like this...but he wasn't. His eyes opened a moment later and he looked at Adrasia, pained, though he moved back towards him instead of away. The celestial was half propped up and Roland didn't try to force him back down, bracketing his hips with his knees, settling almost gently into his lap. His hand slid up from the collar to cup Adrasia's face again. "No flattery. No lies." The words were soft and he stroked his thumb gently over Adrasia's cheek. "I want..." He didn't usually have trouble articulating his desires but they didn't usually render him so vulnerable. "...an escape from the pain." It was even quieter now, like if he whispered the words it would somehow make them less true. "I want to feel wanted not cast aside. I want the pleasure to drive it away for a handful of moments. I want to be touched like..." like I'm loved but that he couldn't manage to put into words, it would be going too far so he stalled for a moment. "...like I'm not alone." Perhaps it was contradictory and it really was just lies and flattery but he couldn't get any closer to the truth, not right now, he'd already said plenty. He didn't want to fully explain so he skirted around it, though Adrasia was no idiot. He could probably put together at least a fairly educated guess. Roland looked away, staring past him at the headboard. "It may be wrong of me to ask that of you and you may be unwilling to indulge me. I won't make you, either way." A way out, still, even after all this. Adrasia owed him nothing, Roland could hardly blame him if he wanted to leave.

[hollandorks]

shadows in the night

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

chapter thirteen

summary: more than a year after the events of middle of the night, y/n and Bruce are happily engaged and working to lower the amount of crime in Gotham. However, a new killer calling himself the Riddler has other plans for their happiness…set during the events of the movie, mostly canonical, some changes made to fit the story

a/n: I hesitate to say my writer’s block is better, but I have written more lately than I have in a while! If the streak keeps up I might start posting twice a week! Yay! Hope you enjoy this chapter!

Series Masterlist

word count: 2659

He hoped Alfred was okay.

He hoped he hadn’t gotten the man, who was for all intents and purposes his father, killed.

Another wave of fear ridden self hatred rose within him as he thought again, I’m glad it wasn’t her.

Y/n stared through the window at Alfred’s prone form on the hospital bed. Bruce was a solid wall next to her, utterly silent, hardly moving. 

She reached over and squeezed his hand. He didn’t squeeze back. 

She’d been checked over and diagnosed with a mild concussion but given the all-clear. As soon as the doctor said she was okay, all of Bruce’s focus had switched to Alfred. He had retreated within himself, so deep in his own mind she didn’t think she could reach him. 

The doctor quietly stepped out of the room. 

“How is he?” y/n asked when Bruce remained silent. 

The doctor sighed. “We’ve sedated him. We just have to hope he stabilizes. You should go home, Mr. Wayne. Both of you. Get some sleep.” She glanced between them. “Is there anyone else to notify? Next of kin?”

“No. It’s just me,” Bruce murmured. Y/n squeezed his hand again, rubbing her thumb across the back of his knuckles. 

“We’ll give you a call if anything changes,” the doctor said as she turned away.  

“Thank you,” y/n said. She gently tugged on Bruce’s hand to get him to follow her. He didn’t move. “Bruce,” she said softly, “Come on, there’s nothing else we can do but wait.” 

Bruce finally looked away from Alfred, blue eyes tortured. Y/n’s heart gave a small pang. She hated seeing him like this. She didn’t know what to do, how to make it better. All she could do was make sure he ate and slept and that she was there for him if he needed her. 

“Let’s go home,” she said. Bruce nodded vaguely. She could tell his thoughts were a thousand miles away. 

The drive back to Wayne Manor was silent. They were both worried about Alfred. About the Riddler targeting Bruce Wayne. About him targeting their home. 

By the time they’d arrived, all of the police and firefighters had cleared out. 

“Let’s actually get some sleep, yeah?” y/n murmured to Bruce as she kicked off her shoes. 

“I have work to do,” he mumbled. 

“Not right now. Let’s just–let’s just get in bed for a bit, okay? Please?” She hated that her voice broke on the last word. But she’d almost been blown up, damn it. And Bruce had been blown up already. And that, on top of the worry for Alfred and the fear of the Riddler infiltrating their home, made her want more than anything to curl up in the safety of Bruce’s arms. 

Bruce let her tug him along to their bedroom. She pulled his shirt off and then her pants and led him to the bed. 

“I love you,” she whispered as she curled into him. 

“I love you,” he murmured after a long moment. 

“I’m sorry–about everything,” she said. 

Bruce hummed but didn’t say anything. Her heart sank. So it wouldn’t be easy, then. 

It took them both a while to doze off, but they finally drifted into sleep. Y/n had no idea what time it was anymore, not that it mattered. 

When she woke only a couple of hours later, Bruce was gone, but the bed was still vaguely warm. She squinted tiredly at her phone. She felt like she hadn’t slept in days. And really, they hadn’t gotten much sleep the past several days. Too much was happening all at once. It was catching up to her–her head ached and her eyes felt like they were filled with sand, her bones laden down with exhaustion. 

There were tons of messages and missed calls. Gordon, Bryn, Ollie, Lena. 

Gordon knew she was okay but had told her to let him know if there was anything he could help with, and that he’d be helping with the investigation. Bryn, Ollie, and Lena had only seen on the news that there had been an explosion at Wayne Manor and that there had been injuries. 

Y/n cursed and called Lena first. She calmed her frantic friend, assuring her she was okay. The next call went to Bryn, who was with Ollie at the Gotham Project, and explained to both of them at the same time that Alfred was hurt but she and Bruce were fine. She begged off the call with the excuse that she needed to start figuring out how to clean up from an explosion, which was true. 

As soon as she hung up she heard, of all things, what sounded like heavy furniture being dragged across the floor. It was coming from upstairs. She frowned and dressed quickly. 

“Bruce?” she called as she ascended the stairs. A shiver of fear went down her spine. She was suddenly pissed that she felt unsafe in her own goddamn home. If she got her hands on the guy calling himself the Riddler, she wasn’t so sure she’d stick to Bruce’s rule of no killing. This man was terrorizing the city. Terrorizing her family. He had targeted Bruce and hurt Alfred and made her feel unsafe in her own home, the place she was supposed to feel the safest. 

She heard an odd spraying sound coming from the study. Her frown deepened. Was that…paint she smelled? 

She got her answer as soon as she stepped into the study. 

Bruce was on his hands and knees, shirtless and barefoot, spray painting the floor. There were pictures scattered everywhere. She saw the names of the Riddler’s victims: Mitchell, Savage, Colson. The phrases renewal is a lie, no more lies, and the sins of my father?? were also painted on the floor. As she took it all in, Bruce stood and surveyed his work. 

“Oh, Alfred is going to kill you,” she said. Bruce whirled. “Why the fuck didn’t you use a whiteboard? Or a notebook? Or, fuck, I don’t know, spray paint the floors of the cave? Oh God, Alfred’s going to kill me for letting you do this.” She pressed her hands to her tired eyes and rubbed them. 

“I needed to think,” was all Bruce said as he turned back to his handiwork. 

Y/n hesitated. It was never a good thing when people started writing on the floors, was it? 

“Bruce…” she said, but he was totally focused on the words written on the floor. He suddenly darted past her and down the hallway. She followed after him as he went into a dusty, unused office and started digging in file cabinets, pullings stacks of folders out. Dust clouded in the air. 

“What are you doing?” she asked. The folders all said RENEWAL. 

“Checking something,” Bruce said and walked past her with his arms full. He nodded his head to another stack. “Help carry those?” 

She grabbed the stack and followed him downstairs to the abandoned subway station. She sneezed three times from all the dust. The folders were tossed onto the work table. Y/n set hers down a little more carefully than Bruce had. 

Bruce picked up a folder and started rifling through it. 

“Can you tell me what you’re looking for, at least?” she asked, irritated that he was ignoring her. She poked his bare back. He grunted. “That way I can help? It might go faster if I knew what to look for.” She crossed her arms but got no response. Something in her chest squeezed. She was barely hanging on by a thread of her sanity, so she knew Bruce was right there with her.

If the thread hadn’t already snapped, that is. 

Y/n frowned and cocked her head. Was that…meowing she heard? 

Bruce looked up at the same time she noticed the sound and clicked something on the computer. An image of a cat filled the screen. There was a sticky note next to the cat’s face that said where r u? 

“Uh,” y/n said slowly, “Where is that?” 

“It’s live,” Bruce said. He clicked something else, then said, “Selina? Can you hear me?” 

“Can you see me?” Selina asked as the cat disappeared and her face filled the screen. She was without a wig, hair shorn close to her head, but her eyeliner was still immaculate. 

“Yeah, I can see you,” Bruce said softly. 

“I need to talk to you. Where can we go?” 

Y/n wanted to speak, to ask Selina about Annika, but she didn’t want to give her connection to Bruce–to Batman–away. 

Bruce quickly explained to Selina how to get to the signal tower. As soon as he clicked off of the video feed he started suiting up. 

Y/n copied him without a word. 

“You’re not coming,” he said as he clipped the cape into place. 

“Like hell,” she said. “I’m just as much a part of all of this as you are. Plus I’m the one who promised to help her with her friend!” 

“You–” Bruce stopped and clenched his fists. His jaw worked. “You what?” 

“That night, in the club, when she was spying for you,” y/n explained. She’d forgotten that Bruce didn’t know about her promise to Selina. They’d argued about her being there, but she’d never explained her intentions to look into Annika’s disappearance–and now her death. “I told her I wanted to help her with her friend, and I meant it. Nothing’s changed on that front.” 

Bruce inhaled carefully. “Is this why you’ve been sneaking around behind my back?” he asked sharply. His blue eyes blazed. One of his hands raked through his already mussed hair. 

“I haven’t done any sneaking since going back to the club,” she said. She crossed her arms and stared him down. “And I wouldn’t have to sneak if you weren’t so overprotective!” 

“I wouldn’t be so overprotective if you stopped trying to get yourself killed all the time!” Bruce pointed one gloved finger in her face. “This is why I worry. Because you can’t keep your nose out of it, can you? Any of it. You’re already helping people with the restaurant. Isn’t that enough?” The words rushed out of him so fast he had to suck in a sharp breath when he was done. 

Y/n squeezed her arms tightly. “You and I both know it’s not enough. Not for people like us.” 

“You’re not like me!” he shouted. She flinched. “You never will be! I’ve been doing this for years. Training and fighting for years. You’ve been doing it for one.” 

“Oh, so it’s fine when you almost get killed trying to help people? It’s fine for you and only you? You’re such a hypocrite! You want Gotham to be better, but only if it’s at your hands!” She was breathing hard. Anger burned its way down her spine. 

Bruce’s nostrils flared. He turned away from her and started smearing on the black paint around his eyes. “I don’t have time for this,” he muttered. 

“You mean you don’t have time for me,” she said, trying to mask the hurt but failing. “I didn’t lie to you to hurt you, Bruce. I did it because I love you. Because you do well enough trying to get yourself killed without having to worry about me, too!” 

He stayed silent and yanked the gauntlets over his gloves. He picked up the cowl and held it for a moment. 

Y/n pressed on, throat tight, eyes burning. “Sometimes it feels like you love the city more than you love me.” Her voice broke and a single tear spilled over. She wiped angrily at it before he could turn around and see. 

He sighed. “No.” 

“Yes,” she said. She blinked furiously. She wasn’t going to cry. “You’re throwing everything you have into this case, and you don’t care if you die. You got blown up and didn’t give me a second thought! You didn’t think what it would mean for me if you died!” 

Bruce finally turned around, his chest heaving. “I’m doing this because I love you more than the city! I’m doing this because, if anything happened to you, I’d burn this fucking city to the ground!” 

She held her ground, stance wide like when they sparred. “I don’t think that’s true at all,” she said softly.  

“It is! That’s–I’ve been trying to solve this before anything could happen to you, and I failed, y/n! You and Alfred could have died because I failed. Alfred still might–” He turned away again, voice catching, breaths coming quickly like he’d been running. 

“Bruce,” she said, all of the fight leaving her at once. She lightly touched his back even though he probably couldn’t feel it through the cape and the armor. “Alfred will be fine. He–He’s going to be fine. And it isn’t your fault. This guy is a fucking psychopath, okay? It isn’t your fault.” 

Bruce’s shoulders slumped. “It is my fault. And it’s my fault you didn’t trust me enough to tell me what you’ve been doing.” 

“No,” she said. “Look at me.” He did, reluctance straining every line of his body. “Bruce, I did it because I didn’t want you to be distracted. Because I know this, all of this, is important to you. You can’t focus on being Batman if you’re worried about me.” 

Bruce shook his head and said nothing. 

“I was wrong to keep it from you,” she said. She swallowed back another wave of tears. “I know that, and I’m sorry. But I swear to you, I did it because I love you, because I thought it was the right thing to do. Not because I didn’t trust you. Not because I wanted to spite you. If I hadn’t found out about you being Batman, would you have ever told me? If you could have kept it from me?” 

Bruce glanced sharply at her. He smiled wryly, without humor. “No, I would have kept it from you. To protect you.” She saw the moment the fight left him too. His shoulders relaxed and his fists unclenched. 

“Exactly. I’m–I’m sorry, okay? I swear, I won’t lie anymore. I’ll wear the lens so you know what I’m doing. I’ll update you every step of the way.” She stood on her toes and kissed him lightly. 

He sighed again. “You won’t quit, will you?” 

“I’ll quit when you do,” she said.

He huffed something that might have been a laugh. “We’ll talk more later. I have to go.” 

“I’m coming with you.” She reached for her own mask, but he grabbed her wrist. 

“I–not because I don’t want you to,” he said quietly. He swallowed hard. His gaze darted away. “I want–I want you to be here in case…they call about Alfred.” 

She understood immediately. “Of course,” she said, stepping back and leaving her mask where it was. “I’ll text or call you as soon as I hear from the hospital, okay?” 

Bruce nodded and closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he breathed. Then, a little louder, “I’m leaving my personal phone with you in case they call, but I have the other with me.” 

She kissed him again. This time, he kissed her back, hard and fast. 

“Be careful,” she said. “Please.” 

“I will.” His lips brushed across her forehead, and then he was gone. 

She went back upstairs for a coffee and her cell phone, which she’d accidentally left behind when she’d gone to see what Bruce was doing. It was late afternoon already, almost dark, and she’d barely slept in–she couldn’t remember when she’d slept last, actually. She changed clothes into something she could wear comfortably under her armor if she needed to. 

Minutes later, she went back downstairs armed with her coffee, an omelet, and both her cell phone and Bruce’s. If the hospital didn’t call soon, she’d call them and ask for an update, even if they didn’t have anything to say. 

She stepped off of the elevator just in time to see Selina’s face get close to the lens in Bruce’s eye. 

Too close. 

Were they…kissing?

“Oh my fucking god,” she said. 

Selina and Bruce were kissing.

Next Chapter

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[eldritch-spouse]

I don't think I've seen something like this for Morell but if there is then feel free to ignore, but I have a fleeting thought that sometimes drifts back about Morell with a cannibalistic piglet. Like maybe before they were taken to the Clergy they were a killer/cannibal so when Morell feeds them a human they eat with delight or simply refuse to eat anything else but human.

OH! This is far fetched, but what if the human was like the one where they could regenerate organs/limbs?I can see piglet having him cut off a piece, cook it for the two of them (the mushroom hard and piglet probably getting off on it)and both of them happily consuming, having some fun after

[While I'll gladly indulge the idea of a cannibal Piglet, I've already written for pervy reader that can regenerate limbs here. Fem reader. Went just a tiny bit ham with this one. :'>]

TW: Cannibalism, romanticized cannibalism, in-depth descriptions of gore, I need Jesus what else is news?

You never thought you'd be the one getting kidnapped.

So used were you to being the lion amongst limping gazelles, that you made a critical mistake- Getting cocky. Turning your back to bigger fiends, believing yourself to be an apex.

The reality of your fragile nature comes crashing down when you find yourself dumped inside a den of real lions for the first time. The Clergy's Eye. Sickfuck central, in other words. Your deeds, compared to those of the monsters working here, are but crumbs. You're an angel in comparison, practically just as insignificantly innocuous as the average Joes that got lumped in with you upon arrival. They do not discriminate here, innocent and guilty are equal.

It took very little for someone as observant as you to understand what role exactly humans played in this cesspit. And that is the role of prey. Commodities. Products with price tags. And in your case, meat.

Hah.

The levels of irony are so far beyond comical that you could die laughing if you really thought deeply about it. The cannibal, coincidentally sorted to the human-eating chef... It can't have been mere chance, can it? They must have known exactly what you were before you got captured. But then... That can't be the case. Because Morell, as you've come to know the large shroom, didn't believe you when you told him you were fine with eating humans. You're more than fine with it, actually, your track record shows it crystal clear.

And yet, all he does is coo at you. Saying that his pretty piglet can't hurt a fly, that you're much too scrawny to put a dent in anyone, that you'd sooner hurt yourself than eat a man. The fact that you turn your nose up at any meat that doesn't taste like human doesn't get him to believe you. Fucking Hell, the fact that you're able to identify the flavor of human in the first place should be enough of a tell to let him know you were up to shady shit previously! What, does he think other people caught your victims for you? That you don't know what you're eating?!

All of this is really quite puzzling. You have no idea why Morell even took a liking to you anyway. For all intents and purposes, you are food, you should be hanging in the freezer, skinless like the rest of them- Or dangling upside down in his kitchen while he bleeds you out. He caught you, the fuck is he doing playing with his meal for so long now? Maybe he just likes the fact that you haven't had a little panic attack once ever since getting here. That you're mildly cooperative, never even tried to run. As if running were a good idea, either Morell cuts your legs off like he did to some chaps the other day, or another sicko catches you and does possibly worse.

No, it was most likely the hunger. This place smells good, for lack of better wording. Your favorite meals are always cooking, because the demand for them here is ridiculous. It always smells so so good- You think he caught you salivating once or twice. That might not have helped.

You're sure Morell could tell you were different from day one, he's probably just suspicious. Hell, you would be too, in his shoes. That's why you're tied to a restaurant table's chair, outside the kitchen. You challenged him when the chef "called your bluff", and now he's going to put you to the test, initially treating this as if it were a punishment- When really, it's become more of a mildly inconvenient dinner date. It could even be romantic, if the chef didn't insist on keeping you shackled to the warehouse all day, cold and sore and bored to death.

God, you're so hungry. He's taking his sweet time, isn't he? Maybe this is all a joke. He's not cooking anything at all, you're being played.

With a familiar, quiet creak, the kitchen doors part. And while you expected to see the large blue monster himself walk out, you're instead faced with none other than the head... Thing, that works inside his kitchen. These odd little dark creatures that do his bidding. Minion beings. This is the one in charge, the pink freckled one... What was his name again? Tomato? Turnip? Yeah. How come he always looks so oddly oblivious to the obscenities around him? Regardless, he carries a set of napkins and a vintage-looking bottle.

Once he comes over to organize the cloths, you make small talk, because there's nothing more entertaining to occupy yourself with. " Hey little man, what's on the menu? "

Turnip blinks, scrunches his face in deep thought, then snaps his fingers. " Blonde! " He simply says, looking much too proud.

" Uhuh. " You let him pour what you assume must be wine on both your glass and the chef's.

You know better than to try to ask the pink-eyed thing for help. It's unquestionably loyal to Morell, as are the others. And even if you think you could probably weasel out of these ropes with enough effort, or break the chair, the gates to the elevators have been closed. It's not worth acting out at all here, so you merely watch the creature in a chef hat trot back to the kitchen, passing the time by staring at the walls.

Such interesting walls they are. Truly, the soft tones of purple upon brick are superb. What type of brick is that? Who painted this place? The lighting is always so moody. Is that a bug on the wall? A spider? Huh. There it goes...

This time, you don't get the courtesy of a gentle warning as the kitchen doors slam open, giving you a mighty heart scare. There he is. The shroom. With perhaps the most jolly look ever on his face. He looks sweaty, like he's been standing in front of an oven for a while, or a fireplace. Is that a blush on his darkened face? In his hand lies a silver platter much too big,' something you're sure a human would have trouble carrying. Speaking of human, the size of that thing leaves little to the imagination. There's a person in that, most of one, at least.

Morell glances at you with a raw level of determination that scalds. Something fierce, to be reckoned with. He's marching to the table steadily, footsteps heavy. The monster only speaks to you when the platter is lowered to the center of the table, obscuring a great deal of it.

" Should'a had 'em put ya in a dress, piglet. " The cook comments. " Make this whole ordeal 'ere a lil' more romantic. " You're pretty sure those creatures aren't smart enough to even understand how a dress is operated. " Ya can't blame me for gettin' excited though, right? "

You can, actually. His excitement is what landed you here in the first place, so you figure that's pretty blame-worthy. Your lack of response doesn't faze the monster much, who quickly removes the shining silver cover off the platter. Dear God, it's mouth-watering.

What lies on the platter is very clearly a woman. Or, well, most of one- Her abdomen and upper thighs at least, what's left of her arms tied behind her back. She's roasted to absolute perfection, you wouldn't have it any other way. An assortment of veggies and fruits decorate the larger than life dish, some covering her privates, you're sure he's stuffed something in there. It wouldn't be Morell if he hadn't gone the whole nine yards, if he hasn't made sure all those cavities were made useful some way or another. Speaking of stuffing, her open belly is very clearly bloated. In all your years as an amateur devourer of men, you have never managed to achieve this level of elegance. Why, inside her grotesquely extended abdominal area, is nothing other than ludicrous amount of... Pasta? Yes, it looks like it. Pasta and vegetables, the taste must be delectable. Given how there's always so many humans being brought in, and how Morell does this day in and day out, it's unlikely he established a bond with this poor lady before she was sentenced to fire. This, in your eyes, dampens the experience a little. Though you're not about to complain, not when you're starving, and this equally insane man holds the cure for your perpetual hunger.

" Ain't seen somethin' quite like this 'fore, have ya, piggie? " Morell brags, glowing blue eyes fixed on yours.

You shake your head, allowing him to be cocky, because he deserves it frankly. The dish looks and smells delightful. He's a master of his craft and you will recognize that truth. The chef plucks a grape from the side of the platter, edging closer to you with it in hand. " Open. "

This close, you can most definitely tell he's not just sweating from the heat of roasting a person, or rushing through his work. See, through the chef's blood-soaked smock protrudes the real source of his perspiration, a raging libidinous thrill, which is probably making his pants feel real tight. You expected as much, he takes more enjoyment out of this than you ever will, perhaps now you can start to understand why he's so patronizing about your own fondness for literal manmeat.

Nonetheless, perhaps because you're bored, maybe because you want to push his buttons, you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, making sure to keep eye contact when Morell dips the small fruit on your tongue. You catch it, teasingly tracing the tips of thick digits before leaning back and enjoying the treat. The monster very clearly fumes at the display, though tries to keep his cool. What's left of it.

" How's it look so far, babycakes? Ya hungry? "

God, are you...

" It looks amazing. " You begin, catching the way Morell's grin turns near-manic, hands twitching by his sides as if he wants to grab at you. " You have to let me see you make the next one. I'm starving, sir. " A vein probably popped in the man's body upon hearing that.

The shroom makes a sound akin to a low rumble, pulling a steak knife out from his pocket. Right, the one thing missing from the table set ever since you were sat down. He motions to it, sparing you a stern look. " Don' go playin' games now, I'd have ta punish ya real bad if our date got interrupted by some silly lil' stunt. "

What even would the point? You've seen the braver ones try to stab him before. As squishy as some parts of him may look, penetrating that thick hide is easier said than done. He hasn't bled once from their attacks, ever since your stay here at least. The knife he holds, while decently sharp, would probably not be worth much damage, unless you could somehow reach those glowing eyes of his. Maybe the underside of his cap, it looks softer. If Morell catches you scrutinizing, which is ambiguous honestly, he makes no comment on it, setting the knife down and moving behind you to untie the ropes binding you to the chair.

He tenses then. Deliberately. Daring you to try something brainless, like making a dash for the blocked elevators. Even if you did, the chef would probably still get off on the wild goose chase. Knowing this, you remain still, getting rewarded by a pleased rumble and some gentle head patting. " Good girl... " He slurs, pushing your chair in while he moves to be in front of the platter.

Your plate is picked up, you merely observe while the shroom makes a fine selection of each portion, cutting professionally at the meat. Fuck, he nailed the inside and everything. You don't recognize the sauce he put on her, but it smells so good... The plate presented to you, quite tall for the record, makes the cook in you nearly tear up from seething jealousy- Wishing, no matter how depraved it may sound, that you could make a dish look half as appetizing as this monster effortlessly does. Lucky bastard!

Morell takes his wine glass in hand and swirls it, looking eagerly at your person. " Eat up, piglet. I wanna hear what'cha think. "

You roll your shoulders, picking up the cutlery. Part of you wonders if he put something in the food, since he's not eating himself. But then, you know Morell is hardly that type of monster, if he wanted something from you, he'd be crystal clear about it. Drugs are not in his modus operandi, as far as you can tell.

The first bite is heavenly.

You moan. And you mean it. It's indescribable, the monster that captured you made ambrosia. He made art. He made beauty- Is this what they call a foodgasm? You take another bite, and another, and one more, cutting delightedly at the marvelous food, eating as if you'd been starving.

Unbeknownst to your oblivious self, the mushroom is watching all of this avidly, relishing the reactions on your face and feeling a wave of pleasant heat spread over his entire frame. He feels light-headed almost, part of him not wanting to believe that you were being serious, that this wasn't just a needlessly elaborate bluff. Fuck, he loves you. You're perfect, look at yourself right now, drooling over his talent. Beautiful. You're a gift. He knew you were special.

" Good, ain't it? Best ya had, I bet. " He rumbles, wine glass set down.

You catch yourself, swallowing around a mouthful and fixing your curved posture, ashamed of your lack of self-control. Your mouth is sealed, should you really encourage his arrogance further?

" Naw naw, open them lips. "

No.

Morell tsks, reaching over in a single stride to take your chin in his grasp. Although you jump in your chair, you know better than to panic. He's like a beast, should you let him smell fear, he'll lunge. " Come on, I wanna hear it. " Shrunk pupils dare you to lie.

" It's... It's perfect. " A small wave of defeat blankets you. It's not that you feel bad about enjoying the taste of your fellow man, it's that you don't want to admit he's better than you at this anymore. That getting to experience this free of any authority's pursuit, free of guilt, free of shame, makes you want to stay with him.

" There we go, not so hard, was it? " He grins, softly stroking a thumb over your lips. " It makes me real happy ta hear that from ya, sweetiepie. "

Oh, you bet it does. Morell is looking at you like you're a steak, as usual, and unfortunately, you can never quite tell if that means he's horny or hungry.

" Aight, enjoy yer meal. I reckon ya deserve it for bein' honest with me after all. "

The chef puts some distance between you, reaching for his own knife and cutting pieces of the woman's roasted thigh for himself. You would like to "enjoy your meal", as he put it, but it's a little hard to eat normally when you're being stared down by the mushroom. You know he's getting off on watching you simply cut into the meat, his eyes lidding everytime there's contact between it and your lips, memorizing the movement of your throat as you swallow. Morell looks as if he's moments away from reaching for his own cock. Honestly, he's done grosser before, but you don't feel like eating with someone spanking it next to you.

So, to alleviate the tension in this floor, which albeit being huge feels suffocatingly small when it's just you and Morell in it, you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

" Did you do anything to her...? "

It's something you have to ponder. There's no doubt left in you that the cook gets personal with many of his "ingredients", that he plays with his food- There's nothing like the glee in his complexion when he gets to fondle his latest pig. Maybe it's the power, the importance of being the last person someone talks to or sees before death claims them. You... You feel a little bit of that sick pleasure yourself, but you never had a habit of massacrating your kills. It's unclear why you even want to know what Morell does with his human victims. Maybe you really just spoke to distract him from you, maybe you want to hear a disgusting answer.

Because it would thrill you.

The chef makes a sound between a huff and a chuckle, picking at the torso on a platter with the same knife. The very tip of the stainless steel piercing into one of her breasts beneath the nipple. Morell casually takes a slice for himself and finally takes a seat sideways on the chair opposite to you.

" Define anythin'... " The grin widens.

He knows what you mean. You know he does. The monster probably just enjoys making you spell things out to get himself off.

" Uh- Y-You know... " Very impressive.

" Do I? "

Alright, fuck it. You attempt to eat as you speak, to appear casual.

" Did you... Touch her? I know sometimes you get... Uhm, close to them. And you f-.... Finger... " What the fuck is wrong with you? You'll kill a man, but you can't even ask this pervert if he fingers his victims?!

Morell barks out hearty laughter at your struggling, tears in the corners of his eyes. " Lawd-! " He wheezes. " Did I finger her? "

" ... Yeah. "

Another small burst of chuckling, then the monster takes a deep breath, and spares you a surprisingly adoring look. Intoxicated, more like. " Dawww, piglet, are ya worried yer not good enough fer me? I ain't been touchin' anyone since ya got 'ere. "

Amazing. He managed to twist you wanting to know if he molested his victim into a display of insecurity from your part. As if the two of you are a couple having a heart-to-heart about your feelings.

" Uhh... Okay. " It's a little flattering to know that he hasn't been interested in anyone else ever since you were brought in, in an obviously depraved way. It's also dangerous, really dangerous, you're aware of that.

" I'm faithful to ya, pumpkin. Ya don' have ta worry. "

You just nod, cheeks coloring a couple shades darker. Emboldened by those words, or perhaps because his earlier answer wasn't satisfactory, you poke harder. You know riling him up is far from the best idea, but you're not known for your ability to make sane, proper decisions to begin with.

" You could have... " Is uttered in between bites, making the large shroom nearly choke on his own mouthful. He beats at his chest once and gives you a questioning look, flush darkening. " I mean, what does it matter if you do, right? They all die anyway. " Oh God why are you talking?! Where are you even trying to go with this?

Morell chews through his next mouthful slowly, giving you a fixed, knowing look while he drums meaty fingers on the table. " Does that do it for ya, piglet? " You choke. " Ya wanna watch that stuff? "

Damage control mode activated. " N-No, I- "

" 'Cus I can do that. "

Oh fuck. " O-Okay... "

Silence reigns.

You're eating faster now, though this time it's in an effort to get the little dinner date over with as soon as possible. You've embarrassed yourself enough as is. Though, truth be told, you also want to go for seconds, the meal is so appetizing... Even if this is by far the most awkward and tense interaction of your entire life, Morell's food is so utterly fantastic that you'd go through it all again just to taste this masterpiece one more time. A couple more forlorn forkfuls and your plate is squeaky clean. Pity.

Should you get up? Will he punish you for rising without permission or assume you're going to run? Ever starving eyes glaze over the platter's contents wistfully.

" Cravin' more? " Morell looks at you oddly. There's something strained about his posture, and you realize why when one of his arms is no longer poised over the table's cloth. Creep. He's doing exactly what you expected him to earlier...

Your tentative nodding is rewarded by another pleased rumble. " C'mere then. "

With a great deal of hesitancy, eyes trained on his, you do as told, knowing better than to try to draw out the inevitable. There's an audible gulp at the sight that greets you the closer you get.

The chef has freed himself from his pants, a pallid, large blue cock resting atop heavy balls. It's... Well, massive. Because the monster himself is huge compared to most humans, it makes sense he'd pack generously. Although overall humanoid in form, you don't miss the oddly-shaped bumps on the underside of it, or the fact that it sports plenty of the same marks the rest of his skin does. Your stare bounces everywhere in anxiety, unwilling to fixate on the cook's twitching length. Something about his nonchalant attitude is making a fire rise in your loins, unfortunately.

" Shorts off. "

Again, there's some seconds of reluctance from your part as you glance at your tattered clothes. You're wet, you know you are- But even then, it would be a challenge to fit that thing. Will you really let this happen just because your brain's wires crossed funny and your captor is mildly sexy? Just because, sometimes, you feel at home here?

" Piglet. " He warns when you take too long.

The moment said cloth hit the floor, you catch him huffing, gaze pointedly on your slightly flushed cunt. Your underwear privileges were revoked a while ago. You try not to lose your nerves, but some part of you does want to sprint right now. " Good girl... " He purrs, curling a finger.

The contact doesn't last, because you're swiftly turned around and manhandled to fold over the table, tits and face mushed on it. " Keep 'em spread, piggy. " Morell orders, prodding one finger against your opening. You don't get to say a word before it's jammed in, meeting little resistance.

When you're between the large monster and the table, he stays still in lurid observation. Then, in a fraction of a second, grabs your ass, forcing your sweet pussy against his face. The yelp you let out turns into a shriek when a fat tongue gives it a teasing swipe. You feel his blunt teeth on your mons and wonder if the chef is going to bite your genitals off entirely, a very real rush of fear making your body turn cold.

He's done this before, the shroom has no trouble getting people to open up for him, motions mechanic but effective. Soon, there's a quiet shlick muffling both your rapid breaths as his hand only ever withdraws so he can lather it in more drool and shove more fingers inside your gushing hole. By the time there's three trying to push in, you're grabbing the cloth like a vise and trying to bite down gross moans every time he thrusts, the force of each motion bouncing you forward. He doesn't know gentle, does he?

" Ya look so damn cute like this. " He murmurs, you can only groan nonsensically in response.

There's a sudden feeling of emptiness.

In a flash of movement, you're grabbed by the waist and dragged backwards. It all happens so quickly. One second you're poised in the air, the next you barely feel his tip before you've been forcibly impaled on the biggest cock you've ever welcomed within yourself.

The noise you let out is more akin to a dying animal's howl to a human vocalization, completely overshadowing Morell's own guttural snarl of pleasure.

Oh God, are you bleeding? It burns, it burns hard... But fuck, you're so full. He's touching everything at once. You swear you can feel him in your fucking lungs, holy shit. Is he fully inside?! Glazed, tearing eyes glance down. There's a distinct imprint on your lower abdomen, but sure enough, the monster is fully sheathed inside you.

" Ffffuckin' Hell, piglet... " Morell slurs, breathing ragged while he throbs inside you, grabbing onto your legs to keep you from squirming while the two of you get used to the sensation. Your insides contract reflexively and the shroom shudders, gripping you tighter. " Ah sh- Don' squeeze like that yet, girl. " Easier said that done.

Instead of moving, Morell extends an arm to drag the platter closer to himself, taking a fat cut of the roasted person atop it and stabbing it onto the knife. Casually, it's brought up to your incredulous lips. " Go on, I know yer still hungry. "

God, this sickfuck... But you're not any better, because you do take a bite, in spite of how depraved this situation already is.

" That's it, enjoy yerself... " You'd enjoy it more if he wasn't rasping into your ear, it's a challenge trying to eat with him palming his own cock through your tummy and moaning quietly.

You nearly choke again when your clit gets toyed with out of nowhere, forcing you to keen around the mouthful of meat. The shroom cackles. It takes very little to make you cum. Stretched as you are, the chef only has to make a couple of half-hearted grinds up into your wriggling body and flick your button a couple of times before you're sobbing out what could have once been words.

They're not stars, but there's definitely something swimming in the corners of your vision when you arch and gush on Morell, cunt spasming viciously against hard flesh. He himself can't help but fuck into you with a lot more vigor, knife discarded back onto the table loudly as the male leans back and uses both hands to rapidly bounce your drooling, crying form on his cock. The noises are downright shameful.

It's a mind blowing orgasm, you can't lie. As much as you want to.

You're breathless, boneless against the cook. Surprisingly enough, he forces himself to slow down, exerting what you imagine must be a stupendous amount of self-control for an indulgent creature such as himself. A thankfully clean hand casually strokes through your hair, patting you softly in reward. " Good job, piggy. I almost lost maself there. "

Almost? It sure as fuck seemed like he went feral, judging by the force he fucked you with. Like a cock-sock, you weigh nothing to him. You dread knowing what a "lost" Morell must act like.

The shroom reaches past you to retrieve the kitchen knife, eating from it calmly while you roll your eyes. Seriously?

The last thing you expect is for him to grab your chin and jerk it up, sharing an unwanted kiss with you. The way your eyes bulge out when flesh is passed from his near lipless mouth into yours causes Morell to grin. You have no choice but to swallow, his tongue won't allow any fight. Ugh.

Fucking disgusting. He's horrid.

You spare the overgrown mushroom a look of unfiltered distaste, to which he just chuckles quietly and lovingly wipes the corners of your lips.

In moments, you're being lightly bounced again.

" Think ya can stomach some more? "

[titularkilljoy]

sometimes and always

//a love story in five acts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: It's hard to resist falling into bed with a cute neighbour, but it turns out it's even harder to resist falling for him. (alternatively- Spencer Reid and the reader struggle to resolve their feelings but make valiant attempts to do so while lying horizontally in each other's beds.)

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, decidedly non-American spelling conventions

Author's Note: SO. This fic was originally part of a fic swap for the wickedly talented @imagining-in-the-margins, but it is now over six months too late. Thankfully, patience apparently springs eternal in her?? besides all the other amazing things?? Unfair, but good for me. So, Pom, this one is for you. Thanks for being the absolute best and putting up with my rants and not judging me for mocking everything and everyone all the time. Love, Perpetually Tardy.

(i)

This is how it happened the first time.

I was frowning at the pitiful stack of mail in my hands, wondering if the conspicuously missing letters and subscriptions would ever be returned to me. Ever since moving to my new apartment, I had been at the mercy of the Postal System and that was never a good situation to be in. I’d resigned myself to having to take an extra trip back to my old building and do some investigating, when the elevator dinged and I stepped in. Just as the doors slid closed, there was the frantic rumble of footsteps and a hand slipping into the narrowing gap.

The doors sprang apart to let in the harried owner of the appendage, who barely spared me a glance before turning to face the front, eyes briefly darting to the buttons. It took me a second to recognise him. It was the guy from the apartment opposite to mine, although so far that seemed to be only a nominal living arrangement; in my two weeks there, I’d seen him exactly once, merely in passing, and we had exchanged a sum total of zero words.

I followed his lead and stopped blatantly staring at him, though I continued studying him covertly through my peripheral vision. He looked—well, his jawline looked like it could cut glass effortlessly and he had the soft chestnut hair of a male model and I knew I was probably going to develop a very embarrassing crush on him at some point— but besides that, he looked browbeaten, his whole posture seeming to buckle under the invisible weight of the world.

There was an awkward moment when he realised we were both heading in the same direction, and I took it upon myself to break the ice.

“Hi,” I greeted, introducing myself, “I just moved in. I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” I gave him my warmest smile.

His swift assessing glance would have escaped my notice if I hadn’t been paying such close attention; his expression was still shuttered off, but he offered an endearing little quirk of his lips and an introduction. “Spencer Reid. I’ve-uh, I’ve been away on a work thing.”

“Oh? What do you do?” I asked, beginning a leisurely walk down the hallway and fishing my keys out of my bag. I immediately regretted the query when, impossibly, his eyes became even more guarded.

“I’m an FBI agent.”

Well, that clipped admission would have given anyone pause. “Oh, wow. That’s really impressive, dude.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m part of the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“So, you’re like a psychologist?”

“I catch serial killers.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was brimming with my insecurities. The alcohol in my blood helped with that, though; the next words were out of my mouth before I even registered the thought.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Oh, uh—”

He was going to say no.

“It’s just that you look like you could use some company. And I think it’s absolutely criminal that we haven’t gotten to know each other yet.”

“It’s really late.”

But he was rocking forwards on his toes just the tiniest bit, leading me to believe that some part of him did want to take me up on my offer that night.

“So it is. Come on, Agent Reid. Be a good neighbour.”

“It’s Doctor, actually,” he corrected. “Doctor Reid. I have Ph.Ds. Three of them.”

My eyebrows had risen to my hairline and, sensing the change in the air, he hurried to put me at ease. “But you can just call me Spencer.”

“Huh. You don’t hear that every day.” I chuckled sheepishly. “Well, come on in, Doctor.”

There was a moment when his whole body leaned towards me and his face looked conflicted but slightly enthusiastic, and I was convinced I could turn the night into a very pleasant one for both of us. Then, with a loud clatter, my keys slipped from my hands, startling us. The moment was broken, and I sighed in resignation.

“Let me guess, you’ve decided I’m too drunk and we’re going to go our separate ways.”

At least he had the good grace to look apologetic. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” he told me slowly as he bent down to pick up my keys and pressed them securely into my outstretched hand, “It’s late and I’ve had a long day. I’ll...see you around?”

“Sure,” I managed to say with a regretful smile, “I’m holding you to that.”

*~*

That, however, turned out to be easier said than done, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the Herculean feat of unpacking and organising my new place with a mild hangover and a tinge of frustration over lost opportunities looming over me. Once that was dealt with, the bigger challenge turned out to be actually locating the man in question. I knocked on his door a few times, but when the responding silence continued to persist for over a week, I began to think he’d just been a drunken hallucination in the first place. And the longer I went without any follow-up interactions, the more intensely I started overthinking the slightly fuzzy memory of our brief conversation.

Of course I’d managed to make a fool of myself in front of a really cute guy. That was absolutely in character for me. Every time I passed by his door, I convinced myself a little more that I owed him a sincere apology for my poor, inconsiderate conduct.

Beyond the embarrassment, however, work didn’t leave me much time to think about it, and by the time I was trudging to my apartment the next Saturday, the whole encounter had been relegated firmly to the back burner. Naturally, that was when the faint glow of light under his door distracted me from the very passive-aggressive email I was composing. I hesitated.

The deep breaths I sucked in didn’t serve much more purpose than to make me somewhat lightheaded, but I forged on anyway. I knocked on the door, and waited.

There was silence, followed by the sound of reluctantly shuffling feet, and then, finally, I was face to face with Spencer Reid once again.

“Um,” I started, “hi.”

He stared at me wordlessly for a beat, during which I started to wonder if he’d actually forgotten me already.

“So, we met the other day, and I just want to apologise. I didn’t mean to come on to you so strongly, and I get that you weren’t int-”

“Do you want to come inside?”

“..What?”

“Do you want to come inside?” he repeated, enunciating clearly. That didn’t clear up my confusion, though.

“Um. Yes? Sure. I mean, no, shouldn’t we talk about this a bit?”

He let out a tired laugh. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“Alright,” I said, biting my lip. I followed him inside, and pushed the door closed behind me; it emitted an innocuous little click as it fell shut.

There was something about the weariness behind his eyes and the careful set of his jaw that made me want to study him and understand what was going through his head, but all I could glean that night was that Spencer didn’t seem amenable to much time spent on documentation.

“So,” I began unsurely, shedding my jacket and scanning the contents of the room, the piles upon piles of books and the distinct lack of much else, “tell me about yourself.”

“Didn’t I already do that?”

“Hmm, that’s not the whole story,” I mumbled, running my fingers over a broken-spined, wrinkled copy of Paradise Lost laid open on a heavy wooden desk. A single smudge of blue ink stood out against the yellowing page, and beside it, the print read: This horror will grow mild, this darkness light. “You’re not just an FBI agent.”

“That’s all that’s important,” he asserted, taking a step towards me. He had one eye on my curiously wandering fingers and, sensing that it was making him more antsy than he needed to be, I tucked my hands into my back pockets, facing him with a grin of false bravado. I really wished I was drunk. That would have made things infinitely easier.

“Besides,” he continued, this time meeting my eyes directly, “I don’t know anything about you either.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded, stepping closer to him.

His eyes didn’t leave mine, until my own strayed to the bobbing curve of his throat and the tantalising motion of his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. Not for the first time that week, I wondered how terrible of an idea it would be to try to kiss my attractive neighbour. I could see my own apprehensions mirrored in his stance, and I saw the exact moment when he identified the focus of my gaze.

I didn’t have to spend much time contemplating. He decided, just as I did, that any consequences of this impulsive decision could be dealt with later.. I lunged for him just as he closed the distance in one long stride, grasping my jaw in both his hands. Then we were firmly attached at the lips, and his arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me closer, seemingly intent on devouring my mouth. Gradually, our actions slowed a bit, the kiss turning softer and more exploratory, our tongues winding around each other gently, my lungs readily accepting his deep, nasal sigh.

His arms around my waist were a steadily spreading band of warmth, and I could feel the growing evidence of his arousal against my thigh. I found myself thinking I could be very happy with just kissing him like this, feeling his breaths tickle my face, letting my hands suffer minute pinpricks from the stubble littering his jaw. But then his grip shifted to my hips and tightened ever so slightly, and it was like I’d been doused with fuel and set alight. My fingers struggled to unbutton his shirt as he pressed distracting kisses along my neck, my soft whimpers breaking the relative silence of the room.

All of a sudden, the ground shifted and my stomach swooped, and it took a second or two before I realised I was now in his arms, being carried towards, presumably, his bedroom. Content, I got to work on undoing the last button and trying to slip the shirt down his arms entirely. He granted me a chuckle for my troubles before laying me down gently on our destination and taking it off himself.

He didn’t waste any time in sinking his knees into the soft mattress on either side of my legs, helping me out of my own clothes and methodically kissing every bit of newly exposed skin, until finally, I was clad only in flimsy cotton and he was nosing at my aching core. With two fingers, he deftly removed the last of my defences and pressed his mouth against me. I moaned, my hands flying to his hair and trying to keep from pulling too hard as he used his tongue to examine every inch of my arousal, evidently experimenting based on the sounds he managed to elicit from me.

“Oh, my God,” I babbled, hips bucking wildly under the iron grip holding them down.

“Tell me,” he demanded, pulling away slightly, “tell me how much you like it.”

“Spencer,” I breathed desperately, “Please. I need- I need more.”

He hummed leisurely against me, frustrating me to no end. My grip in his hair tightened at last, guiding him where I needed him most, and I swear I felt his lips stretch into a smile.

It went on for what felt like hours, but there was no earthly way I could have lasted that long. He took mercy on me eventually, plunging two long fingers deep inside me, closing his lips around the bundle of nerves that, predictably, sent me into a violent, shaking climax. He nursed me patiently through the aftershocks, waiting till my legs had stilled before rising to undo his belt and rid himself of his pants. I was already mourning the loss of his closeness, and I pulled him back on top of me the moment he was within reach.

“Come on, Doctor,” I taunted, “It’s time you made good on your promise and got to the main event.”

“I never promised anything,” he retorted, but the playful glint in his eyes excited me, and while he reached over beside us to the nightstand, I rose to the occasion.

“Oh? Well, if you don’t want to, I guess I’ll just head out, then,” I teased, going so far as to attempt to sit up from underneath him. I felt a low, threatening sound begin in his chest and make its way up his throat as his hands gripped my wrists and brought them down to my sides, pinning me in place.

It was my turn to chuckle at his eagerness, lifting my head to briefly peck him on his lips.

“Don’t worry, Spencer,” I cooed, “I’m not going anywhere. Now fuck me already.”

“With pleasure,” came the response, and while I wondered idly how a smirk could simultaneously be sinister and bashful, there was the sharp sound of crinkling foil, and then he cut off my thoughts by entering me in one fluid motion.

“Fuck!” I cried out, holding him around the shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer.

“That’s it,” he groaned in my ear, “let me hear you.”

He set a torturous rhythm, thrusting into me harshly before pulling out slowly, carefully, making me relish the sensation, anticipation building steadily in the pit of my stomach and spreading until it engulfed me. A ceaseless litany of moans and whimpers filled the air around us, the source of each barely discernible. At last, I could feel myself riding the very precipice, and his name began to fall from my lips like a prayer.

“Spencer,” I called, “Spenc-”

He swallowed the rest of my inconsequential cries, bringing his thumb to where we were joined to guide me over the edge, and as I convulsed around him soundlessly, he reached his own climax, blunt fingernails leaving crescent marks on my hips, his heavy panting breaths stuttering, once, against my clavicle, before calming and slowly evening out.

We stayed that way for a few minutes, my hand combing lightly through his hair, his closed-mouth kisses pressing against my neck like a balm. Eventually, though, we had to move, and it was he who did first. He pulled out and walked away from the bed without looking at me, tossing the tied-up condom in the trash. I sat up, cross-legged, watching him for a bit, pursing my lips when I noticed he was actively avoiding my gaze.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s your bathroom?”

He pointed in a general direction and mumbled something incoherent; sighing in disappointment, I stood up gingerly and went to clean myself up. When I returned, the room still smelled like sex, and Spencer was still evasive, but he was sitting on the edge of the bed now. He looked up when I entered, watching me pick up my clothes.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

I glanced over at him. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

Nodding, he watched me get dressed, then followed me into the living room and watched me drape my jacket over my arm. Then he watched me walk to the door, all the while not saying a word.

The cool steel of the doorknob in my hand, I looked over my shoulder one more time.

“Well, Spencer. You know where to find me, I guess,” I muttered, shaking my head slightly. Then I left his apartment, and despite the enormity of what had transpired during my visit, the click of the door closing sounded exactly the same.

.

(ii)

Of course, after that, I resolved it would never happen again. The man next door clearly had some issues with what we had done, and I couldn’t be bothered to solve them. It was, frankly, idiotic to jeopardise the prospect of good neighbours in favour of sex, however great it might have been.

It was embarrassing how quickly my resolution packed its bags and jumped out of my third-storey window.

I was awoken the next morning by three firm raps on my door. I think I knew, somehow, who was trying to get my attention, so I took my time, but the reveal of Spencer’s regretful face didn’t surprise me any less. I was wary as I stared at him wordlessly, cycling through all the possible reasons for his visit, and his eyes dropped to the way my arms tightly hugged my midsection. He winced then, meeting my eyes.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted,” he blurted, and it sounded so rehearsed that I had to stifle a guffaw. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that could have been frustration, but he powered through. “I’ve had a pretty terrible week at work and I think I was trying to get something out of my head. But I was awful to you, and it was completely my fault. I’m sorry if I offended you. I had...a great time.”

I’d been watching him carefully throughout his speech, and if he was faking the earnestness in those last couple of lines, he was an extraordinary actor. I concluded, as I studied the apologetic slump of his shoulders and the dark bags into which his eyes had sunken, that I didn’t need to worry about the veracity of his words.

“It’s okay,” I said hesitantly. “I mean, no, it’s not okay, it felt really awful, but thanks for explaining. I get it now.”

“Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking off to the side, “that’s great. Thank you.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Problem?” I was bemused.

“No!” He was looking back at me, now. “I- well, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting it to be this easy. I thought I’d have to convince you.”

“Huh. Well, you can still convince me, Doctor. Give me a second to get ready. You’re buying me breakfast.”

I quite liked the shy smile that graced his face in response.

*~*

It kept happening. There was no way I could have stopped it, and there was no reason I would have wanted to.

We quickly grew into a familiar rhythm. Each time, it started with one of us having a particularly stressful day. Each time, it started with a knock on the door and some perfunctory shuffling around. Before wasn’t the time for talking. Each time, we’d stumble into whichever surface was closest, and every time it wasn’t the bed, Spencer would make some halfhearted protests about germs and hygiene, before I shut him up very effectively with a manicured hand on his dick. Each time, in the During, I marvelled at how well we fit together, how quickly we’d learned each other’s bodies, and each time, I saw more of him than I had the last.

And I loved every bit of it.

Spencer no longer retreated into his shell in the After. He’d try sometimes, but I knew how to coax him out, now. I’d slip my hand into his, ever so gently, and wait. Or I’d sling one arm around his waist until he returned the embrace. I was getting scarily good at reading him. It was like working on an intricate puzzle, and every new achievement was rewarded with a deeper, longer look into his mind.

I carefully stored away every casual anecdote about someone from work or his godson or his mother, and I loved to watch the life burn bright in his eyes. Of course, they were all happy stories. I could sense the bittersweet aftertaste they left in his mouth, but he never let me inspect it too closely. In turn, I regaled him with tales of my own, of my sister and my parents, of my cat that was perpetually falling asleep on top of me. I told him all the easy, palatable things, holding back just as much as he did, always careful to maintain the wall of superficiality.

But things did slip through the cracks every once in a while, from both of us-- they were bound to, what with the sheer amount of time we spent together in various states of undress. Things that made me burn with curiosity that couldn’t be sated without jeopardising the very foundation of our arrangement. So I turned a blind eye to the jagged scars on his thigh and neck when he failed to maneuver to hide them; in return, he kept mum when I walked into his apartment, on the day of my worst professional disaster, with runny makeup and bloodshot eyes, shivering all over.

If he noticed that I kissed the skin over his scars a little more tenderly, lavishing attention on him the first time I saw them, he didn’t show it. If he liked the way I always nuzzled my face into the one on his neck when we were done, he didn’t show it.

For my part, I tried very hard not to read into the slow, shallow thrusts or the almost reverent way he handled me when my tears still hadn’t dried. I definitely did not read into the arm over my shoulder or the slightly baffled crease in his brow while we sat on his couch with a random episode of The Office.

And if, maybe, the frequency of his visits increased as the months went by, who could blame him? He was an FBI agent. He probably had a lot of bad days.

Sometimes, though, I’d go over when I’d had a good day and I felt like celebrating. Sometimes, I’d knock on his door just because I was bored and I wanted to see him. It wasn’t as if he would know the difference. Our bodies knew how to be around each other, and that was all that mattered.

This was just stress relief, after all.

(“Have you ever been in love?” I asked him once, abruptly, my heart still pounding as the sweat cooled on our skins.

He glanced at me warily, but he must have detected only honest curiosity on my face, not lovesickness or anything else that would have had him running for the hills.

He chewed on his lip for a moment. “Once.”

“What happened?” My finger traced an aimless pattern on his chest.

“She loves me,” he said, “but she isn’t in love with me.”)

We never articulated any feelings we may or may not have about each other or our situation. We dodged sincere conversation like it would kill us. So all the pieces we owned of each other were ones that we had been remiss in guarding diligently. That only made them all the more precious.

But on the heels of every stolen glance, there was a moment where he looked right through me, where I felt blank and insubstantial, like I was a placeholder for something or someone, and that would be enough for the wall to be between us again, rigid and unrelenting.

It was a shame that I was stupid enough to hold on to the scraps that fell through anyway.

.

(iii)

I was an immensely stupid person.

That was the only explanation for why I was leaning against the outer wall of our apartment building at three in the morning, desperately shoving my hands into my coat pockets to brace against the cold.

“You don’t have to be here.”

Can he read minds now? I wondered sullenly. Spencer was sitting on the front steps, with his head in his hands. His hair was dishevelled, and his eyes were the picture of torment. I would have loved to console him, but every attempt so far had been firmly rebuffed.

He had knocked on my door an hour ago and silenced my greeting with a bruising kiss. Of course, I knew how to do that dance, but Spencer had been off his rhythm tonight. When I’d reached for his shirt, he’d pushed my arms away. When I had kissed his jaw, he'd flinched. When I’d finally retreated in concern to ask him what was wrong, he had huffed out that he was perfectly fine, before trying to lift my shirt over my head.

I’d pushed him onto the bed and tried to distract him, and he had responded by clenching the sheets in his fists instead of grabbing my hips. I’d whispered his name in his ear the way he usually loved, and he’d climbed out from under me, sitting up on the bed with his chest heaving. At that point, I’d given up. What had followed was an exercise in patience.

(“Spencer, what’s wrong?” I’d asked again, to no avail.

“It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it,” he’d gritted out, glaring at me.

I’d sighed. “Okay, which is it? Nothing, or that you don’t want to talk about it?”

Silence.

“Well something is clearly bothering you. Am I just supposed to ignore that?”

“We don’t need to talk about anything.” He’d tried to kiss me again. That time, I was the one who pushed him away.

“No, Spencer, this isn’t working. I don’t think we should do this tonight.”

The glare had intensified. “Fine.” He’d gotten up and tried to put his shirt back on, but his hands were shaking.

Cursing my investment in this man, I’d helped him while he stared daggers at me. When he’d hunted down his shoes and made his way out of my apartment, I’d pulled on my coat and followed, petting my cat briefly when he tried to follow us.)

So now we were outside, experiencing the most awkward silence ever known to man. Every time I attempted to put a hand on his shoulder or sit beside him, he would tense up yet again.

“Yes, Spencer,” I replied at length, “I do. You look like you might accidentally walk into traffic. I’m not leaving.”

“It’s not your problem.” The petulance was beginning to get on my nerves. I hadn’t signed up for sleepless weeknights.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I told him, shrugging.

I pulled out my phone to distract myself with the cute animals in my game. Spencer was still worryingly silent. But if he didn’t want to talk to me and he wouldn’t let me near him, there was little I could do but stand there.

Every now and then, his breathing would hitch, and I would study him out of the corner of my eye. Whether he fully registered my presence or not, I was unsure, but he seemed to be calming down. He looked less on edge, his eyes less wild, and I was about to approach him and try again, when a black car pulled up just ahead of us.

Both our heads jerked to attention, but the petite blonde who exited the car only had eyes for Spencer.

“Spence!” She rushed to him, pulling him into a hug that he slowly reciprocated. “Your phone is off. After what happened, I was so worried,” she murmured into his hair, her eyes shut in relief.

And Spencer-- Spencer’s face was something to behold. His eyes were tightly closed, his lips turned down unhappily, and his face was so naked and open that I almost looked away. Almost. The pain that shone there riveted me. I felt as if I could see every wound he had ever suffered, in that instant. He’d never shown me that before. And he still hadn’t-- this wasn’t for me. The embrace broke, but his face stayed the same while the woman fussed over him.

Something came back to me, a fragment of a memory. She loves me but she isn’t in love with me. Unbidden, a sound of realisation escaped my throat, drawing two pairs of eyes to the dark corner in which I had been so far obscured.

Spencer schooled his face back to some semblance of normalcy, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Uh, JJ, this is--”

“Leaving,” I blurted out, then cleared my throat. “I was just leaving. Work in the morning. Nice to meet you.” I tried to smile at her, but it felt more like a pained grimace.

I brushed past both of them, but hesitated on the top step. “Spencer…”

His gaze was inscrutable, and I was too tired to try to decipher it.

“Feel better,” I mumbled, and then I left them there.

*~*

I was not sulking.

I told myself this as I lounged on the couch in my most comfortable pyjamas, stuffing my face with junk food and watching Michael Scott lament his foot injury.

So what if Spencer was in love with a beautiful blonde while getting him to talk to me was like pulling teeth? It wasn’t like I’d been carrying a torch for him. We were just extremely compatible sexually. And in very close proximity to each other. That put us in the ideal position to hook up whenever we needed it. That was the extent of our relationship. For all I knew, he’d been sleeping with other people this whole time. I hardly had the right to protest it if he had. We hadn’t set up rules. We just fell into bed together as and when we liked.

It was a good, uncomplicated thing.

So I needed to make sense of whatever needless jealousy I was feeling, before I ruined it. I couldn’t sit around being pathetic. I had a life.

There was a knock on the door.

Sighing, I turned off the TV and put the snacks away. Spencer was quiet as I let him in. His eyes roamed the small living room as if he didn’t know his way around my place as well as he did his own. I perched on the arm of the couch and stared at him, hoping my face didn’t betray the rollercoaster of emotions I’d experienced over the last forty-eight hours.

“So,” I started, “you okay?”

He looked a bit startled, as if he hadn’t expected me to address it at all. I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Yeah. I’m alright.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I prompted, “It was pretty intense.”

“It-uh, it was a work thing. JJ helped me out.”

Of course she did. “Great,” I said aloud.

We looked at each other for a beat. “She’s the one, isn’t she?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

“What?”

“The one you’re in love with?”

There was a telltale spot of red high on his cheeks, even as he sputtered. “That’s not-- I mean, yes, but that was--”

“It’s fine,” I said cheerily. “I was just curious.”

He frowned at me. “She’s my best friend, it’s not--”

“No, I get it.” My stomach was somewhere near my feet. “So, do you wanna fuck?”

Again, he seemed taken aback. “What?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” I directed my gaze at his meticulously polished shoes.

“No.” A pause. “I just wanted to say-- would you look at me for a second?”

I forced myself to comply.

“I, uh, I wanted to thank you. For staying with me the other night.” The sincerity in his eyes was a bit too much to bear at the moment.

I hadn’t done anything, and I told him as much.

“You didn’t have to. Just being there was more than enough.”

“Right,” I said hollowly. “So is that it?”

“Yeah.” He seemed very lost. “Um, are you okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re acting kind of strange.”

“That’s because there isn’t usually this much talking,” I snapped.

I longed to smooth out the lines on his face and make him feel at ease again. This was supposed to be the good, uncomplicated thing. He was apparently making an effort. I could return the favour.

“I’m sorry,” I said, letting out a deep breath and rubbing a hand over my face. “Can I get you something to drink? We can talk about it if you want. Or just hang out.” I tried to squash down the hope that bloomed in my chest.

“Oh. Sure, if that’s okay.” He was chewing on his lip again, and it was unfairly appealing.

And so he stayed. I got two mugs of coffee, and when I came back, he was on my couch reading a well-worn paperback, as if he belonged there. I had to agree with the thought. When he heard me enter the room, he looked up with a smile.

When he left three hours later, I couldn’t remember what we’d talked about or the name of the book he’d abandoned within minutes, but I remembered the way he’d leaned close to me while gesturing wildly with his hands, and I remembered that we hadn’t touched beyond accidental brushes of our fingers the entire time.

He still hadn’t revealed the source of his despair, and I knew there was someone he loved. I knew whatever this was, it would be temporary.

But the smile on my face as I closed the door was real.

.

(v)

Spencer kept coming over. I was never given the chance to initiate contact because it seemed like he was always at my place. Whenever he was in the city, he would be with me. I started to worry about his apartment gathering cobwebs from the disuse. But I couldn’t honestly complain about this new development.

Sometimes we had sex, and sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes he came in sore and tired, other times he was brimming with excitement with a playful grin. Sometimes he was angry at the world and I was allowed to coax him down from his rage. Those nights were in turn infuriating and thrilling.

(“What happened?”

“Work.”

“That’s really helpful, Spencer, care to elucidate?”

“No.”

“Okay, caveman.”

“Shut up and take off your clothes.”

I’d rolled my eyes and complied.)

I enjoyed every bit of him. I wanted to observe and chart every one of his moods and his little quirks. I loved the small pile of his books that had found their way onto the coffee table. I loved introducing him to pop culture that he approached with the same diligence as he would a textbook of quantum physics. He was an eager student, and I attempted to return the favour whenever he launched into his obscure tirades.

Some nights I would drowsily let him in and he would crawl into bed with me, fully clothed. The following mornings, I would wake up with a silly grin on my face, seeing him utterly relaxed and at peace. We’d have breakfast in my kitchen and slowly come awake together over our steaming mugs of coffee.

It was fun, learning him.

In the dead of night, as I was drifting off to sleep, he would tell me bits and pieces of horrible things he’d had to see. All I could offer him then was a tight, protective embrace and a steady gaze as the words clawed their way out of his reluctant throat. It felt like he was giving me some sort of twisted boon, these revelations of his pain. I collected them just as carefully as I did everything else. If it was a part of him that was freely given, I knew I wanted it.

At intervals, I would have to remind myself that he wasn’t truly emotionally available. It wasn’t hard. I only had to picture JJ’s relieved smile and the raw uncloaked expression on his face that I had never seen again. He mentioned her every now and then, and I’d discovered that his godson was her child. He never seemed upset, talking about her family, but he wasn’t the kind of man who would resent another’s happiness, even if it was at the expense of his own. I knew that now. I still remembered the way he would pull away from me and flinch at my touch, and I knew I was playing a losing game. There was no way out of this where I didn’t get hurt. All I could do was try to control it.

Three months after that night outside our building, I knew I’d fallen for him.

I was in trouble and I needed to do something about it, quickly. So I stopped preemptively cancelling plans with my friends and coworkers. I joined a book club. I called in a guy to loudly fix my bathroom sink the day I knew Spencer would be getting home. I even got a gym membership. I tried to be away from home as much as I could.

Whenever Spencer texted me, I would let him know I was unavailable. His texts got progressively more frustrated. Watching the excitement on his face dim when I turned him away at my door was painful. But it was necessary. I convinced myself that when Spencer and I stopped existing in this vacuum without other people, my feelings would weaken and I would be able to get him out of my head.

It didn’t work, of course, and I spent every day missing him. I tried to distract myself with work and my suddenly-full schedule, but the feelings were still there. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop thinking of him every morning and every night, and every time I passed his door and every time I walked by a bookstore.

So when Neil from work asked me out a week later, I said yes.

I wore a nice dress and heels, and he picked me up. We went to a midscale restaurant and talked about boring first-date things, and I knew within the first fifteen minutes that I didn’t want to see him again. I went through the motions, smiled pleasantly at him, and told him I would take a cab home. When I walked dejectedly up to my apartment, it took me a second to realise what I was looking at. My heart leapt and I dropped my keys.

Spencer was sitting on the floor outside my door, and he looked tireder and older than I’d ever seen him. He had looked up at my approach. I froze.

“Spencer.” I hadn’t seen him in a month.

He looked me up and down, and there was an unhappy tilt to his mouth. I wanted to kiss it away. He reached for the keys and rose to his feet.

“Hi.” He held them out to me, and I wanted to laugh and the eerie reflection of our first meeting.

“Hi,” I echoed.

“Were you on a date?”

There was no point in lying to him. “Yes.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching.

Silently, I unlocked the door and held it open. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked in.

He paced the floor of my living room. I took off my shoes and put my keys on the table, waiting for him to speak. I felt out of sorts and unprepared for what was to come. Even when I heard him come to a halt, I didn’t lift my gaze to meet his.

“Why would you-- I thought we had something.” His tone was heavy with accusation.

I stared back at him in challenge. “Sure. We had something. But I didn’t want to fool myself into thinking it was more than it was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Us! You. You send me all these mixed signals, and I know you’re still hung up on someone else but I let myself get in too deep anyway. I had to protect myself.”

“I’m not hung up on someone else,” he shouted, raising his hands in frustration.

“Of course you are!” I matched his volume. “You told me so yourself.”

“When did I do that?” He sounded honestly bewildered.

“A few months ago. You said you were in love with someone but she didn’t love you back. And then I saw you with JJ that day. I know it’s her. It’s okay. You didn’t promise me anything.”

Feeling drained, I wrapped my hands around my middle. The tears were threatening to fall, but I tried to hold them at bay. This would be over soon. It all would.

“JJ--” he barked out a laugh, surprising me.

“What about this situation is funny to you?” I demanded.

“No, listen--”

“You’re hot and you’re cold. You kick me out right after our first time and then you’re sweet the next day. How do you want me to feel about that?”

“I’m sorry about-”

“Trying to talk to you is impossible! I want to help you. But you clearly don’t want to talk to me!”

“That’s not--”

“And then you’re over here all the time, and I get that it’s because you want to distract yourself, but you have to know how it would con--”

“God, would you just shut up and listen to me for once?”

I glared up at him. He was undeterred, a strange glint in his eyes.

“I love you,” he informed me, striking me dumb. “It took me a while to realise it, but it’s true. I love you.”

All I could do was gape at him as he walked closer to me and took my tightly clenched fists in his hands. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was holding back. I’m trying to be better. And I don’t know what you thought you saw between me and JJ,” he said very slowly, stroking his thumbs gently over my palms, “but all that’s there is a lot of trauma and shared experiences. Yes, I thought I loved her once, but that was a long time ago. We’ve never-- she’s not you.”

Traitorously, that tendril of hope began to coil around my heart again as I searched his face, looking for a trace of a lie.

I found none.

I surged forward, crashing my lips to his with no finesse and too much force, but he was ready for me, releasing my hands and cradling my waist instead. I gripped his hair, letting the tears spill at last, an overjoyed laugh bubbling out of my throat and into his mouth. I let my hands roam the hard plane of his body, the delicious ripple of wiry muscle beneath his shirt, the hidden softness that only I could feel.

“I love you,” I told him when we broke apart for air. “I’m glad I can tell you, I love you, I fucking love you.” Spencer grinned down at me, and the look was so fond I had to kiss him again.

The rest was a blur of hastily discarded clothes and the steadfastly ignored pain of knocking into furniture before we finally found my bed and tumbled into it.

(“All this time, I could have had you,” I groaned into his ear while he thrust his fingers into me, mouthing along my jaw.

“You have me,” he promised into my skin an eternity later, when he was inside me and my nails were scrambling for purchase along his back, my vision going white.)

That night, there were no painful confessions or taunting insecurities. There were just the two of us, blissfully entwined together, and the deepest of dreamless sleeps. Somewhere in the middle of falling out and falling back together, we had found our new rhythm.

.fin.

[rahleeyah]

Hey Leah,

Long post here, kind of a rant but also asking for your thoughts on all of this:

As much as I am - have been - dying, like everyone else, to watch EO finally happen on our screens in all of the beauty and glory it deserves after so many damn obstacles and emotions and angsty moments and years, I just cannot help but ruminate on the fact that even after everything that’s happened to get us here, Elliot never truly chose Olivia.

Just hear me out:

Elliot came back to New York married, right? He had no intention to not be married. He even said to Olivia’s face, “we were happy” in Rome.

And yeah, Olivia is single, and Elliot is single now, has been for a while, and there’s nothing stopping them. But why is Elliot single? Not because he chose to be. Because his wife was murdered. Because that choice was taken out of his hands — was made for him. Not because he wanted it.

His wife of 40+ years died, and who was there to pick up the pieces? Olivia. We watched him go through so much — grief, anger, flashbacks, trauma, anxiety, guilt, so much guilt — and it’s understandable, obviously. Expected. And he’s finally come through it all. But who was there for his family, his kids, when they asked for her help? Who was there to make sure he didn’t get himself killed, time and time again? Olivia.

Elliot left her, alone. He fell off the face of the earth, disappeared into thin air after being her best friend, her rock, her whole entire family, for 13 YEARS, and let’s be real, she never thought she would ever see him again. And honestly, when I think about it too much, my heart literally physically aches in my chest for just how deep that must have hurt her. Like it actually hurts me. A fictional character’s feelings hurt me that much.

And now he is back, has made it very clear to Olivia that he wants her — to get to know her, and her son, and to be in her life romantically. Yes, we all know that they have been in love with each other since, like, Gitano, probably before that. Yes, he knows that he hurt her when he left, and he’s respecting her boundaries, and he is trying.

But.

We don’t know what would’ve happened if Kathy hadn’t been killed. From what’s been said/what we’ve seen in canon, Elliot would’ve gone to Olivia’s ceremony, given her that letter, and flown back to Italy with Kathy to continue raising Eli and working as a liaison with the force, leaving Olivia to believe that he thinks she’s better off without him around, that it was all in her head, and what they had was never real. And it seems like the only reason he didn’t is because Kathy died. The only reason he stayed in New York was to find Kathy’s killer. Right?

Even though EO is meant to happen, and we all wanna see it happen, and Elliot is the one pursuing a romantic relationship and has made is intentions plain to Olivia, I just. I don’t know.

Her whole life, no one’s ever chosen Olivia — no one’s ever stayed for her. And I gotta be honest, Leah, I feel like she feels like she’s second best to Elliot, given the circumstances.

Because the simple fact is: Elliot did not really, purely, wholly, independently, intentionally, purposely choose Olivia. And I just really wish that he had, because she deserves it. They deserve it.

Am I crazy to feel like this?

I’m sorry if this is overwhelming, and I hope that it makes sense, that you kinda get what I’m trying to say here, but I just had to let it out. Thanks for reading, and as always I would love your thoughts if you agree or feel differently. 💓

this is something that I think a lot of people are feeling, and I think it's worth talking about!

we don't know what would have happened if Kathy hadn't died and that is imo one of the biggest failings of the reunion. what exactly the fuck was his plan? was he really going to see Olivia once, give her a letter he knew would break her heart, and slink back to Rome? now at the time rotps was written the letter was not, so that's a bit of retconning; the letter was supposed to be what Elliot wrote instead of giving a speech and it was enough to make liv show up at his door (again, before they even knew what the letter said, but WOW in context what a fucken moment that is; this son of a bitch told her what they had was never real and she goes to see him late at night bc she just has to talk about it??? what was THAT convo gonna be like??) and if they'd known then what the letter said (why the FUCK did they not know then what the letter said what kinda half assed writer would think an audience wouldn't care about that??) maybe they would have handled it differently. maybe if the letter had been kind I could buy him being willing to just hand it to her and then leave.

then again maybe not; maybe it was his punishment, you know? drawing a line under the past and his regrets by burning that bridge, for good. hurting himself, as much as her, bc he thinks she deserves closure. I don't know.

and I do think we can take certain actions of his into account; he didn't have to tell her that he wrote it will always be you and i. yes he was drugged but that just means when his inhibitions were down, when doubt was not standing in his way, at his core, old boy was DESPERATE for liv to know the truth. aching for her to know the truth. he had to fight to get to her in the state he was in. much easier to stay where he was or stumble back to the RV, but instead he uses all of his strength to drag himself to her door bc she is the one thing he needs most.

he didn't have to listen to her when she called him out for not asking about her life, he didn't have to try to open that door, but he did. yes he wouldn't have had a chance to do it while Kathy was alive, but would he have been the man Olivia loves if he did? does she not love him in part for his duty, his care for others, his exalted status as THE family man? would she have let him choose her if Kathy was still alive? and now that Kathy isn't, doesn't he keep coming back to her?

here's the thing. show's not over til the fat lady sings. we have seen Elliot reach for liv - as you said, now that Kathy is gone - but we don't know what the rest of their story is gonna look like. we don't know what other choices he's gonna be presented with. we don't know what other choices he is going to make. so I am holding out hope that he will earn this, by the end. a feeble hope, maybe, but that's all we have.

[bigskydreaming]

Part of why I harp on about Last Laugh all the time is because its not just about Dick killing the Joker which is what Jason always wanted someone to do for him, to know that he mattered enough for that......but also when you erase Last Laugh or discard it because it just doesn’t fit into your perception of the characters as fanon has dictated, like.......another huge factor of the Jason-Bruce-Dick dynamic falls by the wayside as well.

And that’s how Jason’s not only always been convinced that Bruce would kill to avenge Dick’s death.....but in ADDITION, Jason has always been convinced that Bruce would be more forgiving of the kinds of actions Jason has taken, aka murder, if Dick had been the one doing it.

Because see....the other thing Last Laugh showed aside from Dick’s feelings about Jason’s death......is that Bruce very much was NOT okay with what Dick had done. Bruce always said he brought back the Joker because he knew Dick wouldn’t be able to live with having done that, but IMO it was NEVER about what Dick could or couldn’t live with, it was about what BRUCE could live with Dick having done.

Because regardless of the Joker being resuscitated.....Dick was still keenly aware of the fact that he’d still beaten him to death first. Jason’s resurrection, Dick being revived after his own death, those never erased the impact of their actual deaths, rendered them moot, and neither did resuscitating the Joker. If Jason died and it matters? Coming back doesn’t make that unmatter. If Dick only was dead for a couple minutes tops, that doesn’t mean Luthor DIDN’T kill him and he wasn’t still dead; he’d still actually died.

The same is true of the Joker’s death, no matter how short-lived it was. Dick still DID it. Dick was still very cognizant of that. Dick actually struggled with this for a number of issues, though I don’t think that really was about regretting what he’d done so much as that he’d let the Joker ‘win’.....AND it was ALSO about how Bruce saw him now.

And IMO you can’t argue that Bruce only resuscitated the Joker for DICK’S sake and because DICK couldn’t live with that.....when Bruce notably, distinctly, NEVER EVER EVER actually....engaged Dick on the topic of what he’d done there. 

Ever. 

He went back to Gotham and never made a single appearance to help Dick process things, even when others like Wally showed up in Bludhaven while Dick was holing himself away from the world. Bruce and Dick literally NEVER spoke of it again. Because Bruce wasn’t okay with what Dick had done. He didn’t know how to forgive him or look past it, so he basically did everything in his power to make it so it basically never happened. 

And the difference with UTRH is....when Jason showed up, by the time Bruce knew it was him, pretending Jason hadn’t done the things that Jason wasn’t the least bit ashamed of was never actually even an option.

So I don’t actually think Bruce is any more inclined to forgive Dick of things like murder because its Dick.....I think Bruce had to force+quit all thoughts of Dick actually killing, in order to preserve his relationship with Dick. 

(Even though his relationship with Dick still suffered, because Dick was still keenly aware that Bruce was not okay with what he’d done, and like, not trying to understand WHY Dick had done it or that he was actually maybe okay with having done it albeit outside of the context of it having played into what the Joker wanted him to do. Like, Dick after Last Laugh still very much angsted about Bruce’s assessment of him after it, and did need that reassurance that Bruce still loved him and forgave him....and what Bruce actually gave him is “I’ll agree to never reference it as having happened and look past it for the sake of our relationship” which is very much NOT the same thing. And with, as I’ve also gone into before, this no doubt being HUGELY central to why Dick was so lost and shaken by his fears of having let Bruce down AGAIN by letting Blockbuster die. These things are absolutely connected.)

The flip side of this is that......I don’t think Bruce was any LESS inclined to ‘forgive’ Jason of murder just because he was Jason and not Dick. In that case, it was just more about the fact that there was no way for Bruce to even TRY to force+quit out of his awareness of what Jason had done. Denial wasn’t going to cut it in the same way it had with Dick, because Dick’s ‘crime’ had been one and done.

But THEN, the flip side of THAT - or maybe we’re just on a tangent now, oh hell, who can keep track, let’s all just agree that flips were flipped and tangents were...tangented - like, the other interesting facet of this for me is if Bruce HADN’T been so intent on forcibly ignoring or forgetting that Dick had killed the Joker, for the sake of their relationship or whatever, or if someone else had brought it up - not only could this have improved Dick and Jason’s relationship, it also could have forced Bruce to confront the logical fallacy inherent in like...his MAIN ARGUMENT for why he was so deadset against Jason’s choices. 

And that all goes back to how Bruce has a tendency to project his own worst flaws onto his children, and be paranoid that they’re going to go down the same dark paths he constantly is trying to keep himself from straying down - ironically in part due to how he uses his childrens’ similarities to him in order to build common ground and see a place and purpose for himself in their lives in the first place. He sees himself in his children, that’s what draws him to them in the first place, and makes him act to bring them into his own life and build a home for them....but there’s a double-edged sword element to this too, as Bruce I think often perceives his worst fears for HIMSELF in his childrens’ actions and choices....and acts based on that. Rather than keeping centered his awareness that for all that they are LIKE him in various ways, they are their own people. As different from him as they are alike.

See, because like....Bruce’s primary reason for why he can’t ever allow himself to kill, even someone like the Joker....is because he KNOWS himself, and knows that if he ever allowed himself to cite precedent by doing it even just once.....he’d open up the door and progress through it past a point of no return, whereupon he’d never STOP being able to come up with justifications for why he should also kill this villain and this one and this one. Its the slippery slope argument. He can’t ever start down that slope, because he doesn’t trust himself to ever stop.

And he projects this same logic onto his children, who he seems so much of himself in....the good AND the bad. And so his fears AND his judgment, for both Jason AND Dick when they kill, even just in one special case....is that it sets them both on the same slippery slope. Because they are after all just like him, right?

But also they’re not....as evidenced by the fact that Dick DOESN’T KEEP KILLING. The Last Laugh is basically an outlier (assuming we don’t count Creighton, which I don’t rate the same because while I think Dick definitely did kill him, it was a clear cut case of self-defense and thus a totally different ballgame). Its significant that Dick killed, not just because he did it, and not just because Bruce didn’t actually ever forgive him for it....but also because...despite Bruce being afraid to face or acknowledge it because of how it played into his own fears for his own worst self and choices.....Bruce facing it is exactly what needs to happen in order for Bruce to ever acknowledge that his actual fears of the slippery slope....DID NOT HAPPEN, with Dick. Dick’s never used what happened with the Joker to cite a precedent, to justify to himself the choice to do that again with another villain he had just as much reason to hate.

And from THERE....once you connect all these dots and all these parallels and contrasts and intersections......its notable not just that Jason has killed, and with intent and without regret....but also that there IS no rationale for taking it for granted that Bruce acts differently with Jason’s crimes than he would if Dick committed them, just because its Jason and not Dick.....because the key difference is not WHICH of them did it, its the CIRCUMSTANCES of them doing it....and Jason’s circumstances not affording Bruce the same luxury of denial.

And then from THERE, finally, the coup de grace at the end of it all:

Is it also makes it equally notable that....just as Dick’s lack of killing again after the Joker, like, establishes a counter argument for Bruce’s fears that such a thing is inevitable once Dick killed even once....and with this fear being WHY he comes down so hard on the topic of even his children killing villains guilty of heinous crimes....

Dick’s lack of killing others after the Joker ALSO establishes a PRECEDENT....for the fact that no, killing someone does not make it IMPOSSIBLE to ever step BACK from that ledge if one so chooses. ‘Pulling the trigger’ as it were, even just once, initially....does not doom one of Bruce’s children to a lifetime of never being anything BUT a remorseless killer who can never choose a different path.

And of course, the fact that Jason killing certain people DOESN’T mean that he can’t ever stop, like....this is actually central to the entire Batfam’s dynamics as a whole?

Because after all.....literally every canon story, continuity or fanfic that has Jason reunite with the family to ANY degree, after having killed....which is like, basically all of them.....

These all take it as a given that....Jason is absolutely fully capable of choosing not to kill. He is not LOCKED into anything, beyond the possibility of having any kind of relationship with his family whatsoever, just because he’s killed....with the proof being like....literally all the stories where he still has a relationship with his family despite having killed previously or even still killing in some circumstances in the present!

The slippery slope does not rule all, is the thing. And the proof that Bruce’s fears of the slippery slope once slipped upon, being a one way street straight the fuck to hell, like.....the proof that that’s more a HIM problem than a hard and fast rule that can only ever play out one way for everybody Bruce see himself reflected in?

That proof literally begins with Last Laugh. With Dick. Paving the way for Jason there, rather than making a case for how actually things with Jason and Bruce would look totally different if it had just been Dick and Bruce there instead.

The second you acknowledge that the comics and most fanfics ALREADY take it as a given that Bruce’s projection of his own fears of the slippery murder slope is like....NOT actually any more of an inevitable death knell for Jason’s relationship with his family than Jason’s own actual death knell meant shit about his own longterm survival.....

Then Dick’s killing of the Joker in Last Laugh becomes extremely relevant not just because of what it reveals about how Bruce’s views on murder and his sons doing the murder is NOT actually conditional, based just on which son it is that does the deed most dirty....

It also becomes extremely relevant because of the precedent it establishes in countering the very argument/view that is central to keeping Jason from having any real relationship with his family until Bruce gets the fuck out of his own and everyone else’s way on this front.

[artist-owl]

He Doesn’t Look a Thing Like Jesus

@moceit-appreciation-week for Moceit Week day 6: Magic/Role Reversal

word count: 1522

title from “When You Were Young” by The Killers

summary: why is it that angels my fall, yet demons never rise?

Janus wasn’t quite sure what he was anymore.

There wasn’t really a word for the liminal space between an angelic being and a demonic one – well, actually there was, but ‘fallen angel’ wasn’t quite descriptive enough for his purpose; for one, he hadn’t been an angel, he’d been a principality, thankyouverymuch. For another, he hadn’t so much fallen as been slam-dunked out of Heaven like the pearly gates were the net and Earth was the cold and unforgiving wooden floor, ‘fallen’ implied that he’d done it to himself.

In any case, he wasn’t yet a demon, wouldn’t become one unless he burned away the last remaining dregs of his divine power and went to Hell. Not that he had any intention of doing so of course, no matter how far he’d been demoted – it was a ghastly place from what he’d heard. But he wasn’t a principality anymore, that was clear as the scars on his back. Damn it all, is this really where asking questions could get you? 

Well fuck that noise, Janus didn’t want any part of that heavenly nonsense anymore.

What exactly he was didn’t matter much, really. Not nearly as much as what he could do. 

Which still wasn’t much – he hadn’t lost all of his powers, but even the few that he still had were weakened – but it was just enough to keep his mortal (or at least humanoid) form alive and out of prison. The humans really had made just suddenly appearing somewhere so much more complicated over the past century or so, hadn’t they? 

Nothing that he couldn’t handle, of course.

“And this will be your desk,” said his new boss – Angela de la Cruz, she’d told him, because his Dad really must’ve had a sense of humor when They’d been coming up with Their plan for Everything. “You’ll be sharing it with our clerk, Patton Smith, but don’t worry, there’s plenty of room. 

“Thank you, Angela,” Janus said smoothly, setting down his small box of supplies on the mentioned desk. It was, in fact, large enough for two people to work on; it was a square table, half of it stacked with papers and folders and a laptop sitting closed towards the center, a few pens scattered haphazardly through the thing, and a cup of coffee that seemed to have already gone cold. Janus had no doubt that within the week his side of the desk would look similar, if a little neater.

“Not a problem! I’ll let you get settled in, you can come to my office in a few minutes to receive your first assignments.”

“That sounds wonderful, thanks.” Janus flashed her a practiced smile, and she sent him one back that looked just a bit more genuine, then turned and left for her office.

Janus turned and surveyed the desk for a moment, then started unpacking. He took out his laptop, its cord, the small box of black ink pens, and a pad of paper.

Right. Unpacking done.

He wasn’t entirely certain how this job would go, but he wasn’t too worried about it. Surely working in human law couldn’t be that different from his administrative duties Upstairs.

He was debating whether or not he should take the time to figure out how to get his computer started up, when he heard a door open and he glanced up at the man who’d stepped into the room.

The little snip of divinity still in him recoiled, and Janus barely stopped himself from flinching. The man stopped in his tracks, staring at Janus.

No, not a man.

Janus’s upper lip curled back. “Hello, demon.”

It seemed to shake the being out of his stupor. “Ah, hello,” he said, smiling politely. “Should I refer to you as the same?”

“No.”

The demon tilted his head, examining Janus. His round glasses magnified his eyes, making them look bigger behind the gold-colored wire frames. After a moment of scrutiny, he seemed to relax. “Alright then!” He sounded chipper. “It’s nice to meet you. You can call me Patton.”

“...Janus.”

“How are you doing, Janus? You must be the new secretary.”

“...Yes.” Janus stared as the demon sat down, slowly doing the same. “I’d ask what a demon is doing working at a human law office,” he said slowly, “but given how few lawyers I ran into Up There, I can make a guess.”

The demon – Patton, he supposed, may as well start calling it that before he slipped up and called the being a demon to his face in front of their human coworkers – just laughed, polite and practiced. “Oh, no, nothing like that.”

“Sure.”

“I’m working up to animal rights law,” Patton said cheerfully.

Which.

What?

“Not the division I’d expect one of your sort to choose to enter,” Janus said. “What…you looking for the next soul to corrupt?”

“Oh, I don’t do that sort of thing,” Patton said breezily, waving his hand.

“You’re a demon.”

“And you’re not an angel,” Patton said, poisonously sweet. Janus didn’t flinch, but something must have shown in his expression because Patton’s face shuttered for a moment. “I’m sorry,” he said, in the most genuine tone he’d used so far. “That was cruel of me, my apologies.”

Janus leaned back, suddenly uncertain. What in the…

“What are you?”

Patton giggled. It was eerie. “Oh, no no, you had me pegged from the start. It’s just…well…” his eyes went a little soft as they looked into the middle distance over Janus’s shoulder. “You’ve fallen, yeah?”

“...Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Patton met his eyes then, and the metaphorical fire in them didn’t look so much hellish as determined. “I want to rise.”

Janus made a noise halfway between a laugh and a choke. “You want…to rise?” he said, disbelief coloring his voice.

“Yep!” Patton was smiling sunnily, like he hadn’t said the most insane thing that Janus had ever heard.

“That – that’s impossible.”

“Just because no one’s done it yet doesn’t mean that it’s impossible.”

“No, I mean –” Janus’s voice trailed off as he suddenly wondered…was it impossible? He’d never thought to ask. It wasn’t one of the questions that got him demoted, though now that he thought about it, if he had asked it, he probably would have been punted down to Earth way sooner than this.

Patton shrugged. “Humans can do it. Why not me?”

“Because you’re innately evil?” Janus said, just a tiny bit hysterically. 

“Well some people say that humans are too, and they still go Up There.”

“Humans are born neutral, there’s hundreds of different things to influence them and thousands of choices for them to make. We don’t have that choice.”

“But you fell,” Patton said simply, like that made his case.

“All part of the Almighty’s plan, I’m sure,” Janus said, proud of how little bitterness he’d managed to let seep into his tone. “But I’ve never heard of Them raising one of you up.”

Patton shrugged again. “Like I said, just because no one’s done it yet doesn’t mean that it’s impossible.”

Janus scrubbed a hand over his face. “Why do you even want to rise?”

“Because I want to help people,” Patton said immediately. “I want to do good. I want to be good.”

“And you can’t do that from where you are?”

“Well, I’m doing my best now, aren’t I?” Patton said, smiling. “That’s how I’m going to do it, do so much good that They’ll let me Up. But imagine how much more good I could do if I was Up There! Directly serving the Almighty’s plan, not just…doing the little that someone of my place can do for good.”

Janus chewed his lip for a moment. “I…don’t think that’s how that works.”

Patton’s smile was serene. “I have faith that it will.”

“...Right.”

Janus didn’t really know what else to say. What else he could say. Was it more cruel to let Patton continue with his impossible task, or burst his bubble now and let him face harsh reality? Should Janus even be feeling sympathy for the demon?

The door to Angela’s office opened. “Oh, I see you two’ve met!” she said brightly behind Janus.

Patton beamed at her. “Sure did!”

“Awesome! You settled then?”

“I am,” Janus said to her. “You mentioned assignments?”

“Yeah. You don’t know how much having you here is going to help, our legal assistant has been going nuts trying to get everything done herself.”

“Mm.” Janus stood up and started over to her office.

“Oh, and Janus?” Janus turned and saw Patton offering him a genuine smile. “Welcome to the office.”

Janus inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Thank you,” he said, before turning back around and following Angela. 

What the Hell. Why should Janus care? He wasn’t aligned with the Upstairs anymore. There wasn’t any reason for him to be concerned about some upstart demon trying to worm his way Up. Patton seemed to be taking the most boringly respectable route possible to his unreachable goal, and him burning himself out to do so wasn’t any of Janus’s business. There was no reason for Janus to be interested in Patton.

No reason at all.

[tenthgrove]

Soft Yandere Tizano and squalo

Yandere La Unita

Content Warnings: yandere behaviour, manipulation, abduction, forced dependency, violence, unhealthy relationships, the general existence of Dolcio Cioccolata.

Squalo and Tiziano

It isn't common for Squalo and Tiziano to interact with civilians. Or anyone really, since the pair are largely content with each other's company and nothing more. The sole exception to this is the necessary interactions that result from their frequent shopping trips, from which you, the cashier of their favourite boutique, came into play.

The pair observed you innocuously for many months, slowly learning practically everything that could be known about you simply from overheard conversations with colleagues. You dare say you liked them, even, as they were friendlier than your average customer and a familiar face to look forward too.

One day, Squalo sits Tiziano down and admits his attraction to you. It was meant to be an honourable confession, an honest admittance of wrongdoing to ensure no harm comes to the relationship. To Squalo's shock, Tiziano chuckles and announces he feels the same way. It's time the couple started to pursue you actively.

The defining feature of how Squalo and Tiziano obtain you is that it's calculated and smart. Squalo's happy to just walk up to you and ask for you to be together (or barring that, just abduct you), but it is Tiziano who convinces him otherwise. Not only would conventional methods of wooing you be unlikely to work, but they have practical concerns to worry about as well, being high-ranking members of the mafia. They're going to have to plan something a little more nuanced.

During a visit to your store, Squalo slips a little bit of paper into your pocket. You open it at home that evening to find your own address, along with several belonging to your closest friends and family listed out, above a message instructing you to come to a location of their choice the next day or they'll start paying these people visits. It's an outdoor restaurant in the middle of the city, where there's bound to be a lot of people. They don't want to scare you too much after all.

You arrive at the restaurant the next day on weak knees. Squalo and Tiziano thank you for coming, before introducing themselves in no uncertain terms as mafiosos who have taken an interest in you, and would like to start dating. You read between the lines that you don't have an option to say no.

However, the pair make clear the incentives to accept their offer are just as profound as the threats against refusing it. Are you in education? They're happy to support you in continuing it. Do you work? They have more than enough money to support you in reducing your hours or, if it's something you genuinely enjoy, bribing the right people to advance your career. Ultimately, Squalo and Tiziano know the carrot is just as important as the stick.

Thought you aren't forced to go home with them there and then, it soon becomes clear you're expected to sort your affairs quickly and move in within the next couple of months. From that point on, the couple will treat you as though you've been together for years, expecting you to address them as your partners as well.

Both Squalo and Tiziano are very touchy in their own ways, and while they would never force themselves on you, are more than happy to trail their hands up and down your arms early on. They are also both incredibly teasing, and will pick up on all your reactions.

The good news is that the level of freedom afforded to you is high from the get-go. Even from the beginning, you're allowed to maintain control of your finances and go out by yourself provided you tell them. Just be warned they'll occasionally check in on you by surprise to make sure you're actually where you said you would go. The one thing they do quite heavily police is social visits. The possibility of you revealing to someone they forced you to be with them is very acute, not that you would get very far if you did try to run away. It's not that you can't have friends, you just need to be very honest about who you're meeting and why.

Cioccolata and Secco

If Dolcio Cioccolata has taken an interest in you and his intentions aren't torture or murder, it can only mean one thing- you are someone very dear to him, and have been so for a long time. Chances are, you probably trust him a lot back. Cioccolata's gotten very good at acting normal around his respectable friends, after all.

The two main possibilities are that you know him as a family friend and became close through parties, or you're a chronically ill patient who found yourself in his care, and were lucky enough to avoid his scalpel long enough for a genuine mutual bond to form. It could be both. You could have fallen ill after knowing him for a long time. He could have made you ill.

As for Secco, Cioccolata will only pursue you as a lover with his consent. Cioccolata would never want his darling pet to feel neglected, after all, and for that reason it's only when Secco confesses a fondness for you that Cioccolata decides its time to make you his own. Secco is immediately very excited at the thought of you joining them, and for a while Cioccolata's main concern is actually stopping him from giving their plans away.

As much as Cioccolata would love to pluck you from your home, he knows that would only get him caught. The police are already after a serial killer with surgical knowledge, and taking you like that would just make him a suspect. So he does something more covert, he invites you over. You enjoy a lovely night gorging snacks and watching TV with your two friends, until Cioccolata invites you to the basement. As you go down, he snatches your phone and sends out the first of many messages designed to trick your family into thinking you've run away.

Waiting for you there in the basement, to your horror, is a functional operating theatre, complete with spatter after spatter of blood. You'll probably try to run, but the door is already locked. But don't worry, your blood won't be joining that on the table tonight. As Cioccolata explains to you as you cower in the corner, he treasures your bond very much, the tender feeling of what they call 'romance' that fills his heart whenever you look at him, the obscure sense of care for another human being. He won't be subjecting you to his operations.

That is, until your inevitable first attempt at escape. Although he'll still stop short of outright torturing you (providing a generous dose of general anaesthetic and subsequent painkillers) his 'alterations' to your limbs will lead you unable to walk or carry out fine motor skills. You'll be entirely dependent on his and Secco's care. As he assures you frequently, the changes are entirely reversible and you can have all your old mobility back with another operation and a little physical therapy, but for Cioccolata to give that to you, you're going to have to earn it.

Cioccolata keeps his promise to reverse the damage he did to you, but by the time that happens a lot has changed. He hasn't conditioned you to become like Secco as that would involve removing everything that first endeared him to you, but you're still going to have to become a lot more warmed up to him to trust you with your limbs back. At least you'll be treated like royalty in the meantime, even if you are still a prisoner. Cioccolata will remind you every day you're his darling pet, just like Secco.

Doppio

Doppio was never allowed to have lovers when the Boss was around. He found it a little hypocritical since the boss once told him he had a girlfriend, but he guessed he understood his reasoning and, either way, he would never question his boss. The boss is gone now, and Doppio has nobody to guide him anymore. He's alone and doesn't know what to do; even the old hideouts the new boss never found feel cold and empty, and Doppio can't bring himself to enter them. Then he met you.

You weren't quite sure what you were looking at, seeing a fine-dressed, disoriented boy stumbling around in the rain outside your window. Nonetheless, you knew he was in no state to be alone so you went out and approached him. When it was clear he had nobody to call, you invited him in.

As you leave him alone in the sitting room to make coffee, Doppio's mind is going in cartwheels. You've been so kind to him, and deep down in his heart something tells him the two of you were meant for each other. This could be his new start! Someone to rely on, to depend upon to give him purpose! But wait- if he leaves tonight he might never see you again! As he panics, Doppio decides he can't let that happen. He needs to have you tonight.

The second you return to the sitting room, Doppio pounces on you. As he frantically assures you that everything's going to be okay, you pass out from shock. You wake up in a strange house, tied to an extravagant bed. Your screams bring Doppio to your room. He quickly reassures you he isn't going to hurt you and is doing this so you can be together.

Doppio has some (i.e, a few million quid) money he was able to salvage from before the boss' fall, and he's going to use it however possible to please you. He will buy you anything and everything you desire short of freedom, making his own guesses about what you'd like if you refuse to talk.

His initial plan is to keep you locked up in that room (or at very least the wider house) forever, since it's safest for you and his old boss never went out much, but eventually he relents at your distress. He'll let you out eventually, if that's what it takes to make you smile.

On that note, the best thing about being Doppio's darling is how easy it is to turn the tables on him. Once you've behaved yourself for a while, having learned what keeps Doppio satisfied, it's very easy to become the dominant one in the relationship and make him let you do whatever you want. His sole desire is to serve you, after all.

[silentauroriamthereal]

Thank you so much for your reply about Irene! I suppose I've tried to make sense of the situation within the fiction of the story, but you're right, if you look from the perspective of bad writing it stops being so confusing. Writing morally corrupt and entitled women in some misguided attempt at empowering feminism is something I've definitely noticed and it is infuriating (I'm still seething over Molly slapping Sherlock, and the way everyone else treated him in that episode tbh). 1/3(sorry 😅)

2/3 There is a disturbing trend of people who are supposed to look out for Sherlock making him pay for his rudeness/carelessness with violence or insults. I hate it, because when Sherlock missteps he gets told off (sometimes he deserves it and sometimes he's right but everyone else is being too stupid to notice), especially by John, so as time goes on all the additional jabs at his character stop feeling like banter and more like open animosity.

3/3 Speaking of bad writing, I think it's ludicrous that Sherlock is capable of making the mistakes he does throughout the show but he was able to predict which therapist John would go to, Mrs Hudson kidnapping him, etc down to the hour, probably that John would put him in the hospital too and bring his cane as a nice parting gift. I also think it was ooc for this Sherlock not to realise the killer in ASIP was a cabbie like he does in the pilot. Silly me, I thought what made him human was love. Hey, sorry this is so late in coming! Things have just been super busy lately! Yes, I completely agree with everything you've said here. Just to be super clear, it's not that I think that Moffat or Gatiss are bad writers, per se, but they're lazy af and entitled af. Gatiss once sneered at someone asking a question about unresolved plot threads as us wanting "pablum", when what we the fandom have actually requested is, simply, quality work. Finished work. Work that doesn't leave gaping holes. I firmly believe that they're capable of writing work that meets that description, but they're smarmy and self-satisfied and are too busy scoffing at the very people who gave them the platform that they have to actually listen when we point out that something is half-baked. I could rant for a very long time about their view of what feminism looks like, but I won't do it again today. I fully agree about their inconsistent treatment of Sherlock. Either he's a super-human intellectually, or else he's so stupid that literally everyone else in his universe is said to be smarter than he is. He's the only person who ever needs to face a consequence for his actions - and not only that, but also the actions of OTHER people, like how Vivian Norbury's choice to pull a trigger and Mary Morstan's choice to somehow jump in front of Norbury's bullet were in any way done because Sherlock Holmes controls everyone and everything around him. What an incredibly stupid suggestion. I'll also just point out that attributing the agency and decisions of two women to a man is incredibly misogynistic, even if I loathe one of those women. Mary's actions were her own, and they were all very bad and she never once had to face a consequence or even pretend to be sorry for them. John also has a lot of shit to answer for (THE MORGUE SCENE, ANYONE!!!!), for going back to Mary (WTAF) after she shot Sherlock in the heart, on purpose, with the specific intent of preventing John from making an informed choice about her. Again, I could go on and on and on. Sherlock is the only person who has to face punishment, and man, do they love to punish him. I think I just had a breakthrough realization that Molly slapping Sherlock is their Mary Sue. Wow. Lol.

[dreamkidddream]

Hello! Congrats!! Well deserved omg! Could you write the quote number 8 for Kunikida please? This man deserves so much more love! (but if it's already taken, then quote number 5) Take care! <3

Thank you!!! I hope you’re staying safe and doing well ☺️ Kunikida deserves so much more love than he gets and I will forever stand by that (there will be NO Kunikida slander here 😤😤) and this was so cute. Reader is gender neutral!

TW: small spicy/suggestive mention, but it’s nothing graphic or extreme (literally just one small mention of undressing, but nothing graphic)

Prompt: “Is that my shirt?” with Kunikida!

You cannot remember anything from last night.

Okay maybe you’re exaggerating just a bit, but you can’t remember the whole night. You remember celebrating a case well done at the agency, having more than just a few drinks, and then the night became blurry after that.

So waking up in a room that isn’t yours, in a bed that isn’t yours, just about gave you a heart attack. But, you didn’t wake up next to someone, and you still had your same clothes on, so you felt somewhat relieved. You weren’t handcuffed, and you still had all of your limbs intact, and the room wasn’t a dungeon or someone’s basement, so that was a plus sign.

The room looked rather plain, not much hanging on the walls and only having the bare necessities in there. You can see a nightstand, a decent sized TV, along with a bookcase filled with different sized novels and textbooks. When you did get up (really when your head stopped spinning) to take a closer look, you could also see...notebooks?

You picked one up, really focusing on it, and now that you’re up close, these look like the ones that Kunikida use-

Oh no.

Oh nonononono-

This is Kunkida’s room? You’re at his place?! Oh, you could just pass out right now, and you would have crawled back in bed and go back to sleep if it was your bed and not his! Oh, this is just mortifying-

A knock on the door resounded in the room

“(Y/N)? Are you awake yet?”

You choked on your spit, and dropped the notebook, the thud echoing in the room. Damnit!

You heard him sigh through the door, just picturing the irritation growing on his face. “I’m assuming that you are. Well make yourself decent and come out. We have some things that we need to discuss.”

You wanted to bang your head on the wall, but you know that it would just prolong confronting him (and make your headache worse). You couldn’t hide in there forever, but after catching a huge stain of whatever on your shirt, you would feel even more embarrassing going out there with it on (not to mention that you look and feel absolutely filthy, you wanted a shower more than anything!). So, you just so happened to fall upon a black dress shirt that was neatly folded on the nightstand next to you, you took the initiative and changed into it.

Did Kunikida purposely leave that out for you? You assumed so, you know how organized the man is, and it wouldn’t make sense why he would just leave it out if he didn’t. You won’t lie, the action made your heart flutter (even more than it already does when you’re around him), and you felt a little giddy knowing that you could wear one of his shirts, despite under the current circumstances.

You still had your bottoms on, which were left unscathed and clean somehow, and you took a breath.

You couldn’t hide forever, and with that, you opened the door.

—-

The first thing your eyes landed on was Kunikida already dressed, furiously writing in his notebook, glasses perched on top of his head, pacing back and forth while mumbling to himself. You took the time to scan his apartment, being just as plain as him room but still having a type of charm to it (a charm that only Kunikida can have). It wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he froze. He snapped his head up at you, and you just mentally prepared yourself for getting chewed out.

“Well, glad to see that you’re finally up. Have a seat”, he lead you to sit at his kitchen table, him pulling a chair out for you and taking a seat across. “How’s your head?”

“Oh it’s...fine?”

“Are you sure?”

Okay, he’s not fussing at you yet, which is a good sign. The tension that you felt in your body slowly started to ease away, your shoulders being relaxed again.

“Yeah. If anything, my throat’s a little dry-”

“Because I would think after acting like a reckless party animal with no self control would leave your head anything but fine.”

Oop, you spoke too soon.

“Do you have any idea to how you acted last night?! In front of the President no less!”

“Erm, uh-”

“I would expect this from morons like Dazai but not from you! Not to mention how much you could have been put in danger if I wasn’t there!”

While he’s disciplining you like a parent would to a young child, you just pretty much sit there and take it. You somewhat deserve it, you probably messed up his schedule that he meticulously wrote in his notebook. So you’ll listen, but at the same time, you could only take your stomach growling so much, and you wouldn’t mind having at least a glass of water-

“And another thing! What if you would have gotten alcohol poisoning?! You’re old enough to control- wait.” He leaned closer, his green-gray eyes glistening in the sun rays peeking through his blinds.

“Is-is that my shirt?”

“Huh? Oh...yeah?”

His eyes widened, then he went quiet. He promptly leaned back into his seat and coughed in his hand, which is conveniently trying to cover the red dying his face (and failing).

“Just-just be careful next time. I’ll get started on breakfast.”

Whatever thought he had stopped at the tip of his tongue, and he got up from the table, leaving you somewhat confused. Maybe you weren’t suppose to wear the shirt like you thought...

So you got up too, and starting making your way back into his room to your discarded shirt. “Hey, if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll change back into my-”

“N-NO! I mean- don’t worry about it. I-I don’t mind. I know your clothes aren’t clean, and I’ll take you home after so that you can get properly changed.”

You didn’t believe him. He couldn’t even look you in the eyes, how can you? Even looking at him from over here, you can see how red his ears are. But, maybe he wasn’t used to this? Your heart would be racing too if the roles were reversed. While handling a drunk Kunikida made you chuckle, you really appreciated his efforts. He dealt with all your antics while you were drunk, gave you his own bed to sleep in while he bunked on his own couch, and now he’s even cooking you breakfast. And he didn’t have to do any of that!

This man is a keeper, you swear.

So you have to repay him back somehow, and you will. You hugged him from behind before he could say anything, and gave him a peck on his cheek (or that’s what you were aiming for, but ended up kissing behind his ear).

“Thank you, Kunikida”, your voice was muffled from hiding your face in his back, but the message still got across. “I really do mean it. Thanks.”

He practically short circuited, words jumbling together to form some type of “you’re welcome”. Stepping back, you gave him a smile and offered to help with breakfast, which lead him to sending you to the bathroom to clean up a little more (which you reasoned was to help get himself together and not look like a bumbling fool in front of you).

Kunikida watched you walk from the corner of his eyes, hiding his own smile from you.

Bonus:

“So, how come you didn’t just take me home? I can’t imagine how annoying I probably was last night. Scratch that, I can”, you chewed on pancakes, happy that your stomach and throat were finally satisfied.

“Well, I did, but you left your keys at the agency, and thought we were playing ‘I Spy’ when I kept asking you where the spare was when we got to your apartment.”

“Oh...yikes. Well, thanks for letting me crash here, and letting me borrow your shirt. It’s really comfy too!”

He cleared his throat, “It’s not a problem. Just be more responsible next time you’re drinking, I’m not your personal babysitter you know!”

You just laughed and nodded your head, cheeks full of food.

Kunikida didn’t lie, you really did leave your keys at the office, but he didn’t have it in him to tell you that he was fine with that. He didn’t feel okay leaving you by yourself at all last night. You didn’t stay in a bad part of town necessarily, but what if he left and you forgot to lock the door, and someone walked in behind him? Not to mention the killer hangover you would have to face when you woke up.

He remembers that you always say that you trust him with your life, so he took you to his place, fed you some food, washed your face, and laid you on his bed (all the while you acted like a clingy kid, refusing to let him go the whole time).

He took out his shirt with the intent to change, but decided against it. He didn’t want you to wake up and think you got taken advantage of, that he’s some kind of creep!

Plus, he only wanted to undress you when you two are actually together and reach that point in your relationship, not while you’re in this state, even if it’s to do something as innocent as changing your dirty shirt.

So he just tossed it aside, tucked you in, and admired you from the door once everything was done. Sleeping on the couch wasn’t very ideal, but he’s fine with it if it means that you’ll be safe and comfortable in his bed.

He would do anything for you, and while he may complain, if it means that you’re safe and happy, then he’ll make sure that it gets done.

[hope-grace-serenity]

In Defense of the Deputy: Morals and Ethics in Far Cry 5

The narratives of recent Far Cry installments have been framed in a way that make the player question whether or not they’re truly playing as the “good guy.” In Far Cry 3, Jason slowly embraces the violent lifestyle on Rook Island, gradually finding the killing to be a fun power trip instead of the horrifying reality that it is. In Far Cry 4, Ajay topples a ruthless dictator, only to replace him with a revolutionary that is either a religious extremist or a person who has children kidnapped in order to make them into soldiers/slaves. In Far Cry 5, the Deputy goes up against a professed prophet in an attempt to subdue him and his cult, only to find in the end that the prophet was right about the end of the world. It is logical to think that if the Deputy would have just left the cult well enough alone, then that would have been the right choice, as it would have avoided the war between Eden’s Gate and the rest of Hope County, as possibly the Collapse itself. However, there is a different way to view it.

The purpose of this post is to convey that Joseph being accurate regarding the Collapse does not necessarily mean that avoiding confrontation with Eden’s Gate or joining them would have been the “right” thing to do. In fact, it will suggest the opposite: that the Deputy has a moral and ethical obligation to fight *against* Eden’s Gate and that the actions of the cult are firmly wrong despite the Collapse happening. While we as players can certainly feel empathy for the Seeds, their actions within the game make them the clear villains in this scenario, in my opinion. The Deputy deserves no blame for attempting to subdue the cult, and I will explain why by focusing on both in-universe rationale and looking at the narrative from a broader perspective.

The Warrant

First, we need to examine the idea of morality and ethics. Morality refers to a person’s principles of right and wrong--this is something that can be influenced by a person’s culture, religion, family, experiences, etc. Ethics refers to rules of conduct given by some kind of external source. In Far Cry 5, the protagonist is a law enforcement official with an ethical obligation to uphold the law and confront those who break it. Furthermore, from the perspective of a 21st century American--which we can assume the Deputy is, based on the setting of the game--Eden’s Gate commits several acts that cause harm and remove the personal agency of others, which provides the Deputy with a moral motivation for stopping them, as opposed to solely an ethical one.

An arrest warrant is made for Joseph Seed due to suspicion of kidnapping with an intent to harm. The Deputy choosing not to go through with the arrest would be bad from both a moral and ethical perspective. “Kidnapping with an intent to harm” is a serious charge, and can be a matter of life or death for the victim. Imagine if you were the parent or sibling of the kidnapping victim, and you found out that the law enforcement officials chose not to go through with the arrest of the suspect because they were afraid of rocking the boat. If that information was made public, the law enforcement officials would be rightly criticized for not doing their jobs, and for prioritizing their own desire for convenience over bringing justice to the victim. By arresting Joseph Seed, the Deputy made the moral and ethical decision.

As we see from the main game, the “suspicions” listed in the arrest warrant are later proven to be correct. Alex is killed, and his body is mutilated and put on public display as a warning. Hannah is tortured physically and psychologically, and is also killed due to her forced participation in Jacob’s trials. Joseph and several members of Eden’s Gate knew that they kidnapped the film crew. They knew in advance that Law Enforcement was coming. So, how do they decide to handle this? In a way befitting for characters who are meant to be viewed as villains.

Before the Reaping

Before we get into what the Deputy actually sees in-game, one thing needs to be made clear: Eden’s Gate always had an underlying darkness surrounding them. Regardless of what they looked like on the surface, they were never some peaceful hippie commune that was minding its own business before the Deputy came along. They’ve been committing crimes and getting away with them for years. They didn’t suddenly snap once the Deputy arrived--the Deputy’s arrival simply peeled back and revealed what was already there.

We know from the “Grieving Note” that Angels have been with Eden’s Gate for several years, longer than the current Faith has been with the group. Angels are humans who are exposed to an extreme amount of the Bliss drug, which causes them to lose their capacity for human thought and essentially act as a literal mindless follower. Their loss of identity and individuality is furthered by Eden’s Gate shaving the heads of the Angels and surgically removing their ability to speak. They act as slave labor--described as "beasts of burden"--and are fed dog food and garbage. The idea of becoming an angel is used as a threat to fellow cultists in the “Cult Note” in the King’s Hot Springs Hotel. The fact that Eden's Gate creates and condones the existence of these Angels is truly disturbing from a moral perspective, due to the inherent exploitation and dehumanization. When Angels die, their bodies are tossed in a pit of “boiling muck” in Horned Serpent Cave to disintegrate.

Angels aren’t the only ones thrown in the pit to disintegrate: Joseph threw the body of Lana, a previous Faith, in there as well, despite being told by him that she was “special.” There is a reason the writers chose to highlight that the bodies were disposed of in here, as opposed to the cult simply burying them. Bodies are disintegrated if you want to hide evidence, and by tossing the bodies in a location with properties dangerous enough to require a bio-hazard sign, any crimes are easily covered up. We don’t find the bodies of Selena or the other previous Faiths who were "used up and thrown away" by Joseph, but considering there are hints that point to foul play (disintegration of Lana’s body, Megan leaving out of fear of what Joseph could do after seeing that there was a new Faith, the way the position itself is dehumanized, the fact that Joseph has a designated corpse disposal spot in the first place, etc.) and absolutely zero evidence towards any kind of alternate fate for the previous Faiths, it’s easy to put two and two together and conclude that the previous Faiths met a grisly fate that was covered up as well.

Eden’s Gate was also involved in animal abuse through the creation of Judges, which were unleashed after the reaping. These animals were kidnapped and forcibly exposed to an obscene amount of the Bliss drug, which purposely causes them to act like rabid killers in the service of Eden’s Gate. According to NPCs, they were trained to hunt humans.

Let’s also not forget that Joseph personally gorged a guy’s eyes out for being a traitor. If the developers didn’t want us to view Joseph as someone who was capable of doing that, then they would have removed it from the introductory video, but they didn’t. Also, the fact that Eden’s Gate has been planning for the Reaping for a while now shows that this group had the intent to launch a large-scale attack from before the Deputy even arrived at the compound.

And last but certainly not least, YEARS before the events of FC5, Jacob sent the Cook to kidnap Jess’s family. The Cook starved the family for days before torturing the parents and children by playing sick mind games and feeding the parents' flesh to their children. After all their toes were cut off, the parents were set on fire in front of their kids. The fact that this happened years ago, and this Cook is still with the group, is quite telling and reveals a lot about the morality and priorities of Eden’s Gate. If they wanted to get rid of him, they would have.

So as we can see, Eden’s Gate has no moral high ground to stand on at the start of the game. Not only is Joseph guilty of the crime he is accused of, but he and his organization are guilty of so much more, and have been for years. These actions committed by Eden’s Gate violate numerous laws and are morally wrong, as they bring severe harm to others and/or forcibly remove another’s personal agency for the convenience of the cult. The Deputy uncovers all of this throughout the course of the game.

During the Reaping

Knowledge of Eden’s Gate’s past crimes would be reason enough to take down this cult, but the Deputy also sees the current horrors firsthand. During the Reaping, cultists kidnap, torture, mutilate, and murder numerous unwilling participants. They steal supplies and were willing to kidnap a beloved pet dog in order to perform experiments on him and turn the poor dog into a savage killer, after killing his owners. Defaced corpses are decorated and strung up as warnings. Some citizens of Hope County are fed to Judges, while others are turned into Angels or are forced to leap off a giant statue. If someone doesn’t convert to the religion of Eden’s Gate, then they are either tortured or drugged until they give in, or murdered.

The Deputy has zero incentive to walk away from this conflict. Why would they? As a deputy of Hope County, they have a moral and ethical obligation to protect the county’s citizens, and those citizens are under attack by Eden’s Gate. Eden’s Gate are the aggressors in this scenario. *They* are the ones who are kidnapping, murdering, torturing, and brainwashing the Hope County citizens. As far as the Deputy is aware at the beginning of the game, they are the only remaining police officer and only person in a position of authority to fight against the cult. It is their responsibility to fight against the people causing grievous harm to the county.

Throughout the game, the Deputy’s personal encounters with the heralds further reinforce the idea that Eden’s Gate is dangerous and beyond reason. While confessions can and should be voluntary, John does not approach it in that way. John kidnaps, terrorizes, and tortures the hardened Joey Hudson to the point of tears, and brings the Deputy to his torture dungeon where he once pried confessions under duress from prior individuals of the county. He kidnapped the Deputy in order to forcibly baptize them to the point where they might have drowned without Joseph’s interference, and captures them in order to make them confess, using the presence of Hudson as leverage (Hudson’s misery was also used as incentive on the video to draw the Deputy to the Holland region). He lures the Deputy to the church in the same way (by kidnapping their friends) and then permanently modifies their body against their will. Despite his proclaimed desire to have the Deputy atone, John also expresses desire to see the Deputy dead on occasion, such as after they destroy his sign.

While it might be easier for the player to sympathize with John due to his backstory and dynamic with Joseph, from the Deputy’s in-universe perspective, his instability represents a very real, tangible threat not only to them, but to the people of Hope County as a whole. At every turn, John has either imposed his will onto the Deputy by removing opportunities for agency and/or harming others. The Deputy owes John nothing. Any "choice" he gives of saying "Yes" is undermined by the massive amount of strings attached. It is difficult to envision a reason why the Deputy would decide to give into John’s philosophy, aside from faking it in order to protect their allies. This is a failing on John's part, not the Deputy.

Like John, Faith also expresses a desire for the Deputy to give in to Eden's Gate. But unlike John, she initially appears to the Deputy in a more pacifistic, less confrontational way. Despite this, the Deputy is still able to see her darker side due to her views on the Angels and fate of the unfortunate souls who walk the path whipping themselves and take a literal leap off of the statue of Joseph. Furthermore, she overrides the Deputy’s agency through the use of Bliss, which drastically warps one’s perception of reality. The Bliss that she now controls makes the horrific creation of Angels possible, and this Bliss is also used during baptisms, which muddles the issue of personal agency and consent to John’s process in addition to her own conversion process. The dangers of the Bliss and how it affects one’s thought process become highlighted in the Henbane region, and letters, voicemails, and NPC chatter show that Faith is not one to be trifled with. This comes to a head when Faith brainwashes the Sheriff and manipulates the Marshall into killing Virgil before killing himself. While it’s easy to have sympathy for Faith and her experiences, from the Deputy’s perspective, Faith is still a potential danger, which is why they step back when she leaned toward them during her death scene.

Jacob too removes the Deputy’s personal agency by literally brainwashing them and turning them into a tool that he can command, which eventually results in the Deputy being forced to kill a friend. He forced captives into competing against each other in life or death trials. He keeps the Deputy in a cage with a dead body and feeds them “mystery meat” after seven days of starving them while telling them a story about how he cannibalized his friend. The Judges are his brainchild that he sends to attack and kill others. Like John, Jacob also kidnapped and tortured a fellow police officer, to the point where they act like a slave to Jacob’s whims. Jacob has not done anything other than convincing the Deputy that he is a threat.

It is not the Deputy's job to fix the Seeds' personal issues--it's their job to protect Hope County. Throughout their journey, the Deputy sees various atrocities being committed, both to strangers and to themselves and the people they care about. There is zero reason for the Deputy to genuinely give in to the Seeds and join Eden's Gate, considering the horrible way they were treated and how they saw others being treated.

Joseph and the Voice

The Deputy’s presence did not *force* Eden’s Gate to start the Reaping. *Joseph* was the one to initiate it as a reaction to the Deputy’s presence, and all of Eden’s Gate followed him lockstep. When given the opportunity to finally confront and arrest the man responsible or walk away, it almost feels laughable that it’s even a choice at this point.

As leader of Eden’s Gate, Joseph oversees all parts of the Project. The buck stops with him. If he had any issues with Faith’s Angels, or Jacob’s trials, or John’s torture, he could have and would have said something--such as when he intervenes during the baptism--but he doesn’t. Because it furthers the goal of the Project, he doesn’t see any issue with these actions and feels they are justified.

Joseph’s vision of the Collapse coming true doesn’t mean that his actions throughout the game have greater inherent morality than the Deputy. It just means that he’s right about the Collapse. Regarding the Reaping, I do not believe that Joseph was motivated by a sense of cruelty, but that doesn’t change how many of the actions he participated in and oversaw *were* cruel. In real life, we see various examples of some people (not just in religious institutions, but in positions of authority in general) who commit harmful acts for the sake of a perceived “greater good.” And many of those people genuinely believe in what they are doing, believe they are in the right. But that doesn’t mean they actually are.

Which brings us to the elephant in the room: the Voice. If the Voice of God supports Joseph, then surely the deputy is automatically the “bad guy” for opposing him, right?

Wrong.

First, we have to be willing to admit that we know next to nothing about the Voice. The only things we know about it is what is conveyed to us by Joseph. We do not know the exact wording of what the Voice says, the level of detail it gives him regarding expectations (if any), or even what it is. Is it the voice of God? Satan? A real angel? Some kind of eldritch entity from another dimension? How accurate is Joseph's reiteration or interpretation? Sometimes it seems to directly tell Joseph things (hence the title, “the Voice”), other times it shows him visions. Clearly, there is some kind of supernatural component, as it allows Joseph to see the future, but since we don’t know much about it specifically, we can’t automatically assume or attribute inherent benevolence or morality to it.

Second, it’s entirely possible for a genuine prophet of God (assuming the Voice does indeed belong to a benevolent creator), or those who have/had God’s favor, to engage in morally questionable behavior, both in the eyes of God and/or in the eyes of 21st century readers. While the Project at Eden’s Gate is its own distinct religion, it takes most of its cues from Christianity, both in terms of practices and beliefs. In the Bible, King David had a man murdered so he could sleep with that man’s wife. Jonah wanted the entire population of a city to be killed off instead of having them repent. Jacob (the Biblical figure) deceives his father into giving him a birthright that belonged to his brother, and shows blatant favoritism to one son which ends up causing a lot of internal strife within the family. It’s fully within the realm of possibility that Joseph’s actions are not meant to be endorsed, either by the Voice itself or by the narrative in a broader sense.

In New Dawn, Joseph alludes to his own personal failings by saying, “My soul has become a cancer. I am a monster. I only spread suffering and death in the name of God.” The death of his son and the destruction of New Eden act as a moment of awakening for Joseph, as he finally realizes the harsh reality of his actions and how they affect others. He then expresses a desire for death and says, “There is only the justice of God’s hand.” The implication of “justice” being done indicates that the Voice (“God”) would not be happy with some of the actions that Joseph did. So while Joseph’s actions in FC5 were done with the intent of serving the Voice, his execution of these ideas was something that Joseph feels God would not like, as his actions spread death and suffering.

And thirdly, we have to remember that the Deputy and the player are viewing the idea of morality from the perspective of a 21st century human. Let’s say that, hypothetically, the Voice specifically instructed and condoned the erasure of free will/murders/kidnappings/etc. for whatever reason, and by enacting them, Joseph and Eden’s Gate were “just following orders.” Does this absolve Joseph and Eden's Gate of responsibility? No. Willing participation in the crimes committed, even if it wasn’t “their idea,” can still have legal consequences and can still be viewed as “bad” from a moral perspective because of the results of those actions.

The Collapse

It has been discussed elsewhere (on this site and in outside articles/discussions about the game) that the actions of the deputy correspond with the role of the Lamb in Revelations, and by breaking the seals, the Deputy’s actions supernaturally trigger the Collapse. This interpretation is fairly popular, and is one I personally support. However, I do not feel as though this interpretation lessens the morality of the Deputy's actions. Their decision to fight the Seeds is still the right one, regardless of whether or not their actions resulted in some kind of cosmic game of dominos.

First off, when the Deputy is attempting to take down the Seeds and protect the people of Hope County, they are not doing this with the intent of playing a role in a cosmic prophecy that will result in the death of millions. They’re looking at the situation from a human perspective, and acting accordingly and sensibly. The Seeds, on the other hand, were willingly harming innocents both before and during the Reaping.

Second, if there's a need to assign blame to a human for starting the Collapse (and I personally don't think there needs to be), it would be the Seeds, not the Deputy. The Sheriff and the deputies wouldn’t have arrived with the arrest warrant if the Seeds were not kidnapping and doing other illegal actions.

And thirdly, if one does attribute blame of the Collapse to the Deputy, then one also must attribute the birth of the new world to them as well. Following along with the idea that the events of FC5 are a fulfillment of Revelations, then the Collapse is ultimately viewed as a Good Thing within in the context of the Book of Revelations, even if the player might not personally share the sentiment. The Book of Revelations describes how the new world that is supposed to emerge from the ashes of the old is meant to be much better than the one before. And if we look at the world of New Dawn--and I’m going to copy and paste something I wrote previously here---Nature is allowed to flourish, people work together and support each other in a tight community, all the social ills mentioned in the Book of Joseph (and by the characters in-game) no longer exist. The only “snakes in the garden” would be the Highwaymen, and they are abolished by the Captain, who Joseph prophesizes to be some kind of Messiah-like figure. The final scene of New Dawn is one of hope, where the characters talk about building a better future. The way Joseph and Ethan’s storyline ends also connects to the whole idea of breaking away from the past and moving forward. If one believes that the Deputy is responsible for the Collapse, then this new world shown in New Dawn and the context of Revelations complicates the idea of viewing the Deputy's actions as being inherently bad.

Some might also argue that the Deputy has responsibility for not taking Joseph's warnings more seriously. Why though? Why should the Deputy attribute more credibility to Joseph's claims than, say, those of Marshall Applewhite or David Koresh? As players who know the ending, it’s easy for us to say that the Deputy should have listened to Joseph's warning about the Collapse, but there’s no in-universe rationale for the Deputy to do so. Issues of belief aside, Eden’s Gate’s actions alone are enough to paint an extremely negative picture of the group and would be enough to make any regular person not want to associate with them.

Under the framework of the Revelations prophecy being the intended interpretation of the game events though, I personally don't feel that any character "deserves" blame for the Collapse happening, not even the Seeds. I blame the Seeds for what they do to people within the game and before the events of FC5. And my perception of the Deputy is based on what we see in the game as well. But again, the Revelations prophecy idea is simply one way to view the game. Regardless of whether or not this interpretation is the correct one, the deputy still has the moral high ground in their fight against the Seeds.

Conclusion

Joseph being right about the Collapse does not mean that his (and by extension, Eden’s Gate’s) actions during FC5 were justified, and the Deputy should not be blamed for fighting against them. Just as the Deputy made a choice to arrest Joseph, Joseph made the choice to react in the worst way possible with the Reaping. Eden’s Gate were the aggressors who were kidnapping, torturing, and murdering people throughout the county. The Deputy fights against Eden’s Gate as a direct result of *Eden's Gate's* actions. The Deputy deserves no blame or guilt for killing the Seeds and destroying their bases of operations, as they reacted in a logical way based on the quality of information they had at the time.

In New Dawn, the Deputy expresses an extreme amount of guilt, which transforms them into the Judge. This guilt is misplaced and should be attributed to the other resident of the bunker, which is something Joseph himself even alludes to during his final speech in New Dawn when he criticizes his own actions. If Eden’s Gate did not start attacking the people of Hope County, the bunkers would still be standing, and the Seeds and many other cultists would still be alive. But they did, so they’re not.

While I adore all four of the Seeds as characters and have varying degrees of sympathy for them, they are firmly villains within the context of the story due to their actions. The deputy is not a bad guy for trying to stop them. The fact the Seeds sided with a guy who kidnapped and starved a family, then fed the parents' flesh to their children while playing “this little piggy” with the parents’ toes, and then murdered said parents in front of their children should speak for itself.

TL;DR: The deputy’s decision to confront Joseph instead of walking away was the right one.

[lightaflametoburnmethrough]

Alright, I really can't leave this gifset alone nor do I want to reblog my observation separately cuz I'm just that much of a yappy b*tch when it comes to my hyperfixations, deal with it! 🤪

Erhem...anyways! Manga comparison time~!

In the anime, this scene has Kaito walking ahead of Akiho as they converse on the way home from Sakura's house.

The split focuses after the top gif serves to highlight YunaAki's respective expressions and thoughts about Sakura.

For Akiho, the look on her face and the tone of her voice are happy and warm, showing us how grateful she is to have made such a wonderful friend so soon after she transferred to Tomoeda.

For Kaito, his reaction to Akiho's feelings is indecipherable to the audience because of his perpetual mask ("the perfect smile") and for the fact that the animators deliberately obscured his eyes when the camera switches from Akiho to him, making him look scheming and slightly sinister. Additionally, the evening light and Natsuki Hanae's delivery of his line "それは良かった" ("That's good to hear/I'm glad") make him appear even more suspicious.

It's clear the anime is provoking the viewers into suspecting him and his intentions. It wants you to recognize him as the antagonist (but not villain!) which is why he's framed as this shady~ person operating in the shadows constantly throughout the anime.

Compare to the same scene from the manga, which also has that effect but is arguably less obvious (or more subtle?) about the approach:

See? Instead of Kaito leading ahead of Akiho, the panels here show them walking and talking alongside each other. Kaito's eyes (in fact, his whole face) are also not obscured and he even looks back to smile politely at Sakura as Akiho waves enthusiastically goodbye which was toned down considerably in the anime:

Hmm, yes. This part seems less intimate and heartwarming than what occurred in the manga and maybe that's the reason why the change was made.

But back to Kaito...

It's still hard to guess what he's thinking but his attention and his gaze are entirely focused on Akiho here, unlike the anime where they had him facing away from her for the purpose of painting him more clearly as the antagonist.

Where we are in the manga currently (ch 59 for those of you who haven't caught up), there's very little doubt that Kaito's actions are completely driven by his desire to save Akiho and that he places her above everything else.

However, the anime didn't want you think to that yet when it was airing 4 years ago. Because that would've been a spoiler and a suspense killer...and also because the manga story hasn't developed that far ahead of adaptation yet either.

Moving along, still the same scene but again, Kaito's face is not obscured in the manga like it is in the anime. We actually get to see his expression as he says this line.

It still doesn't tell us much about what he's thinking but wait! Wait, wait, wait! At least there is a full expression for us to try to gauge.

What's going on through his head in this moment? What does his eyes say when he looks at Akiho like that?

The ellipses indicating a bit of pause, which could be heard in the anime but not seen as it is here, before he says "それは良かった". What does that indicate about his feelings over Akiho and Sakura getting along?

Satisfaction that the synchro is now underway? Relief that Akiho is fitting in into her new environment and that she was able to make friends? Loneliness and sadness over the knowledge that with his plan now in action, he only has so much time left with Akiho?

Or it could be ALL of them, y'know?

But just by analyzing this scene, you can tell the difference between how the anime and manga wanted you to perceive Kaito at that time 4 years ago. The manga wants you to pay close attention to his relationship with Akiho. The anime wanted you to focus just on Kaito first. At least in this particular scene.

(also, is it just me or does the second panel of the image above make Kaito and Okiura look really alike? 😅 as I said on my twitter some time ago, they really are cut from the same cloth)

Ah, just one more...ok, two more things I wanted to mention.

In the manga, it was already dark with the moon out when Kaito came to escort Akiho home. In contrast, it was still evening in the anime with the sky reflecting the colors of the sunset.

I believe this was a hint about Kaito's moon-aligned magic (which at that point in both the anime and manga, hasn't been revealed yet until the following chapter and episode, ch 14 -> 15 & ep 10 -> 11). Especially with how the crescent moon is placed directly underneath his face in the second panel and right above his head in the last one with Akiho.

...in a way, you can think of it as the moon guiding Akiho home. Romantic, ne? 😄🥰

hahaha, I suppose maybe the anime staff didn't want someone catching onto that thought so they moved the time Kaito picked Akiho up to earlier.

Alright, last one and this doesn't have much to do with the walking home scene much but THIS cute little exchange was omitted from the anime and replaced with formal mutual bowing instead!

I'm not upset though cuz ep 10 was already squishing almost 3 (exactly 3?) chapters worth of content into 24 minutes. It starts from around the last 2/3rds of ch 13 up till the end of the first half of ch 15. The capture of "Labyrinth", which had Yukito/Yue present, in the manga has been readjusted to be captured alongside "Snooze" and therefore, they had to leave Yukito/Yue out cuz obviously he wasn't there at Sakura's when Akiho came over to visit. 😅

So yea, I can see why they cut this for time. Shame, though.

Look at Sakura's knowing smile at Kaito as she ちら~s him and Kaito being totally clueless ("Hm? Is Sakura-san onto me? So early? ...nah, can't be~" 🤣) and the girls secretly and excitingly whispering to each other about the surprise for Kaito! Kyaaaa~! 😆😆😆

GAH! If I had my way, I would animate the whole manga and not leave even a tiny angle of a panel out! 😩

lol, ok, I'm done. 😁