#*. filed under ›› DASH COMMENTARY .

[legacywritten]

updated ( misc. ) tags !

[zaiyakua]

If anyone so much as glances in Archer's direction, there'll be a bullet in their skull before they can even think something halfway decent. Whether it comes from him, Kosuke, or Archer has yet to be seen.

[swadloom]

I was curious what the crew's files said so I took pictures. Taken from my tablet so they're not the best. Some of this is stuff that's already revealed or contextualized in this magazine (shoutout to @atlantis-archive for his super cool work) but there's interesting stuff in there nonetheless, like Vinny's explosion incident happening when he was fairly young and what's shown of Mole's past being more tame than Sweet made it out to be (though maybe the sewer exploration just grosses him out, I can see that being something Sweet would be disgusted by as a cleanly doctor and Audrey wouldn't care as much about.)

Unfortunately Vinny and Packard have a lot of their information blocked out and there's barely anything for Rourke at all, I wonder if it's intentional since it makes Rourke more ominous, Packard has a more minor comedic role, and being forced to wonder how many times Vinny got sent to jail is pretty funny.

Transcription under cut. Brackets means I'm interpereting a word that's cut off, question marks means that I'm not sure if I got it right or what it means, and parethesis are for adding context or my own personal commentary or analysis of their backstories. If anyone has any context for some things mentioned that they think they could explain (like place names or historical context), that would be appreciated!

GARTAN MOLIERE Mineralogist and [Excavator] 39 [Birthplace]: Paris, France [Parents:] Christef and Gabrielle Moliere [Expertise:] Extensive knowledge of… the new science of tectonics. Advise… National du France (?), Ottoman Mining, Aus… New South Wales Coal, Slate and Granite… American Coal and Lumber. Has developed… independent mining and excavation vehicle… related equipment. Holds patents on… Acute senses, particularly taste and… enable… to correctly identify any type of… soil… benefit or aid of any scientific… 98.7… time.

Background: [Gartan]… working family, the [young?]… parents were teachers… courses at the Sorbonne… music teacher. Gartan [discovered?]… subterranean pursuits at the… exploring the vast sever [networks]… Paris. By the age of 13, [Moliere]… specialized type of goggles… exploring caves in the surrounding… and catacombs held no [fun?]… He entered Sorbonne at… opportunity to… mining company…

(it sounds like one of his parents was a music teacher at the same college he went to, which is fun to think about.)

VINCENZO [SANTORINI] Explosives and [Demolition] [Palermo], Italy …and Fabiela Santorini (father’s name unknown) …elance (no idea what the word after this that starts with M is, maybe a place in Italy?) …ining 190(?)…[1903] 1903- (dash indicates a range of dates)… Demolitions; Delphi… (?) 1909, Bachelor’s… Delphi Prison… 1910, Technical Overseer… Hardrock Blasting… 1913.

…“Vinny” Santorini is the eldest… ela Santorini (only have “ela” to work from, so this could also be the name of one of his siblings). The parents own… [specializes] in floral arrangement… to an unfortunate, and to… the Santorini family was… [business?]. Young Vincenzo seemed… fascination for fire, and… small boy… blazes. …became… began… 18. By…

(He would have been around 27 in 1903, I’m guessing it might be a range of time that he was in jail. Also he’s apparently been arrested in Greece, so he might have been on the run too. I wonder from the companies mentioned if Vinny worked as a professional demolitionist but would overdo it just for the excitement and cause serious damage) (He’s mentioned as teaching himself about explosives all on his own in the scan, and also the incident that drew him away from the flower business was when he was too young to have finished college unless he’s a huge savant like Milo, so I’m guessing the mentions of degrees are ones that his parents have in botany-related subjects. I like the implication that he comes from a well-educated family and is probably very smart himself but ended up not liking the business he had to be a part of as a kid and instead putting that energy into blowing stuff up)

[AUDREY] ROCIO RAMIREZ [Chief] Mechanic [Michigan] (Parents names are blocked out, though Manuel can be seen later) …in her… assistant… for [mechanical/mechanics]… at age of… age of… orvisery(?) [position] at age 11. …with fledgling… Credited with developing… method 1909. Developed… oling(?) system 1910. …drive gears 1910. …Reduction-Gear Steering …[Master] Mechanic Manuel… [Industries], Audrey Rocia… from the time she… months, she could… any clock in the… Ana Ramirez found… any lock she… of trying to keep… that no matter

(Master Mechanic Manuel sounds plausible for the name of her father’s business. He’s characterized as somewhat self-centered along with how Audrey talks about him in the movie, she also seems to look up to her sister more than him with how she talks about her and has probably learned some about fighting from her. I can see him contributing to her tough attitude. Unknown if Ana is the name of her mother or sister.)

[STRONGBEAR SWEET] [Medical] Officer …Jerika [Sweet] [Internal Medicine?]… … .D. [University]… 189(?)… Medic… with… until 1901, acting as… Roosevelt's personal… during the Kettle and… [instrumental] in treatment of… in disease-ridden… ceased… Received no… [personal] letter from… [knowledge] of Arapho and… by his maternal (assuming uncle)… and studied… 1905. Traveled to… at Prins Oklahoma and… at Baxter

…in Fort Phil (Kearny?)… Pine Ridge

(I tried looking up Kansas universities that might fit with what’s cut off, seems like most likely he went to college out of state. ?.D. university… My best guesses are the universities of Idaho, South Dakota, or North Dakota. The University of Idaho may have been too young at the time to be a candidate, he would have been 27 already when it was established.) (if anyone knows what “the Kettle” is referring to please let me know!) (Side note, the mention in the scan of Sweet caring for people on both sides of the battle, presumably the Spanish-American war, calls to mind how Sweet seems to distrust Rourke’s motives but still tags along to be a doctor for the team. He’s so underrated I love Sweet so much.)

(Packard’s page, first angle:) [phone] in 1888… [professional]… ment(?) of work. …known… 1893. …1898-1901. …Worked… 1902-04. …1902. …1903. …[develop Radar]… (Packard’s page, second angle:) …[BERTHA] PACKARD [Communications?] Officer Cudot (parent name) …1875… of… [communication]… full… brating(?) Telephone in 1888… Secured congressional… (not much to gather from this one except that she seems to have been working with researchers and communication technology all her life, since she was 22. Could explain why she’s so nonchalant about her job by now.)

(Rourke’s page:) …life of… “C”… Golden… became… Also… (I wonder what “C” means, perhaps a codename? I'm assuming Golden refers to some kind of reward from the military.)

[maniculum]

New episode that I forgot to put up a link to when it came out because I was in the middle of a move!

When we were going through this one for the episode, I was mostly focused on how goofy some of the choices seemed at first glance... but listening through again to do the editing, I started formulating a theory that some of the odder writing decisions are actually an intentional commentary Marie de France is making on patriarchal violence. Hence the title. Sadly, since that didn't strike me until after we recorded, it's not vocalized in the episode, but I am handing you a lens through which to interpret this one. And maybe I'll write a paper or something later if I ever find the time. Anyway, more standard episode description below.

The Lais of Guigemar is a medieval tale of romance with a magical twist that could give any modern rom-com a run for its money. When a dashing knight accidentally shoots a white doe and falls under a love curse, he's destined for a quest filled with enchanted belts, hidden desires, and a whole lot of "deer"-ly beloved drama.

Join our discord community! Support us on patreon! Check out our merch!

Socials: Website Twitter Instagram Facebook Citations & References:

Marie de France https://www.gutenberg.org/files/11417/11417-h/11417-h.htm#VI

[voxiiferous]

"Yes? I'm a busy man, if you could leave a message with my assistant that would be better."

An rp/ask blog for Vox from Hazbin Hotel, written by Bug! Mun is 18+, and the muse is headcanon based. (I've been writing him for a year! And as much as I love and adore canon, there's some decent number of changes!) Hazbin multimuse sideblog @singthesongsofsin.

Bio || Guidelines

Icons and dividers made by @outofradios.

List of tags under the cut.

*filming schedule (rp) *no signal (ooc) *personnel file (hc) *roll camera (meme responses) *appointments (memes) *elevator pitch (dash commentary) *head shots (art) *soundtrack (music) *cathode rays and rock and roll (vincent price) *portfolio (musings) *cutting room floor (wish list) *spinning the prize wheel until it lands on me (Vivian Price) *verse: Sing Along to the Age of Paranoia *verse: your stars that reign'd at my grave *verse: you gave her life in the middle of the night (Veronique)

[littlelesbinonny]

The Devil’s Den

Chapter 14: In Which A Plunge Takes Place

You can read this also on Ao3 at:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46831621/chapters/117962293

"Alcina!"

A voice called after her.

"Alcina!!"

She was really in no mood to be bothered. She had just had a most rewarding night with you, and now bloody what.

Turning on her heels with a prominent eye-roll, there trotting after her on the cobblestone street was Angie.

Oh. Wonderful.

Her face was alight with glee, for what she didn't know, nor was she so sure she wanted to. Whenever something concerned Angie, it was likely mayhem or destruction. Or hurt feelings. Not hers, of course.

With a huff to ward off her annoyance, Alcina offered a small smile and considered the much shorter, raggedy blonde now in front of her.

"Yes, dear Angie?"

"It's Victoria's fledgling," she grinned wide, "he's done it again! That's what, the fifth, or sixth human kill offense?"

Fuck.

She blinked hard and sighed once more.

"Bring him and Victoria to the council chamber hall immediately," Alcina commanded with an authoritative voice that sent a thrilling shiver down Angie's spine, "alert the other council seats, they are to be present as well. I shall not be long."

With a sharp turn she was off.

Angie wiggled her eyebrows excitedly at Alcina's word, a knowing smile creeping up on her lips as the remaining scent of you was clinging to the Matriarch like a thunder cloud as she walked away. Still, that was something else. Tonight, er, this morning, blood would be shed!

Off like a dash she went to round everyone up.

The council chamber hall was large and very reminiscent to a gothic cathedral. The pillars were tall, built from the ground to the ceiling, filling the large domed area with an ominous presence. In the middle was a large rectangular sunken floor, surrounded by 3 wide steps to the higher level, which, to one side lead up to the highest platform; a large seat against the large stone wall for the reigning Monarch at the time to sit during meetings such as this, and standing room for the other 10 council members.

Along the long, large four walls were tapestries painted depicting scenes of the many wars, the only one without bloodshed was the one where the Monarch sat. It depicted the peace treaty and alliance that was settled under Alcina's reign. Many regarded it as the most important, as it should sit above any and all Monarchs henceforth.

The long chamber was now filled with the council members and any other lycan or vampire who wished to view the trial. Word didn't sit idle underground, so damn near the whole city was packed into the room.

Everyone was buzzing very quietly to themselves. The two on trial were in the middle of the sunken floor, accompanied by two lycan guards, Gerard and Mateo, appointed by Alcina.

Victoria and the offender stood side by side, the offender chained by his wrists.

The hushed whispers and commentary were interrupted by the sound of pronounced heels clicking on the stone floors, the impending arrival of the Matriarch silencing everyone as the hush echoed loudly.

Alcina stepped into the chamber through the large dark archway with her daughters in file behind her. She was wearing a black dress, very similar to the white one she wore for council meetings, and her large brimmed hat. The girls mirrored their mother's fashion by donning black flowing dresses with plunging necklines. Each of them silent, unlike their mother.

With shallow nods to the vampires and lycans who offered them as she passed, she glided up the steps like wind, nodded to the council members, Donna the most embellished, and took her seat. Her girls stood in the wings.

She was truly a terrifying sight. Her beauty unmatched, her grand stature, her height, and wicked look upon her face.

Yes. She was the epitome of a ruthless Matriarch.

Eying Victoria and her fledgling, Alcina lifted her head just slightly and basked in the utter silence.

"Victoria Braithwaite," she stated, her melodious voice ringing through the hall, "it has come to my attention that Matthew Torrence, your fledgling, continues to disobey our laws. How do you plead?"

She was a scrawny thing. Strawberry blonde hair, plain, yet striking blue eyes. She shifted on her feet and stepped forward.

"Lady Dimitrescu, please, consider leniency. He is my first fledgling."

Alcina raised her brow unamused.

"First or fiftieth, you know the laws," she said, tilting her head towards Donna, "how many offenses are we aware of?"

"Seven, my Lady Dimitrescu."

Donna's answer sent a rustling of whispers through the crowd and Alcina cleared her throat, silencing it immediately.

"That is four offenses over the limit, Victoria. I ask you again; how do you plead?"

The young vampire at Victoria's side looked to her as if hoping for a lie. He was also scrawny, but his face held trickery and something else Alcina didn't like.

"How do you plead?" Alcina's voice became louder and sharp.

Victoria startled and looked back at the Matriarch, "G-guilty, My Lady."

Silence settled in harder than before, all eyes now on Alcina awaiting her ruling.

She rose slowly and stepped forward to the steps, looking down on the two vampires with an unreadable expression.

"Then it is my duty to judge accordingly; death by sun for the fledgling. As it is apparent he cannot be controlled or taught. Mateo please escort - "

By some wild insanity and ignorance the young vampire snarled and lunged at Alcina.

No one could be sure what was heard first; the collective gasps, the yank of the chain around his wrists, Daniela, Cassandra and Bela shrieking as they fled forward to protect their mother, or Alcina meeting him head on in full blood-rage form.

Slashing, screeching, and gurgling rang out through the chamber. She sliced him to complete ribbons with her claws, eyes as black as her dress, that color the only thing from showing the splattering of blood all over her clothing. Her pale grey skin however displayed it proudly as she stood over his body, twitching, and eventually slumping still as blood gushed with one more surge from his mangled throat.

Those black eyes peered over to Victoria who was stumbling away from the towering Monarch, her own wide with fear.

Alcina didn't move, still slightly hunched from the kill, merely watching her as she tumbled her way to a cold stone step and stayed solid as a rock.

"I say this once, and only once to all in this room..." her tone was icy and gravely, "our laws are not to be trifled with. Follow them. Or meet the same fate as this pitiful excuse for a vampire."

Angie was chuckling as quietly as she could on the sidelines, Karl was repositioning his hat, Donna was standing unmoved and tall, and Salvatore was already slithering off through the side door.

"Mateo, Gerard, throw his body in the sun tower," she commanded flatly as she began to transform back to some normalcy.

They nodded in compliance. Alcina returned the nod, hiked up her dress gently, stepped over the blood pooling on the floor and took leave herself. Her daughters were right behind her.

"Is everyone just like, losing their collective minds down here, or what?" Angie asked nudging Mitch, "who the fuck thinks it's a good idea to challenge the Matriarch. I mean, that's two vamp deaths in like, two-ish months. Maybe Alcina is just on a roll, I love it when she's on a roll, she can kill anyone in front of me any day, she's such a boss ass bitch."

"Ang," Donna said gently walking towards the group, "please... these really are serious matters, could you try to at least pretend to be a quiet, somewhat reverent council member?"

"Look, we all know I am many things, many many things, all of which are not quiet or reverent. And that's why I'm so loved."

The only one not trying to hide their eyeroll was Karl.

"Listen pixie dust storm, we're all very aware."

Angie cackled again and took off on her own in a flash.

Donna, Mitch, and Karl stood at the back watching the guards dragging off the mess of what was a body. Victoria had dashed as soon as Alcina took her eyes off her, and everyone else was filing out, off to continue their gossip and lives as if nothing had happened.

The city was exceptionally silent as she walked her way back to the manor, even with her girls in tow. Alcina was trying to dab away the remaining blood on her exposed chest, face, and neck with a handkerchief Bela had offered her. It didn't seem to be doing much good.

The girls were nervously eying each other behind her.

Blood-rage usually took several hours to come down from, however their mother had seemed to put it to bed in a matter of minutes.

That wasn't normal.

Without a word they deduced this had to do with you. The changes taking place in their mother over the last generous two months was easily apparent to them. They hoped it wasn't so for too many others here in the underground.

Alcina had hardly touched any blood wine in weeks. She was mellow. Sedate, even. And yet she was softer and more prevalent in giving them all affection than she had been in many years. It was wonderful, but it was also concerning.

As they entered the large gates and wafted through the courtyard, Alcina opened the front door and allowed them in before her with a wave of her hand, accompanied by a pleasantly soft smile.

"Are you turning in for the day, girls?" she questioned taking off her hat.

They exchanged some glances and nodded.

"Yes, I think so mother," Cassandra answered.

Alcina mused on her reply with a hum.

"Well, sleep sound my darlings," that low timbre cooed, reaching out to kiss them all on their foreheads, admiring each beautiful face with a sweet grin, "I shall see you come evening."

"You too, mama," Daniela replied slipping her arms around her waist, holding her tightly.

The other two joined the embrace and Alcina hummed warmly, that smile growing wider.

"My sweet daughters... now, off to bed with you. Rest."

~

Karl was puffing on another cigar; this was easily his third in an hour.

He was tinkering with another contraption that had been shelved for a while. He couldn't really remember why, until the rogue wire he was trying to reconnect shocked the ever-loving shit out of him. The whole thing sparking and puffing out tiffs of smoke.

"Shit! Piss! Motherfucker!" he spat shaking his hand after jerking it away.

"Son of a bitch - now I remember, you piece of hunkin', fuckin', piss-ant, no good -"

Continuing to throw and grumble expletives while rubbing his hand, he kicked the thing off his bench, mumbling and murmuring, unaware of the presence now watching from the door of his shop.

Donna was smiling only gently leaning up against the door, one arm folded under her chest while the other tried to hide the grin.

"I see nothing has changed much in this shop of yours," she offered.

His head snapped up and a large puff of smoke left his lips, his good hand scratching the stubble on his cheek.

"Yeah well, some hunks of junk just can't be fixed either," he kicked it one more time for posterity.

She chuckled as then neatly folded her hands behind her back, "may I?"

"Of course."

Karl grabbed two chairs that were the least dirty and plopped them together in the cleanest area of his shop, taking a seat himself, legs splayed and slumping.

"Why are you still up this late?" Donna asked, resting a little uneasy on the chair.

He eyed her with another puff of his cigar. He knew where this was going.

"Why are you up this late."

Wasn't a question. He knew why she was here.

Donna sighed. Eyes trailing off to settle on an unknown object for rest, an anchor for the time being while her thoughts tried to dismantle the tangle.

"I'm worried about her."

Karl sat still.

"I don't know how to help her."

"I'm not really sure what you want me to say," he said quietly, "the door is shut tight?"

She peered back to him and nodded quickly.

At her affirmation he scooted closer and hunkered his forearms on his legs, "Spill, D."

"You saw what happened tonight. I don't know if anyone else noticed. But her control, her strength, it's double what it used to be. She killed that boy with a finesse I've never seen from her, and I've known her for long enough, I..." Donna's tone dropped off, her face growing slightly severe, "it's that human," her voice now a whisper, "there is something about that human. I don't know what she is, but she has changed Alcina. I don't know how. But I have never seen a vampire recover that quickly from blood-rage, Karl, never."

He had to chew on her words. Yes, he'd seen it.

"Well... I don't know what to tell ya, D."

"Tell me you're with us, with me, with her, if something happens," Donna shot off quickly, "tell me I can trust you, and your men, if something goes awry, no matter what it is."

Karl could feel the apprehension radiating off the slender woman, her fear and uncertainty closer to the surface than he can ever recall. He didn't understand the whole of vampires, wouldn't even pretend to, but he knew where his loyalties were. He and his men didn't swear allegiance to Alcina lightly. She had proven herself to him, to them, over and over and they would die by her side. They would protect her, whatever that entailed.

"Of course. We're with you."

~

It was 10 AM when you finally got out of bed. Alcina had drank a lot from you last night. You weren't complaining. But damn you were sore, and kind of tired.

You turned on the light as you entered the bathroom and eyed your naked body with a grin. The faint pricks in the shape of her teeth were scattered all over you. A hum of satisfaction rumbled in your throat and you started the shower.

The desire inside you to pay her back all the pleasure she had given you was growing insatiable. Sex was usually so cheap for you; never had a partner that connected deeply enough, never satisfying the need you had. But her? The two of you hadn't even had sex and you'd had more pleasure than you could possibly account for.

But this was so much more than the physical bliss.

She had invigorated and stimulated every sense within you. Made you think, made you dream, made you alive and eager for life.

That was a fucking miracle.

Who knew a vampire, a creature of the undead, could make you feel life.

All you wanted was make her feel the same way.

Your day was slow and so were you.

Perhaps you'd both been a little more vigorous than you should have been.

Oh well.

The contented state you found just watching the cloudy day go by was easy; the sun shifted here and there through the clouds until they all seemed to scatter and hide permanently behind the reaching brick buildings. The blue of the heavens was pale and soft and you felt the heaviness in your eyelids tip over slowly.

Your bean bag chair cuddled you up and the lights went out.

In the darkness there was a familiar glow of golden eyes, half lidded and glorious. Calm. Tender, for whom they belonged.

It was quiet.

It was peaceful.

You felt protected even when she wasn't around.

A cool caress pulled you oh so carefully from your slumber and soon you were looking back into those eyes you loved so much. But now they were grey; deep skies of thunder and rain. So beautiful.

"Alcina..." you whispered, a smile quickly appearing as your bearings came back into focus. The view outside your balcony door was much different. Black skies, orange light beaming up and out of the architecture. You sighed.

"Well shit, seems I slept the day away."

She was softer looking than usual; a light grey jacket tonight, long, not form fitting in the slightest. But the usual black pants, and shorter, ankle height black heeled boots.

What a fucking vision.

This woman could grace the cover of one fashion magazine and ruin it for every other model in living, breathing existence.

Alcina couldn't help the toothy grin as she peered down at you, your eyes alight despite your weary nature.

"Mmm, I am not surprised in the slightest. I may have been a little too greedy with you last night, draga mea," she smoothed the air with her voice, outstretching a slender hand, "come... I have just the thing."

Her body reacted tenderly to your grasp as she pulled you up and into her arms. You flooded her with a crawling sensation of withdrawal; every guard she had once possessed seemed to lay down arms and take a seat on lush grass, lose their sense of self and urgency and just be. Just be.

You little wonder.

Alcina clasped her hands about your face gently and kissed you just the same, enjoying the slowness for once, taking time to remember you were still human. Frail. Not unbreakable. And, easy to hurt.

That was the last thing she ever wanted.

There wasn't a bone in your body you weren't sure wasn't turning to rubber and bending to her unspoken will. Alcina was pure command, pure direction, and dictation. She was in control, plain and simple. And what-the-fuck-ever. Were you gunna say no?

"Mmmmm. And what is this 'thing'?" you inquired slumping into her grasp, the lazy smirk on your lips making her arch that perfect eyebrow.

"Oh, well, that... I have to show you."

She winked.

And then you were on the roof of the apartment complex.

You would never get used to how fast she moved.

Ever.

The blur of movement and scenery left the butterflies in the pit of your stomach confused, shrieking, and running into each other. You had to shake your head to recollect.

You'd never been on the roof before but you were positive there was never a lovely little love-seat, tiny end table, and candles up here.

Alcina had left you there as she drifted towards the table and pulled something from the inside of her coat, placing it on the table. Turning to you she offered her long arm once again to you, beckoning you to her as she pulled you in and held you close.

It was darker up here, the light from far below creating a most perfect ambience. On top of the roofs of all of New York was a favorite for Alcina. Alone. Secluded. No one to see or bother. And now she had you all alone in a world closer to her own.

You snuggled into her. Ready to surrender to sleep in an instant. This was a little too cute and perfect.

"Draga mea... you poor, poor thing, I can tell how absolutely exhausted you are," she cooed, stroking your back and kissing the shell of your ear, "come, I brought you an elixir to help with the drastic drain. I thought perhaps we could watch the stars tonight, enjoy each others company in a gentler light."

There wasn't much time for your reply. Alcina had taken you by the hand and sat you on the quaint couch, grabbed the small bottle from the table and sat beside you.

You couldn't be sure what color the liquid was, but it seemed to be a dark blue or green.

A slight chuckle escaped Alcina's crimson lips, she could hear your question before you could even formulate it.

"It is an old elixir from when humans were still kept as pets; when a vampire and their human would get carried away, much as we did last night, the human would drink this to help aid in their healing and recovery," Alcina caressed your cheek lovingly, "I promise draga, it is completely safe, I would never give you anything that would harm you."

That warmed you.

"I know, I trust you."

Somehow your admission stumbled and calmed both of you.

You knew she was a vicious, dangerous, deadly killer. But to you, she was just Alcina. Your vampire. Your unintended, unexpected, unyielding saving grace.

She knew, too.

Popping out the cork, not even bothering to smell it, you downed it in one gulp. The surprise of it not tasting like absolute shit was very welcomed. It was a bit of a floral flavor, maybe a bit earthy, but other than that it was smooth on the way down.

Sitting back into the couch you eyed her intently.

"How many pets have you had in your day?" you asked kindly, yet curiouser than you'd care to admit.

Alcina wasn't sure if she hid the sting on her face as that question pierced her through the chest.

But, she wasn't going to lie to you. She had decided a long while ago that no matter what you asked, she would answer. Secrets did no one a favor in a life like this. At least, not in this situation. Repeating what happened with Madeleine was something she never wanted to do again.

"One," she stated carefully, "and truly, calling her a pet is... crude, at best," she took a shallow breath and released it slowly, but Alcina kept her eyes hooked to yours, "I never liked the term. For many, or possibly all vampires, it fits. Perhaps too well. But for me... I never saw her as such. I didn't consider myself her owner, as if she was chained like an animal to me and my will, that she was property for me to command and do as I pleased. No. She was... a connection. A living, breathing, thinking, feeling, person all her own."

You watched as her eyes trailed away as her memories drug her down a jagged path.

You needed to get her back.

"What was her name?"

Oh, your question was so soft. Alcina smiled gently, the remains of a doleful wince lilting as the name sounded in her head.

"Madeleine."

"That's pretty," you smiled brighter, trying to keep this light, "tell me more about her? I mean, if you want."

Alcina leaned back into the arm of the couch and beckoned you into her, you complied and she settled there with you, her eyes drifting to the very pale pin-pricks of light in the black blanket above. Damn city light pollution.

"Well... what to tell..."

The two of you lay there, Alcina regaling you once again of stories from her past; this time about her love, her human, Madeleine. How she was a beautiful thing; a curly haired red-head barely into her 30's, tall, slender, cheek bones you could cut glass with, and a sad and broken heart of a child she lost far too young. The bonding they shared, the deep connection and learned and respected differences and similarities that complimented the two so perfectly. How hours between them seemed to slip by the same way it did for the two of you, and how she and Madeleine would steal away any moment they could until the sun was clawing it's way to the surface; a demon hell-bent to rip them apart. As always.

The story had fizzled out and you felt Alcina still.

You could sense the coolness of sadness and something else seep into her.

There was more.

"What happened to her?"

There it was.

The question Alcina dreaded you to ask but knew your intelligence, and curiosity, would never let lie.

"She died."

Her reply was quiet. In fact you weren't sure she had actually uttered it.

You carefully repositioned and looked at her, a steady hand on her chest, looking for the unspoken answer to the question you hadn't yet pressed.

"How?"

'Alcina, please.'

Madeleine's plea was shaky, trembling, just as the rest of her frail frame.

Her dress was torn and ragged. Tears had painted trails of smudged grey down her cheeks where her mascara once graced her beautiful long eyelashes. Her teeth were chattering; it was cold in the underground and she was barely clothed.

In the middle of the council hall stood Alcina, Madeleine, hundreds of other vampires, guards, and Mother Miranda; standing tall and ominous at the top step looking down to the two women in the judgement circle.

Alcina couldn't look up. Her eyes were sealed to the floor at her feet.

She too, was clad barely in any clothing. Her side was side was an ugly, open, bloodied mess. Her gown was plastered to her thigh and all down her leg with her blood. Her chest was hastily trying to intake air, half to ease the pain, half to steady her senses that were wild as an injured, cornered lion.

Her body ached.

Her heart was screaming.

Everything around her was spinning and all she could hear was Madeleine's quivering breath, and Mother Miranda.

'Quit being weak, Alcina!'

It rattled her core. All she could taste was copper, a toxic bitterness from whatever was on that dagger. How it coursed through the dead black veins in her body made her sick. Like slugs pulsing, slithering, moving within her with no way to expunge the putrid feeling.

She felt like she was dying all over again, but this time in a much more horrid way.

'ALCINA!'

Her eyes finally snapped up from the floor to find Madeleine now in the grasp of Mother Miranda's guard.

'I will do this if you make me, but if I do, know that it will be more horrific than the blight of your own hand. Her suffering will endure for as long as I see fit and I WILL make you endure every second along with her.'

Alcina quite literally could not move. She could feel the hot, sticky trails of tears cutting down her cheeks and the shattering of her chest.

It was only when Madeleine finally caught her eyes up in hers, that tender plea once more falling from her lips, the slightest nod from her head full of long red curls, could Alcina shakily grasp a semblance of strength.

'Please', she mouthed, 'please.'

Please.

Alcina owed it to Madeleine to do this by her hand, by a loving hand, not one of cruelty and malice. She owed it to her, her lover, her confidant, to end her life by way of love. Regardless of the sick and twisted bane it bore.

'Her blood is the only thing that will end this suffering, yours and hers, Alcina. Do it.'

If Alcina had had the strength she would have slit Mother Miranda's throat, tore her head from her pompous body and everyone else's in this room. But Mother Miranda knew her strength, knew her capabilities, of course she did. Hence the poison drenched on the dagger she so easily plunged into Alcina's side earlier.

Crippling her not only gave her sick pleasure, it was the only upper hand she had. The only leveling of the playing ground.

Stupid fucking bitch.

She hated her.

Hated her.

A last whimper of Madeleine sent Alcina over the edge.

She tore her lover from the arms of the guard and held her close.

Who was shaking and quivering more was as good as anyone's guess. Madeleine's heart beat was rapid and sounded so loudly in Alcina's ears, it hurt. It all hurt so much.

'I'm so sorry!'

Came the pained whisper of pure and utter regret.

'I'm not.'

Replied the gentle reassurance, filled with love and acceptance Alcina would never understand.

A clench of her eyelids, tears forced free, Alcina bit down on Madeleine's throat.

You didn't know what happened just then, but you felt a tidal wave from Alcina you hadn't before. It was cold just as much as it was scorching hot. Her eyes seemed to flash in those brief seconds upon you asking and feared perhaps you should have just left it alone. But the static began to evaporate and you felt Alcina's body release.

"I... killed her."

Oh.

The admission wasn't as candid as it seemed. There was so much more beneath this. You couldn't see it, but you could definitely feel it. And it felt like a thousand and one weights on top of your chest.

Something terrible had taken place. Alcina would not do this by mere chance, by accident, by choice. No, not the way she spoke of her.

"Wh-why?" you asked with a hush.

Please don't, draga mea.

Alcina swallowed.

"I... chose to spare her one death in exchange for another."

You opened your mouth to reply but you couldn't. Something held your words, pressed a hand to your pressing curiosity and settled the unease and need for more answers. Alcina was hurting. You sensed it, felt it. And you didn't need her to tell you everything, you didn't need to make her relive anymore pain just for your own sake. No. This was enough.

In a moments passing you simply gave a slight nod, and nestled back a little, letting her know silently you weren't going to pry any further.

Alcina was stunned when you didn't immediately pull away and run. You didn't push. You just accepted it? She narrowed her eyes at you but felt nothing awry, nothing to tell her you were puling away from her. You were so perplexing.

She placed a hand over yours, "It's a story I cannot bare to tell you all of now," her breath was sharp on the inhale, "please know it was a decision I never wanted to make, one I shouldn't have had to... and I..."

"It was Mother Miranda wasn't it."

Alcina's eyes about went black.

"How could you know that?"

You shook your head and sat up, looking at her with more love and acceptance than you were aware you had in your body, "I don't know, I don't know how or why I knew that I just... when you talk about her, it's like I can just... feel and know things without any real reason and it's actually kind of infuriating at this point. It's happening more and more."

Alcina continued to stare at you.

"I'm - I'm so sorry, I... is that why you tried to break things off with me a while ago?"

Good hell. Did your baffling, blunt, all-knowing questions ever cease?

She huffed.

"Yes. And since you seem to be so privy to things you shouldn't, I suppose I needn't explain any further."

You smirked, eliciting one in exchange.

Grasping her hand firmly you brought it to your lips, kissing her pale knuckles, "I really am sorry. I know it means very little, but, no one should have to make that choice."

It meant everything.

No one had ever apologized to Alcina for anything. Not for harm they caused, not for pain she endured, not for anything in the world. And now you. Apologizing for something you had no hand in.

The size of the enigma that was you was just getting bigger.

Alcina didn't know how to regard you, how to understand you, respond or speak. You had empathy beyond her comprehension.

How she wished to put you together like a puzzle, the big picture of you becoming clearer and clearer with each piece placed.

She was beginning to fall for you. Deeply.

The remainder of the night was spent oddly silent, yet without a scent of awkwardness. Another unspoken exchange of awareness, understanding, and acceptance had the two of you cuddling once again to watch the muted stars inch ever so slowly across the velvet heavens.

You had fallen asleep a few hours before dawn and Alcina was peacefully content to hold you. Admire you. Ponder your vast array of intrigue and weave a dream of what life could have been like with you if things were entirely different. She could and would be able to love you in any lifetime, that she was sure.

Alcina placed a groggy you back into your bed as the sun threatened its entrance. She kissed you with reverence and tucked you in soundly, left you to slumber on as a busy mind kept her company on the way back to the underground.

Still, she felt no indifference from you. Had no fear that you would shy from her even from what she'd told you. There was much clarification needed, she wanted to tell you, but Alcina wasn't sure she could revisit it as of yet.

Time heals all wounds.

Bullshit.

The manor was oddly lit up as she approached.

Upon entry she heard several voices from the living room, and jazz from the antique gramophone player buzzing it's way through the air.

She hung her coat as the bones in her spine became unnaturally stiff.

As Alcina rounded the corner, her heart, had it been alive, would have stopped. Died. Shriveled up and collected into dust in the pit of her stomach.

"Mother Miranda."

[moltementi]

This boy still wonders why that one strange man in blue is wearing a cape in summer. And now that he’s sober, he registers that it’s dual-layered.

“...he’s a bloody madman...”

[twins-parted]

I have taken the last 2-3 days to get a jumpstart on my Japanese language stuff & it’s very fun. 

Decided to start with Duolingo like @vampanic​ suggested & I think it’ll be a great basis for getting further into the language with the book system Harley got me, while also facilitating my brain to committing hiragana, katakana & kanji to memory. 

I already have 17 pages of notes & 6 practice sheets done. 

[ihavenoside]

Unprompted asks || Always accepting

@head-shot-60​ said:

"Why don't you give me things? Caleb gives me things. Pay up deviant."

“I’m not obligated to give you anything, deviant or not. Gifts are reserved for people you respect and consider friends. You have tried to kill me twice now and tried to kill Hank once. Thus aren’t on my list of people I want to get gifts for.” He explained.

“However, if there are any gifts leftover from the new’s party, your welcome to have one of those.”

[laurelaiwingates-a]

@zzapzzaptasers  occasionally get tormented by Nyarlathotep

[do not even mention That verdammnt--]

He feels a sudden strange sense of solidarity.  More importantly: How had she survived, sanity intact?

[gingeralehux]

.

[storiesofwildfire]

{ outofmagic } I am just... so tired of seeing people shame other people for what they choose to write. I’m so tired of people forcing other people to censor their work because they personally disagree with whatever that person is writing or drawing. I am so tired of people telling people what they can and can’t do. 

Let me tell you something, if it’s not ILLEGAL to create art about it, then you have no right to tell someone what they can and cannot do with their creations. Period. If it makes you uncomfortable, leave. It is your responsibility to protect yourself from things that may trigger you. It is not an artist’s responsibility to tip toe around you.

[blackwoolncrown]

”This essay has been kicking around in my head for years now and I’ve never felt confident enough to write it. It’s a time in my life I’m ashamed of. It’s a time that I hurt people and, through inaction, allowed others to be hurt. It’s a time that I acted as a violent agent of capitalism and white supremacy. Under the guise of public safety, I personally ruined people’s lives but in so doing, made the public no safer… so did the family members and close friends of mine who also bore the badge alongside me.

But enough is enough.

The reforms aren’t working. Incrementalism isn’t happening. Unarmed Black, indigenous, and people of color are being killed by cops in the streets and the police are savagely attacking the people protesting these murders.

American policing is a thick blue tumor strangling the life from our communities and if you don’t believe it when the poor and the marginalized say it, if you don’t believe it when you see cops across the country shooting journalists with less-lethal bullets and caustic chemicals, maybe you’ll believe it when you hear it straight from the pig’s mouth.”

>>Copied here in case anyone gets paywalled when they click the above. The full article is...a lot.<<

WHY AM I WRITING THIS

As someone who went through the training, hiring, and socialization of a career in law enforcement, I wanted to give a first-hand account of why I believe police officers are the way they are. Not to excuse their behavior, but to explain it and to indict the structures that perpetuate it.

I believe that if everyone understood how we’re trained and brought up in the profession, it would inform the demands our communities should be making of a new way of community safety. If I tell you how we were made, I hope it will empower you to unmake us.

One of the other reasons I’ve struggled to write this essay is that I don’t want to center the conversation on myself and my big salty boo-hoo feelings about my bad choices. It’s a toxic white impulse to see atrocities and think “How can I make this about me?” So, I hope you’ll take me at my word that this account isn’t meant to highlight me, but rather the hundred thousand of me in every city in the country. It’s about the structure that made me (that I chose to pollute myself with) and it’s my meager contribution to the cause of radical justice.

YES, ALL COPS ARE BASTARDS

I was a police officer in a major metropolitan area in California with a predominantly poor, non-white population (with a large proportion of first-generation immigrants). One night during briefing, our watch commander told us that the city council had requested a new zero tolerance policy. Against murderers, drug dealers, or child predators?

No, against homeless people collecting cans from recycling bins.

See, the city had some kickback deal with the waste management company where waste management got paid by the government for our expected tonnage of recycling. When homeless people “stole” that recycling from the waste management company, they were putting that cheaper contract in peril. So, we were to arrest as many recyclers as we could find.

Even for me, this was a stupid policy and I promptly blew Sarge off. But a few hours later, Sarge called me over to assist him. He was detaining a 70 year old immigrant who spoke no English, who he’d seen picking a coke can out of a trash bin. He ordered me to arrest her for stealing trash. I said, “Sarge, c’mon, she’s an old lady.” He said, “I don’t give a shit. Hook her up, that’s an order.” And… I did. She cried the entire way to the station and all through the booking process. I couldn’t even comfort her because I didn’t speak Spanish. I felt disgusting but I was ordered to make this arrest and I wasn’t willing to lose my job for her.

If you’re tempted to feel sympathy for me, don’t. I used to happily hassle the homeless under other circumstances. I researched obscure penal codes so I could arrest people in homeless encampments for lesser known crimes like “remaining too close to railroad property” (369i of the California Penal Code). I used to call it “planting warrant seeds” since I knew they wouldn’t make their court dates and we could arrest them again and again for warrant violations.

We used to have informal contests for who could cite or arrest someone for the weirdest law. DUI on a bicycle, non-regulation number of brooms on your tow truck (27700(a)(1) of the California Vehicle Code)… shit like that. For me, police work was a logic puzzle for arresting people, regardless of their actual threat to the community. As ashamed as I am to admit it, it needs to be said: stripping people of their freedom felt like a game to me for many years.

I know what you’re going to ask: did I ever plant drugs? Did I ever plant a gun on someone? Did I ever make a false arrest or file a false report? Believe it or not, the answer is no. Cheating was no fun, I liked to get my stats the “legitimate” way. But I knew officers who kept a little baggie of whatever or maybe a pocket knife that was a little too big in their war bags (yeah, we called our dufflebags “war bags”…). Did I ever tell anybody about it? No I did not. Did I ever confess my suspicions when cocaine suddenly showed up in a gang member’s jacket? No I did not.

In fact, let me tell you about an extremely formative experience: in my police academy class, we had a clique of around six trainees who routinely bullied and harassed other students: intentionally scuffing another trainee’s shoes to get them in trouble during inspection, sexually harassing female trainees, cracking racist jokes, and so on. Every quarter, we were to write anonymous evaluations of our squadmates. I wrote scathing accounts of their behavior, thinking I was helping keep bad apples out of law enforcement and believing I would be protected. Instead, the academy staff read my complaints to them out loud and outed me to them and never punished them, causing me to get harassed for the rest of my academy class. That’s how I learned that even police leadership hates rats. That’s why no one is “changing things from the inside.” They can’t, the structure won’t allow it.

And that’s the point of what I’m telling you. Whether you were my sergeant, legally harassing an old woman, me, legally harassing our residents, my fellow trainees bullying the rest of us, or “the bad apples” illegally harassing “shitbags”, we were all in it together. I knew cops that pulled women over to flirt with them. I knew cops who would pepper spray sleeping bags so that homeless people would have to throw them away. I knew cops that intentionally provoked anger in suspects so they could claim they were assaulted. I was particularly good at winding people up verbally until they lashed out so I could fight them. Nobody spoke out. Nobody stood up. Nobody betrayed the code.

None of us protected the people (you) from bad cops.

This is why “All cops are bastards.” Even your uncle, even your cousin, even your mom, even your brother, even your best friend, even your spouse, even me. Because even if they wouldn’t Do The Thing themselves, they will almost never rat out another officer who Does The Thing, much less stop it from happening.

BASTARD 101

I could write an entire book of the awful things I’ve done, seen done, and heard others bragging about doing. But, to me, the bigger question is “How did it get this way?”. While I was a police officer in a city 30 miles from where I lived, many of my fellow officers were from the community and treated their neighbors just as badly as I did. While every cop’s individual biases come into play, it’s the profession itself that is toxic, and it starts from day 1 of training.

Every police academy is different but all of them share certain features: taught by old cops, run like a paramilitary bootcamp, strong emphasis on protecting yourself more than anyone else. The majority of my time in the academy was spent doing aggressive physical training and watching video after video after video of police officers being murdered on duty.

I want to highlight this: nearly everyone coming into law enforcement is bombarded with dash cam footage of police officers being ambushed and killed. Over and over and over. Colorless VHS mortality plays, cops screaming for help over their radios, their bodies going limp as a pair of tail lights speed away into a grainy black horizon. In my case, with commentary from an old racist cop who used to brag about assaulting Black Panthers.

To understand why all cops are bastards, you need to understand one of the things almost every training officer told me when it came to using force:

“I’d rather be judged by 12 than carried by 6.”

Meaning, “I’ll take my chances in court rather than risk getting hurt”. We’re able to think that way because police unions are extremely overpowered and because of the generous concept of Qualified Immunity, a legal theory which says a cop generally can’t be held personally liable for mistakes they make doing their job in an official capacity.

When you look at the actions of the officers who killed George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, David McAtee, Mike Brown, Tamir Rice, Philando Castile, Eric Garner, or Freddie Gray, remember that they, like me, were trained to recite “I’d rather be judged by 12” as a mantra. Even if Mistakes Were Made™, the city (meaning the taxpayers, meaning you) pays the settlement, not the officer.

Once police training has - through repetition, indoctrination, and violent spectacle - promised officers that everyone in the world is out to kill them, the next lesson is that your partners are the only people protecting you. Occasionally, this is even true: I’ve had encounters turn on me rapidly to the point I legitimately thought I was going to die, only to have other officers come and turn the tables.

One of the most important thought leaders in law enforcement is Col. Dave Grossman, a “killologist” who wrote an essay called “Sheep, Wolves, and Sheepdogs”. Cops are the sheepdogs, bad guys are the wolves, and the citizens are the sheep (!). Col. Grossman makes sure to mention that to a stupid sheep, sheepdogs look more like wolves than sheep, and that’s why they dislike you.

This “they hate you for protecting them and only I love you, only I can protect you” tactic is familiar to students of abuse. It’s what abusers do to coerce their victims into isolation, pulling them away from friends and family and ensnaring them in the abuser’s toxic web. Law enforcement does this too, pitting the officer against civilians. “They don’t understand what you do, they don’t respect your sacrifice, they just want to get away with crimes. You’re only safe with us.”

I think the Wolves vs. Sheepdogs dynamic is one of the most important elements as to why officers behave the way they do. Every single second of my training, I was told that criminals were not a legitimate part of their community, that they were individual bad actors, and that their bad actions were solely the result of their inherent criminality. Any concept of systemic trauma, generational poverty, or white supremacist oppression was either never mentioned or simply dismissed. After all, most people don’t steal, so anyone who does isn’t “most people,” right? To us, anyone committing a crime deserved anything that happened to them because they broke the “social contract.” And yet, it was never even a question as to whether the power structure above them was honoring any sort of contract back.

Understand: Police officers are part of the state monopoly on violence and all police training reinforces this monopoly as a cornerstone of police work, a source of honor and pride. Many cops fantasize about getting to kill someone in the line of duty, egged on by others that have. One of my training officers told me about the time he shot and killed a mentally ill homeless man wielding a big stick. He bragged that he “slept like a baby” that night. Official training teaches you how to be violent effectively and when you’re legally allowed to deploy that violence, but “unofficial training” teaches you to desire violence, to expand the breadth of your violence without getting caught, and to erode your own compassion for desperate people so you can justify punitive violence against them.

HOW TO BE A BASTARD

I have participated in some of these activities personally, others are ones I either witnessed personally or heard officers brag about openly. Very, very occasionally, I knew an officer who was disciplined or fired for one of these things.

Police officers will lie about the law, about what’s illegal, or about what they can legally do to you in order to manipulate you into doing what they want.

Police officers will lie about feeling afraid for their life to justify a use of force after the fact.

Police officers will lie and tell you they’ll file a police report just to get you off their back.

Police officers will lie that your cooperation will “look good for you” in court, or that they will “put in a good word for you with the DA.” The police will never help you look good in court.

Police officers will lie about what they see and hear to access private property to conduct unlawful searches.

Police officers will lie and say your friend already ratted you out, so you might as well rat them back out. This is almost never true.

Police officers will lie and say you’re not in trouble in order to get you to exit a location or otherwise make an arrest more convenient for them.

Police officers will lie and say that they won’t arrest you if you’ll just “be honest with them” so they know what really happened.

Police officers will lie about their ability to seize the property of friends and family members to coerce a confession.

Police officers will write obviously bullshit tickets so that they get time-and-a-half overtime fighting them in court.

Police officers will search places and containers you didn’t consent to and later claim they were open or “smelled like marijuana”.

Police officers will threaten you with a more serious crime they can’t prove in order to convince you to confess to the lesser crime they really want you for.

Police officers will employ zero tolerance on races and ethnicities they dislike and show favor and lenience to members of their own group.

Police officers will use intentionally extra-painful maneuvers and holds during an arrest to provoke “resistance” so they can further assault the suspect.

Some police officers will plant drugs and weapons on you, sometimes to teach you a lesson, sometimes if they kill you somewhere away from public view.

Some police officers will assault you to intimidate you and threaten to arrest you if you tell anyone.

A non-trivial number of police officers will steal from your house or vehicle during a search.

A non-trivial number of police officers commit intimate partner violence and use their status to get away with it.

A non-trivial number of police officers use their position to entice, coerce, or force sexual favors from vulnerable people.

If you take nothing else away from this essay, I want you to tattoo this onto your brain forever: if a police officer is telling you something, it is probably a lie designed to gain your compliance.

Do not talk to cops and never, ever believe them. Do not “try to be helpful” with cops. Do not assume they are trying to catch someone else instead of you. Do not assume what they are doing is “important” or even legal. Under no circumstances assume any police officer is acting in good faith.

Also, and this is important, do not talk to cops.

I just remembered something, do not talk to cops.

Checking my notes real quick, something jumped out at me:

Do

not

fucking

talk

to

cops.

Ever.

Say, “I don’t answer questions,” and ask if you’re free to leave; if so, leave. If not, tell them you want your lawyer and that, per the Supreme Court, they must terminate questioning. If they don’t, file a complaint and collect some badges for your mantle.

DO THE BASTARDS EVER HELP?

Reading the above, you may be tempted to ask whether cops ever do anything good. And the answer is, sure, sometimes. In fact, most officers I worked with thought they were usually helping the helpless and protecting the safety of innocent people.

During my tenure in law enforcement, I protected women from domestic abusers, arrested cold-blooded murderers and child molesters, and comforted families who lost children to car accidents and other tragedies. I helped connect struggling people in my community with local resources for food, shelter, and counseling. I deescalated situations that could have turned violent and talked a lot of people down from making the biggest mistake of their lives. I worked with plenty of officers who were individually kind, bought food for homeless residents, or otherwise showed care for their community.

The question is this: did I need a gun and sweeping police powers to help the average person on the average night? The answer is no. When I was doing my best work as a cop, I was doing mediocre work as a therapist or a social worker. My good deeds were listening to people failed by the system and trying to unite them with any crumbs of resources the structure was currently denying them.

It’s also important to note that well over 90% of the calls for service I handled were reactive, showing up well after a crime had taken place. We would arrive, take a statement, collect evidence (if any), file the report, and onto the next caper. Most “active” crimes we stopped were someone harmless possessing or selling a small amount of drugs. Very, very rarely would we stop something dangerous in progress or stop something from happening entirely. The closest we could usually get was seeing someone running away from the scene of a crime, but the damage was still done.

And consider this: my job as a police officer required me to be a marriage counselor, a mental health crisis professional, a conflict negotiator, a social worker, a child advocate, a traffic safety expert, a sexual assault specialist, and, every once in awhile, a public safety officer authorized to use force, all after only a 1000 hours of training at a police academy. Does the person we send to catch a robber also need to be the person we send to interview a rape victim or document a fender bender? Should one profession be expected to do all that important community care (with very little training) all at the same time?

To put this another way: I made double the salary most social workers made to do a fraction of what they could do to mitigate the causes of crimes and desperation. I can count very few times my monopoly on state violence actually made our citizens safer, and even then, it’s hard to say better-funded social safety nets and dozens of other community care specialists wouldn’t have prevented a problem before it started.

Armed, indoctrinated (and dare I say, traumatized) cops do not make you safer; community mutual aid networks who can unite other people with the resources they need to stay fed, clothed, and housed make you safer. I really want to hammer this home: every cop in your neighborhood is damaged by their training, emboldened by their immunity, and they have a gun and the ability to take your life with near-impunity. This does not make you safer, even if you’re white.

HOW DO YOU SOLVE A PROBLEM LIKE A BASTARD?

So what do we do about it? Even though I’m an expert on bastardism, I am not a public policy expert nor an expert in organizing a post-police society. So, before I give some suggestions, let me tell you what probably won’t solve the problem of bastard cops:

Increased “bias” training. A quarterly or even monthly training session is not capable of covering over years of trauma-based camaraderie in police forces. I can tell you from experience, we don’t take it seriously, the proctors let us cheat on whatever “tests” there are, and we all made fun of it later over coffee.

Tougher laws. I hope you understand by now, cops do not follow the law and will not hold each other accountable to the law. Tougher laws are all the more reason to circle the wagons and protect your brothers and sisters.

More community policing programs. Yes, there is a marginal effect when a few cops get to know members of the community, but look at the protests of 2020: many of the cops pepper-spraying journalists were probably the nice school cop a month ago.

Police officers do not protect and serve people, they protect and serve the status quo, “polite society”, and private property. Using the incremental mechanisms of the status quo will never reform the police because the status quo relies on police violence to exist. Capitalism requires a permanent underclass to exploit for cheap labor and it requires the cops to bring that underclass to heel.

Instead of wasting time with minor tweaks, I recommend exploring the following ideas:

No more qualified immunity. Police officers should be personally liable for all decisions they make in the line of duty.

No more civil asset forfeiture. Did you know that every year, citizens like you lose more cash and property to unaccountable civil asset forfeiture than to all burglaries combined? The police can steal your stuff without charging you with a crime and it makes some police departments very rich.

Break the power of police unions. Police unions make it nearly impossible to fire bad cops and incentivize protecting them to protect the power of the union. A police union is not a labor union; police officers are powerful state agents, not exploited workers.

Require malpractice insurance. Doctors must pay for insurance in case they botch a surgery, police officers should do the same for botching a police raid or other use of force. If human decency won’t motivate police to respect human life, perhaps hitting their wallet might.

Defund, demilitarize, and disarm cops. Thousands of police departments own assault rifles, armored personnel carriers, and stuff you’d see in a warzone. Police officers have grants and huge budgets to spend on guns, ammo, body armor, and combat training. 99% of calls for service require no armed response, yet when all you have is a gun, every problem feels like target practice. Cities are not safer when unaccountable bullies have a monopoly on state violence and the equipment to execute that monopoly.

One final idea: consider abolishing the police.

I know what you’re thinking, “What? We need the police! They protect us!” As someone who did it for nearly a decade, I need you to understand that by and large, police protection is marginal, incidental. It’s an illusion created by decades of copaganda designed to fool you into thinking these brave men and women are holding back the barbarians at the gates.

I alluded to this above: the vast majority of calls for service I handled were theft reports, burglary reports, domestic arguments that hadn’t escalated into violence, loud parties, (houseless) people loitering, traffic collisions, very minor drug possession, and arguments between neighbors. Mostly the mundane ups and downs of life in the community, with little inherent danger. And, like I mentioned, the vast majority of crimes I responded to (even violent ones) had already happened; my unaccountable license to kill was irrelevant.

What I mainly provided was an “objective” third party with the authority to document property damage, ask people to chill out or disperse, or counsel people not to beat each other up. A trained counselor or conflict resolution specialist would be ten times more effective than someone with a gun strapped to his hip wondering if anyone would try to kill him when he showed up. There are many models for community safety that can be explored if we get away from the idea that the only way to be safe is to have a man with a M4 rifle prowling your neighborhood ready at a moment’s notice to write down your name and birthday after you’ve been robbed and beaten.

You might be asking, “What about the armed robbers, the gangsters, the drug dealers, the serial killers?” And yes, in the city I worked, I regularly broke up gang parties, found gang members carrying guns, and handled homicides. I’ve seen some tragic things, from a reformed gangster shot in the head with his brains oozing out to a fifteen year old boy taking his last breath in his screaming mother’s arms thanks to a gang member’s bullet. I know the wages of violence.

This is where we have to have the courage to ask: why do people rob? Why do they join gangs? Why do they get addicted to drugs or sell them? It’s not because they are inherently evil. I submit to you that these are the results of living in a capitalist system that grinds people down and denies them housing, medical care, human dignity, and a say in their government. These are the results of white supremacy pushing people to the margins, excluding them, disrespecting them, and treating their bodies as disposable.

Equally important to remember: disabled and mentally ill people are frequently killed by police officers not trained to recognize and react to disabilities or mental health crises. Some of the people we picture as “violent offenders” are often people struggling with untreated mental illness, often due to economic hardships. Very frequently, the officers sent to “protect the community” escalate this crisis and ultimately wound or kill the person. Your community was not made safer by police violence; a sick member of your community was killed because it was cheaper than treating them. Are you extremely confident you’ll never get sick one day too?

Wrestle with this for a minute: if all of someone’s material needs were met and all the members of their community were fed, clothed, housed, and dignified, why would they need to join a gang? Why would they need to risk their lives selling drugs or breaking into buildings? If mental healthcare was free and was not stigmatized, how many lives would that save?

Would there still be a few bad actors in the world? Sure, probably. What’s my solution for them, you’re no doubt asking. I’ll tell you what: generational poverty, food insecurity, houselessness, and for-profit medical care are all problems that can be solved in our lifetimes by rejecting the dehumanizing meat grinder of capitalism and white supremacy. Once that’s done, we can work on the edge cases together, with clearer hearts not clouded by a corrupt system.

Police abolition is closely related to the idea of prison abolition and the entire concept of banishing the carceral state, meaning, creating a society focused on reconciliation and restorative justice instead of punishment, pain, and suffering — a system that sees people in crisis as humans, not monsters. People who want to abolish the police typically also want to abolish prisons, and the same questions get asked: “What about the bad guys? Where do we put them?” I bring this up because abolitionists don’t want to simply replace cops with armed social workers or prisons with casual detention centers full of puffy leather couches and Playstations. We imagine a world not divided into good guys and bad guys, but rather a world where people’s needs are met and those in crisis receive care, not dehumanization.

Here’s legendary activist and thinker Angela Y. Davis putting it better than I ever could:

“An abolitionist approach that seeks to answer questions such as these would require us to imagine a constellation of alternative strategies and institutions, with the ultimate aim of removing the prison from the social and ideological landscapes of our society. In other words, we would not be looking for prisonlike substitutes for the prison, such as house arrest safeguarded by electronic surveillance bracelets. Rather, positing decarceration as our overarching strategy, we would try to envision a continuum of alternatives to imprisonment-demilitarization of schools, revitalization of education at all levels, a health system that provides free physical and mental care to all, and a justice system based on reparation and reconciliation rather than retribution and vengeance.”

(Are Prisons Obsolete, pg. 107)

I’m not telling you I have the blueprint for a beautiful new world. What I’m telling you is that the system we have right now is broken beyond repair and that it’s time to consider new ways of doing community together. Those new ways need to be negotiated by members of those communities, particularly Black, indigenous, disabled, houseless, and citizens of color historically shoved into the margins of society. Instead of letting Fox News fill your head with nightmares about Hispanic gangs, ask the Hispanic community what they need to thrive. Instead of letting racist politicians scaremonger about pro-Black demonstrators, ask the Black community what they need to meet the needs of the most vulnerable. If you truly desire safety, ask not what your most vulnerable can do for the community, ask what the community can do for the most vulnerable.

A WORLD WITH FEWER BASTARDS IS POSSIBLE

If you take only one thing away from this essay, I hope it’s this: do not talk to cops. But if you only take two things away, I hope the second one is that it’s possible to imagine a different world where unarmed black people, indigenous people, poor people, disabled people, and people of color are not routinely gunned down by unaccountable police officers. It doesn’t have to be this way. Yes, this requires a leap of faith into community models that might feel unfamiliar, but I ask you:

When you see a man dying in the street begging for breath, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a mother or a daughter shot to death sleeping in their beds, don’t you want to leap away from that world?

When you see a twelve year old boy executed in a public park for the crime of playing with a toy, jesus fucking christ, can you really just stand there and think “This is normal”?

And to any cops who made it this far down, is this really the world you want to live in? Aren’t you tired of the trauma? Aren’t you tired of the soul sickness inherent to the badge? Aren’t you tired of looking the other way when your partners break the law? Are you really willing to kill the next George Floyd, the next Breonna Taylor, the next Tamir Rice? How confident are you that your next use of force will be something you’re proud of? I’m writing this for you too: it’s wrong what our training did to us, it’s wrong that they hardened our hearts to our communities, and it’s wrong to pretend this is normal.

Look, I wouldn’t have been able to hear any of this for much of my life. You reading this now may not be able to hear this yet either. But do me this one favor: just think about it. Just turn it over in your mind for a couple minutes. “Yes, And” me for a minute. Look around you and think about the kind of world you want to live in. Is it one where an all-powerful stranger with a gun keeps you and your neighbors in line with the fear of death, or can you picture a world where, as a community, we embrace our most vulnerable, meet their needs, heal their wounds, honor their dignity, and make them family instead of desperate outsiders?

If you take only three things away from this essay, I hope the third is this: you and your community don’t need bastards to thrive.

RESOURCES TO YES-AND WITH

Achele Mbembe — Necropolitics

Angela Y. Davis — Are Prisons Obsolete?

CriticalResistance.org — Abolition Toolkit

Joe Macaré, Maya Schenwar, and Alana Yu-lan Price — Who Do You Serve, Who Do You Protect?

Ruth Wilson Gilmore — COVID-19, Decarceration, Abolition [video]

[twst-campos13]

ah hello!! i'm literally so excited to see a blog for enby and male readers sodjfoijf,,could i maybe request a scenario where male reader is a staff member (idk?? like a librarian?? a nurse??? do they need nurses over there???) and is crushing on crewel but is too scared to confess because he's both Too Dense to pick up any signs of potential reciprocation and also just isn't sure if crewel likes men??? maybe. maybe with a happy ending though because i am a fool,, thank you very much!!

One hopelessly cheesy scenario coming up!! Thank you for requesting! I hope you don’t mind I made reader a librarian who may or may not be a bit of a romantic because i listened to a particular playlist while writing this- (commentary in notes!)

Warnings: none! Tags: male!reader, fluff!

A simple man such as you live a simple life. As simple as life can be in Night Raven College, that is. A prestigious school that holds a student body that can barely tolerate each other. It would be typical for a librarian to be the observer than the observed, but hey, if it means getting out of trivial matters of the school and enjoying the show in your personal bubble, then you have no complaints.

This attitude of yours did come to have its own consequences. You were seen as timid by most students as you were quite closed-off, taking it as a reason to poke fun at you sometimes. You proved them wrong when they step out of line with their fun. Most of the time you choose to ignore them. However, you lived up to your introverted nature, especially when it comes to him.

Tall, dark, and handsome. Approachable but also not at the same time. Sharply dressed and sharp attitude. This man that visits the library ever so often had become your daily motivation to keep on working at this school despite the wage that Crowley gives you.

Divus Crewel, feared and admired by staff and students—also known as the man who stole your heart.

You feel so small compared to him. That would not be so farfetched. He is a remarkable man, and what about you? You are just a librarian at this school. You are like mere dust to him.

Yet, despite this, you continued yearning for him no matter how ridiculous it seems. Perhaps you have fallen too deep in romantic fiction that you make hopeless wishes. You are known to be excellent in reading people but for some reason, you find it hard to read Divus. His perfect posture whenever he would scan the Applied Sciences aisle showed that he is focused on his reading. However, it is his expression you find hard to decipher. He looks dashing as ever, of course, but his thin lips and neutral gaze makes it hard for you to know what he is thinking.

If your life is a novel it would be so easy to know what runs in his mind. What he feels for you. Maybe he could even know what you feel for him. In a story, what makes characters likable is knowing what their emotions, their feelings, their ambitions, and their dreams are, for they are already laid out in ink on pages. Implicit or explicit information, simple or complex structure of personality, it does not matter. You would easily know about them for they are just sentences away from understanding.

And in romance novels…oh, how dreamy they are. How easy they make it seem to fall in love, to confess, and to achieve a happy ending. However, as a librarian, you know the reality of your situation. Your relationship with Crewel is a professional. Strictly, if you were to add an adjective. Is it really strictly professional? Your right brain points out the moments in your life where you interacted with him. At faculty meetings, reunions, at the library…moments like those just feel surreal you almost believed that you made those up on your own. Probably because you initiated each of those interactions yourself.

The only time, where Crewel would come to you himself, are rare. One time he came to the library and checked out a book to read in his spare time. His voice distracted you. It was like cherry wine. Sweet, smooth, enough to make your throat dry and your cheeks flushed. Oh, you could listen to him talk for hours in that tone of his, and he could even make you do anything he pleases.

You greet each other good morning or good afternoon when you pass by each other, and he would smile a teasing one at you as if you two shared a secret with each other. Well, technically you did, for one time you bought him coffee under the pouring rain, and he repaid you for your kindness. Soon enough your coffee exchange became a routine for both of you. It was sweeter than the cream in his coffee. It was more refreshing than the rainy day you shared with each other.

His gaze. His posture. His voice. His smile. Despite those small interactions with each other you are still troubled by what he thinks of you. A friend? A colleague? A special someone? Why is this so hard? Why was it so easy to fall in love? And when things could not get worse for you, your left brain argued that he might not be interested to mingle with a man.

Well, you could find out for yourself, but that would be creepy. Your workspace is in the library! You could not just leave when you please just so you can observe him. You could not use the staff files to your advantage—that is being a borderline stalker. Whatever Crewel’s orientation is, is his to keep and his to disclose to you. Oh, but still. If this were a novel, you could easily analyze the situations that give off evidence of him liking men. Or liking someone like you.

If that were the case you would not have a hard time trying to decipher his words, his gaze, his tone, and his actions towards you. If that were the case…if that were the case…then…well, there’s no then. Divus Crewel is not a fictional character to analyze. He is your coworker, your colleague.

It is hard to know what he thinks of you, at all. You really wished that you could…but the thought of knowing what he thinks to scare you, as well.

Rejection is not that far from reality. Who are you compared to him again? A nobody. A simple, ‘timid’, librarian that enjoys reading romantic and fiction novels and inserts himself in scenarios he makes up for himself just so he can…find the happiness he wishes to have.

But Divus is your happiness. Became your source of happiness. Ironic how he colors the muted floor of the library with his monochromatic appearance. Maybe it is better that you keep your feelings to yourself. You avoid the risk of rejection and humiliation as well as ruining whatever it is your current relationship with Crewel is.

You barely registered the visitor in front of your desk until a familiar red leathery gloved hand rested atop of yours. The contact of the leather sent a spark of electricity through you that you snapped your head up to meet alluring silvery blue eyes. There is only one person in this college that owns those distinct, beautiful, silvery blue eyes.

Divus.

“Have I interrupted your moment of peace, sir?” He asked in that cherry wine voice of his. It made your throat dry up and your face warm. “N-No—no!” You squeaked, shaking your head to brush off the embarrassment. Quickly, you fixed your composure and appeared presentable. As presentable as you could be under his stare that is. You just hope that he found some amusement in your haste. “D-Div—Mr. Crewel, what can I do for you?” You smiled as you speak in a professional tone. The edge of his lips curled into a familiar smirk and still you could not determine what was running through his mind at the moment.  

“I came to return the book I borrowed last week,” he said, placing down the novel on your desk. Sense and Sensibility. Jane Austen. Right, he borrowed that last week. It is not your place to judge whatever it is he desires to read. “Of course,” you nodded, “did you enjoy reading it?” You started on a small talk as you take out your logbook for the check-ins and outs of books. “Somewhat,” Crewel shrugged, “I had my eyes set on another book I would like to borrow.”

“Oh? What is it? I’ll go get it for you.” You stood up after sliding the logbook back to its drawer. Crewel did not leave from where he was standing. His eyes were simply on you. You had to hide your nervousness under his gaze. “I had my eyes on it ever since that rainy day, when you offered me shelter in the library until the rain passes,” he mused. “General fiction, I believe, was the genre.”

“If that’s the case then you better tell me the title,” you joked, taking a stool to the genre’s aisle. “Are you certain you can find it?” Crewel coolly challenged. You almost laughed but did not fight the smile on your lips. “Mr. Crewel, I spend most of my time in this library. I know every book and I still have the Dewey Decimal system memorized…” You kept your eyes distracted by scanning the spines of the books on the shelves. You are aware that he is still looking at you that is why you refused to look back at him. You are not sure what will happen if you look back at him while conversing.  

“If that is the case—” why does he suddenly sound a bit close? “—may you find ‘How to Ask your Dense Colleague Out to Dinner?’”

What a lengthy title. It sounds very basic and almost like a rule book than a novel. Well, that is General Fiction for you. Though you are quite unsure if such a book exists in the library. “Hm…” you hummed, a finger on your chin, as your eyes scanned the shelves. “I don’t think I have that here…Crowley pays me enough to support my rent and meals, but not enough to buy new books. Plus, the students…”

You heard him chuckle beside you and fought the urge to turn to him. “I believe I was not frank enough. Ah, well, I will put all subtleties aside, then…”

His warm breath tickling your skin was what made you finally turn to him. The proximity of your noses startled you that you nearly stumbled out of your stool if it were not for Divus’ hand grabbing yours to pull you to him. You gasped, shocked, as you landed close to his chest. His other hand supported your waist, and your eyes widened his silvery blues. You can feel your heart hammering against his. Your legs feel like putty when he gave you that teasing smirk. Your name—your first name—sounds surreal from his lips. Your entire world was a confusing mix of vertigo and bright lights.

“Will you go to dinner with me?”

You stared. You stammered. You are flabbergasted and flustered. You were unsure how to react to such a forward question that your brain completely shut down. But you cannot embarrass yourself—you must not. Not when…not when…not when…!

Oh, he will he stop saying your name with such sentiment?

“Is your silence a rejection or a consideration?” He rose a brow and your face flushed even more. “No! I mean yes—I mean—no, it isn’t a rejection—”

“Then you have been anticipating this?”

“Divus!”

He laughed. He laughed at your state. He laughed at your awkwardness. But most importantly his laugh sounds so pleasant. Like he was teasing you and you liked him teasing. You grew shy, averting your gaze from his and fidgeting with your fingers. “I mean…I mean…why?”

Crewel stopped laughing and looked at you. “Why what?”

“Why…me? Out of all people?” You asked as fear and denial keep you from grasping the fact that this is all real and not another scenario you made up during rainy days. Crewel’s face remained passive. Neutral. It was eating at your heart and you just wish what is going through his mind.

“Is it not obvious, puppy?” He raised a brow at you. The hand holding your wrist now tilted your chin in his direction. “It is not by fate or destiny, but a mere law that dictates the gravitational pull of similar atoms that is programmed by the need to chemically bind together.”

You suddenly felt stumped. “W—What?”

“I like you, puppy,” Crewel clarified, adoring the way your confusion turned to pure surprise, “and I would like to have dinner with you. Perhaps another, if the first went well.”

You need some time to process this. Your head felt so light you might pass out in his arms. Actually, you would not mind that in the slightest. His coat is just so soft it feels like heaven. A proper response of agreement failed to come to your mind so instead, you asked him again, “And what if the first does not end well?”

Crewel smiled at you. “Then we shall try again with the next dinner. Mind you, puppy, as a man of science, I am not afraid of failure if trying means more chances of perfecting my goal.”

“And what’s that goal?” You asked and physically stopped yourself from combusting when he leaned closer to you that your noses touch and you smell his cologne, and his bold scent.

“The goal to become yours.”

[wovenstarlight]

YWBK update: chapter 25 + liner notes

yesterday will be kinder has updated! you can read chapter 25 here, or start from the beginning here

okay, on to notes and commentary! first time i’m doing these, let’s hope this works out. commentary under the cut to save people’s dashes

Hamin laughs. “Given how bad you are at not being suspicious, that’s understandable.” “Oh, come on, I’m not that bad.” Hamin screws up his whole face in a squint. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little bad.”

this part was really funny to me when i wrote it because i was like “hmm reasons for DHM to understand why HHJ wouldn’t work in the guild” and then i was like Wait. Their Whole First Meeting, Dude. DHM was lowkey convinced for the longest time that HHJ was like, on the run from the KR version of the mafia, and got plastic surgery to look like his little brothers, and is possibly in some sort of witness protection program??? or something??? how else does he not have cops on his ass this man is so suspicious all the time

“I don’t think… They said the dungeons were, like, different worlds? Did they find people there?”

mafia theory second place. dungeon theory first place

“Like, humans? Um. No, no humans.” “So then you can’t be from there. Okay.”

dungeon theory shot down. mafia theory back in the running

“Hey,” he says cautiously. “I’m— I’m gonna go get us some water, okay? Why don’t you… take a minute.” “Okay.” “The bathroom is over there, if you need it.” “Okay. Thank you.”

after four years working alongside a guy you start to notice when he’s feeling a little out of it and needs a bit of a break... but as JHW mentions later you also learn to be a little subtle about giving him one

jung heewon What’s with your typing? It reads like Jihye’s [HYJ]’s fine. Very energetic Too energetic? He’s going to burn out. How do I make him calm down

Epic Burnout Man makes a reappearance! when translating sclass one of the things that makes me want to shake HYJ most is his habit of constantly adding things to his to-do list while he already has 1 billion things on his plate. and all the time he’s whining about “UGH there’s SO MUCH WORK to do” No One Asked You To Do It

Anyway. the point is. HYJ isn’t about to be beat by HHJ at Developing Issues 😔

jung heewon I haven’t spoken to him directly about this because if he’s anything like you he’ll take it as an insult You wtf whts tht supposed 2 mean quit typing jung heewon Better not say shit, mr “No, I can’t take days off and cater to my interests or go out with friends or on a date, I’m too busy taking care of the kids and making sure their needs are met, no I don’t care that there are thousands of people out there balancing personal enjoyment and romance and work AND kids at the same time, are you suggesting I be a BAD GUARDIAN to MY KIDS?”

see above re: not being too direct with pointing out when HHJ’s having Issues because he doesn’t react well

You wht but our eyes r fine jung heewon Even if having glasses doesn’t run in the family, you should still get him checked, just in case

top 10 funny time travel moments: referring to you and your past self as “us” (our = my eyes are fine), but other people think you mean “our family” (our eyes are fine = no family history of long/shortsightedness)

Also. Sooyoung-ie says hi [Attachment: 20XX1213_144516.jpg] 

ok no lie this was one of the parts that pissed me off the most, even though it’s Literally One Line, because. i love chat exchanges. i really do. when done right they’re a lot of fun to read. But Do You Know How Long It Took Me To Figure Out A Calendar For The Events In This Fic. now everything’s TIMED i have to count HOW MANY DAYS IT’S BEEN since XY event so i can CORRECTLY NUMBER the FILE ATTACHMENTS!!! this sucks!!! it took me fucking forever to pin down a timeline just so i could write this chapter plus the few before and after it!!!!

anyway i gave up when i reached year. i just put 20XX. fuck it. we are running on fairy tail time now. (actually i think that’s XXnumber number? XX76? or was it X796. something like that. Who cares i stopped watching fairy tail forever ago)

Fuck it! Hamin will understand!! “If you Awaken you should come work with me,” Han Hyunjae says all in a rush. 

“HAMIN WILL UNDERSTAND” => he literally was cool with me giving zero context for half a dozen absolute balls to the wall nonsense bullshit things i’ve done before. he’ll be fine with this too. dog_in_burning_house_this_is_fine.png

“You already know about the guilds, those are going to be for dungeon Hunters, but I was thinking of forming something like an independent group of contractors. Awakened people with skills that aren’t useful for combat, but that might… that will be generally useful. It’d be you and me, and maybe one other guy I met recently. Probably more in the future.”

given that HHJ has no idea currently that peace exists (i’m so sorry baby i’ll find a way to shoehorn you in soon i miss you so much) he’s got no intentions to start a kiseungsu business yet! he mostly wants to live quietly while just acting as a manager for other Awakening-related services, like YMW’s forge and DHM’s tracking service, along with the information exchange/lowkey spy ring that he’s planning on setting up with JHW and the bar. since HYH is fine associating with him in this timeline, HHJ’s thinking he can get a foot in the door that way, then eventually spread out into dealings with most major guild leaders

RIP to this plan. you were well-made but you will not last long.

“Please, I can’t tell you how I know that, I really can’t, it’d put me and my brothers in danger if it got out. But—” “No need.” Hamin looks slightly alarmed, and Han Hyunjae feels himself settle at the obvious concern in his eyes.

MAFIA THEORY RAPIDLY RISING TO PROMINENCE??? THIS IS NOT HOW DO HAMIN WANTED HIS GUESS CONFIRMED

“I spoke to the Task Force Head and she said that there’s been discussion about hosting a meeting for the nearby high-rankers, where they’ll announce the guild proposal and see who else is interested in trying it out.”

“they’ll announce” i’m sorry king 💔 you deserved a nap

(OH ALSO FUN FACT choi eunyoung is a canon character, not an OC of mine! she appears in uhhh i think late 140s? 150s? something like that)

“I think there’s… probably only one other S-rank who’s Awakened right now?”

Hehehehehehehehehehehehehhehe

Hamin beams. “No, they’re doing great! Spookie’s taken really well to the new housing situation, but I think Spots might miss the store…”

shoutout to @daemonic-dawn​ for letting me borrow a pet name, love u king. i had a much longer ramble about pet names here but i finished typing and realized it was all entirely off topic so i removed it for convenience

Hyunjae makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. “Don’t— I mean.” He huffs, visibly taking a deep breath, and Yoojin frowns reflexively. [...] “Is everything alright?” Yoojin kind of wants to be annoyed at his tone on principle, but he forces his shoulders to relax, matching Hyunjae’s posture. Though he can’t stop himself from being a little short when he answers.

things the brothers have learned in four years living together: getting confrontational often leads to arguments that just fizzle out anyway, so it’s way fucking easier to consciously tone down their combativeness in advance when talking to each other about things they have problems with, instead of screaming their heads off and then having to calm yoohyun down afterwards to boot

“I guess. Whatever.” Yoojin slumps. “Can I…” “Hm?” Hyunjae blinks at Yoojin as he gestures to the spot on the bed beside him, then jolts. “Oh! Yeah, sure, c’mere.” He opens his arms, and Yoojin goes over and flumps on the bed, head in Hyunjae’s lap. Almost immediately, Hyunjae starts stroking fingers through his hair, and Yoojin relaxes into the touch, listening as Hyunjae continues speaking.

cuddles 🥺🥺🥺 sorry i don’t have any other commentary here just. cuddles. extremely and overwhelmingly comforting for a man who spent the better part of 8 years(?) with no major positive relationships, and a kid who spent 12 years of early life basically abandoned by his parents. you had best bet they gave up on not hugging each other 1 year into this whole mess

Yoojin hums in acknowledgement. It’s not like he’d ever let himself get hurt; he has too many responsibilities to his family and friends. If he wants to be good enough to keep up, he can’t afford to fuck up like that. But… hyung will worry if he keeps working so hard. He can slow down a little for him. 

Problems disorder man when will you stop. the way he sees “getting hurt” as an inconvenience and an obstacle to his duties rather than a danger to himself. the way he doesn’t really care if he himself gets hurt, but if it’ll worry his family, then it’s a no-no. it’s just. wow. i know i wrote this but i hate him

“Not really. I talk to Myeongwoo about it sometimes.” “Ah, right, Myeongwoo.”

haha gays

“Don’t be weird about him,” Yoojin warns[...]. “I won’t, promise.”

if the “i won’t” line had a dialogue tag it’d be “Han Hyunjae lied”

“Is Eunwoo still in his relationship?” “Mhm, happy as ever. Apparently they’re trying long-distance, now that Eunwoo’s gone off to university abroad.”

three guesses for who eunwoo’s dating and you won’t need the first two

Hyunjae raises his hands like he’s going to deny the accusations levelled against him, so Yoojin seizes him by the collar and shakes him until he cries for mercy

oh my o/rv ass struggled so bad with not writing “shakes him like a man betrayed” here. it killed me not to. but in the end i prevailed (against, uh, myself. don’t think about it too hard.)

“Jeez, okay, he’s an F-rank!” “Eh?! Then why—” “He’s also got an SS-rank potential skill,” Hyunjae admits[...].

play-by-play of this scene because god if i draw any scene in this fic it would be this one just for the sheer hysterical nature of HYJ’s reaction:

YOOJIN: I HATE YOU WHAT THE FUCK WHY. TELL ME HIS RANK

HYUNJAE: HE’S AN F

YOOJIN: WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK?

HYUNJAE: he’s also got an SS-rank skill,

YOOJIN:

[rosie-janeposie]

Quaffles, Bludgers, and Quarrels Ch. 2

ao3

Chapter 2: All in the Swing Summary:          

Ellie's eyes widen as a Bludger came roaring towards them. The redhead tightened her grip on the bat McNully headed to her. She stood up, she took a purposeful step forward and swung.

Ellie turned her head when she noticed Orion making his way to the Commentator's box. The dark-haired boy scanned the box to stop at the small girl holding the Beater bat. Ellie gave him a weak smile; it was a half-second before she lowered the bat. The bat was soon behind her back as a blush crossed her face.

Notes:          

Hello, my Lovelies!

So, my computer ate my files. I am so sorry for the delay.

Ellie is about to get thrown to the lions pretty soon. But that is for another time, is it not? Right now, she is trying not to step on toes. Plus, she is having fun ruffling a few McNully feathers. Don't worry, Rowan will be joining us shortly. :)

I do not own any of the Hogwarts Mystery Characters. I do however, own Ellie Bennett.

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                                                        xXx

McNully quietly watched the pitch as the Ravenclaw team began warm-ups. If his plan worked, there would be a 27.4% chance for Williams to gain interest in helping Ellie. Murphy had caught glimpses of her practice with Skye, as unorthodox as Skye's help seemed. Ellie was: driven, resourceful, fast (for a school broom), clever, and talented.

Perhaps, that was why Skye was so stubborn to try and help the redhead. It was hard to tell if Skye was annoyed or impressed with the girl's persistence. All McNully knew was that he couldn't sit in the Commentator's box spying on Skye's "secret training sessions." Skye was running the poor kid into the ground. Plus, they were not that secret... As if Skye was humble enough to keep anything Quidditch related a secret. That… and Skye kept dragging this poor girl down to the pitch before a friendly or a Ravenclaw pract-

Oh …

McNully watched as the vibrant blue-haired girl shot past the Commentator's box. Skye in her own way of trying to gain Orion's attention. She knew Orion wouldn't listen to Skye's boasting. He would, however, pay attention to the enigma that was Ellana Bennett. The girl who is willing to be bombarded with bludgers. The redhead riding a bucking broom. The second-year batting dizzy gnomes off the pitch. Skye may have talked a big game, but she did have her heart in the right place. It was just masked under her own need to prove herself to her father. Damn, why couldn't girls be easy to understand? "Good move, Parkin."

"What was that?" A small voice asked to his right.

McNully jumped slightly; he and Ellie sat together in the Commentator's box as the remnants of Ravenclaw's team performed drills. "Thinking out loud. Oh, before I forget, take this!" Murphy leaned forward, his eyes strayed to the beater bat he kept in the box for practice. It wasn't uncommon that a rogue bludger or two would set course for the box. He handed the bat to Ellie's waiting hands." There is a 23.7% chance your reflexes are better than mine."

"What do you want me to do with it?" Ellie blushed as soon as the words left her mouth.

"How else are you gonna hit a bludger?" McNully quirked an eyebrow, "You want to be a Beater, right?"

"I wasn't ready, okay!" Ellie couldn't help as she stomped her feet. Her cheeks puffed and flushed with embarrassment. "I had a lapse in memory, okay?"

"If you say so Curse-breaker," he paused briefly, he saw the glare that crossed the round face looking at him. A small part of him wondered if the rumors were true about her temper. If so, this was not the place to test his luck. Recognition crossed his features; McNully gave a polite nod before turned back to the pitch, "I mean, Bennett."

A small smirk crossed her features; she won't tell him it was because of the audible crack in his voice. "It seems we made progress, McNully."

The Blond placed his hands up jokingly in surrender, as he set his sights on the players on the pitch. Ellie watched with interest as the Ravenclaw team seemed to split into their respective positions. "There seems to be good communication on the pitch between the Ravenclaw chasers. Though they are all relatively young, they act as though they have been working as a team for years. Careful boys, there is a 59.89% chance that Miss Parkin may have some ideas up her sleeves. I hope you can keep up!" McNully's voice resounded over the pitch.

Ellie's eyes flickered to Skye immediately, due to her vibrant blue hair. Perhaps, that was her reason for the vibrant color to draw attention. The female chaser turned her head towards the Commentator's box, her tongue sticking out as she zoomed past. On her coattails, through the air, were two boys, one she recognized immediately as Anderson. He was a lean sandy-haired boy, his cheeks were sunburnt, and it shown against his ashen complexion. Anderson, according to Skye, was new to the team this year. On the far-side was a dark-haired boy, with an attractive dazed smile as he flew laps around the pitch. Orion Amari, apparently caused a lot of talk being the youngest Quidditch Captain at Hogwarts. Ellie gulped, there was a lot of talent on the Ravenclaw team, how was she going to compete? "So, what are the chasers attempting?"

McNully smiled as he leaned towards the girl, "They are attempting an original play that I created." He gave her a quick wink.

"Ah shucks," she stated, giving him a look, "I see I'm not the only one who is subject to great McNully wisdom? Here I thought I was special."

He gave her a look, "Don't patronize me."

She smiled at the pout that crossed his face, "You love it."

"I think you need to review the definition of 'love'..." He murmured. Ellie smiled while McNully rolled his eyes; the Blond leaned forward to announce the next move being performed on the field. "Amari, Parkin, and Anderson are attempting the  Thimblerig Shuffle. " Ellie smiled at the excitement shown in the face of the blond in front of her. "Watch as the Ravenclaw Chasers have quality teamwork, they have a 78.9% chance of it succeeding." His words reflected the pride he held in his Quidditch strategy. "It does give a subtle nod to the Porskoff play, though the Chasers need to rely on their broom work and quick hands."

"So," McNully covered the microphone when the younger girl spoke up, "I hate to ask…" she noted, looking out at the field. Williams seemed to be merely dashing up and down the field. But otherwise in his own world, "What am I suppose to be learning?"

McNully turned his head back to the field, "Williams is a good Beater, little slow flyer, but he has power." McNully noted as he also turned to watch the players, "He also knows to watch his teammates' blind spots." Murphy turned to look at Ellie. Ellie could see this part of McNully she had only seen once before during their initial meeting. "You see Bennett, part of a good offense is to have a strong defense. To have a strong defense, you need to know where your weaknesses are."

Ellie nodded as she watched the action on the field as she paid closer attention to Williams. Perhaps it was just her personal bias, but he just seemed to be drifting around the p, watching his teammates fly through the air.

"Williams!" Ellie watched as Orion called to the circling Beater. "Try to knock the quaffle out of the Chasers' hands!"

Ellie quirked an eyebrow as she saw how quickly Williams acknowledged the orders given to him. Williams adapted to the task dictated to him. Gone was the cranky… "McNully, what year is Williams?"

"Fifth-year." He had gone from the cranky fifth-year who was complaining on the field before the Ravenclaw practice. He seemed to be all talk complaining about Orion; however, he seemed to take his orders and suggestions without much defiance. "Williams is not as bad as he appears to be," McNully commented as he covered the microphone, "That was why I  tried  to have you talk to him."

Ellie let her lips form an 'o' as she watched the older boy fly around the pitch. There had to be a method to McNully's madness. Ellie became enticed with the movements of the players before her. Ellie watched as a boy with a frame similar to Williams sat at the far end of the pitch. If she remembered what Skye had said during her Quidditch training and bits of commentary she heard from McNully, that boy was Daniel Travers. She has seen him here and there talking with Chester. He looked different with his blond hair tucked into the Quidditch helmet.

Travers was focused as the young Chasers set course towards the goalposts. It seemed that Orion seemed to be attempting to gain Anderson's attention for a pass. Williams was proving to be a formidable obstacle for the Chasers.

"It seems Williams is attempting to retrieve the quaffle from Anderson." The bespectacled girl watched as Williams attempted to bump Anderson's broom, "but just a reminder ladies and gentleman, there is a fine line between a bump and a foul!"

"And there is a fine line between commentary and being annoying," Skye yelled in jest as she flew past the Commentator's box.

"Ladies and gentlemen, there's an 81.9% chance Parkin is now doing her Transfiguration essay by herself tonight!" Murphy noted nonchalantly into the microphone as the player continued their motions. Ellie let a snort passed her lips. She was apparently not the only one who got roped into Skye's academics. "Your  Felifors  essay, I'm sure will be blown out the door..."

"MCNULLY HEADS!"

Ellie's eyes widen as a Bludger came roaring towards them. The redhead tightened her grip on the bat McNully headed to her. She stood up, she took a purposeful step forward and swung.

   THWAACK!  

"Nice back-hand." The Blond commented. McNully's arms were raised to guard his head, "We just need to work on your follow-through, though."

Ellie turned her head to retort his comment when she noticed Orion making his way to the Commentator's box. The dark-haired boy scanned the box to stop at the small girl holding the Beater bat. Ellie gave him a weak smile; it was a half-second before she lowered the bat. The bat was soon behind her back as a blush crossed her face. Orion merely stared at her with a raised eyebrow, "I see, nice swing." He turned back towards the field, "WHY IS THERE A ROGUE BLUDGER?"

As the captain zoomed away, McNully's laughter broke the silence, "You can breathe again, Bennett." Ellie dropped the bat onto the ground, her eyes watching as Williams, Skye, and Flanigan wrestled the bludger back into the equipment box. It was McNully's voice that snapped her back to reality, "Come on, Orion is not that scary."

"Does he always have that stare?" Her voice was small as she collapsed back onto the bench.

"More or less," the Blond noted, shrugging his shoulders. "You're on his radar now, though."

"Yeah, as the idiot just holding the Beater bat…"

"Could be worse…"

"Shut up, McNully."

She felt a wad of paper hit her in the side of her head, "Someone has to keep you on your toes." He wheeled his chair back to look her in the face, "Relax, or you will psych yourself out for the friendly." He leaned forward to pull up his bag. Ellie watched with curiosity as McNully pulled out a white-striped box; he leaned over, offering the brightly-colored candy, "Have a JellyBean."

Ellie, without looking took a random Jellybean. She lazily popped the candy into her mouth. Her eyes widen at the sudden wave of heat that invaded not only her mouth but her nose. She started to cough, "Black-Pepper."

                                                               xXx

   Aaachoo!  

"Ugh," Rubbing her nose Ellie scanned the locker room at the random faces surrounding her. She recognized a few faces here and there from previous friendlies. Ellie took a deep breath as she peeked out the archway dividing the pitch and the changing rooms to scan the stands. If it was like her previous experiences, the stands would be filled with bored students looking for something to occupy themselves. Ellie did find comfort knowing that in the Commentator's box, McNully would be rooting for her even if his motive was to recruit her for the house team.

Deep breath…  Ellie turned to the locker room. She was on the Blue team for this friendly; she tried to see if she did know any of her teammates. It seemed other than in passing in the hall, one worth noting. Her eyes pause as she spotted a familiar purple-and-gold scarf.

"Andre!" She called, walked over to the other second-year boy. The redhead knew that she wasn't that good of a friend with the tan-skin boy. In fact, other than his help during flying class, Andre never seemed interested in talking with her. However, seeing him in a Blue-pinny was as close to seeing a friendly face.

Andre turned towards her shock evident on his face, "Oh, Curse-Breaker, fancy seeing you here. I didn't realize you liked Quidditch."

Ellie smiled, "Of course! My father would take me to Kenmare Kestral games whenever he could. Jacob would whine and say that the games were boring…" Her lips snapped shut. What was she thinking? Andre didn't need to hear about her brother. Just because she missed him didn't mean that everyone needed to hear about the famous Jacob Bennett. The same Jacob Bennett went from her superb big brother, who would read her The Tales from Beedle the Bard to the insane figure of the rumors. "Anyway, I have been a little hesitant; Penny was the one who told me to try out for the team. I always wished to play Beater."

Andre quirked a cautious eyebrow at her, "Did you hear anything from Amari yet?"

She dragged her toe into small circles in the dirt, "Not yet. But what about you? Everyone was so sure you would be on the house team."

Andre let out a humble laugh, "It seems Flanigan will be going nowhere anytime soon. That shouldn't dampen my spirits, though." The redhead jumped as an arm draped across her shoulders, "But, it's okay. How about we do this then, I'll root for you to become Ravenclaw's next best Beater. In return, you'll root for obviously the best and most stylish Seeker in Hogwarts History."

She smiled, holding out her pinky to the second-year, "Sounds good."

Andre gave her an odd look before he hooked his own pinky around hers, "You are certainly an oddity, Curse-breaker."

A sharp-whistle sounded, causing everyone to jump. "Teams make your way to the field. The friendly will begin momentarily."

"Showtime," Andre noted, patting the redhead on the back. "Let's have some fun."

Ellie smiled at him as she shouldered her Quidditch bat. She followed closely behind Andre and other members of her impromptu team through the archway. A light breeze presided over the pitch as the other team in Grey Pinnies stepped onto the pitch. It was nerve-wracking as the first Friendly she ever participated. The redhead didn't realize that people had to sign up prior to ensuring all the positions were filled on the field.

"It's a beautiful day for a Quidditch Friendly, with a 98.3% chance of edge-of-your-seat excitement!" The familiar sound of McNully erupted over the stadium. The sound of dedicated spectators followed shortly, "We two impressive impromptu line-ups for today's friendly. Just reminder for anyone new to how friendlies work, teams are made up of students from multiple houses. Winners receive bragging rights and 1 House Point for their respective houses." Polite claps could be heard around the stadium.

While McNully was talking over the megaphone, Madame Hooch was ushering the players towards her. "I have decided to make this Friendly is learning opportunity since many of the houses will be holding tryouts this weekend. Hufflepuff House will be holding Tryouts this Friday after dinner. Ravenclaw will be holding tryouts this Saturday morning before breakfast. Gryffindor tryouts following that afternoon." Her arms were resting on her hips as her yellow eyes went between all the players. "If you have questions, today is the day to ask."

"Pipsqueak," a low female voice noted, "Bennett." Ellie turned to see a familiar blonde girl glaring at her. Ellie was staring at Grey's team's female Beater, Erika Rath. Ellie could distinctly remember the glare she received from Erika Rath in the Great Hall when she happened to bump into the blonde. Ellie had the impression that Erika was anything but a friendly face. The redhead watched as Erika's eye dropped to the bat that hung at Ellie's right side. Ellie straightened her back as she tried to readjust her grip. Erika made a point to acknowledge Ellie's current hand position, "That is how you break your wrist." Ellie was surprised as Erika pulled the bat from her hand. What surprised her more was when Erika grabbed her arm and placed the bat back into her hand. Moving her hand to grab just below the swell of the bat. "This is how you hold your bat." Erika made a point of showing Ellie how much easier the bat swung, and in theory, Ellie would be able to flip her bat with ease.

"Thank You?" Ellie was unable to hold the surprise on her voice. Erika merely shrugged before she walked back to her side of the field.

"Just be sure to keep that grip during the match." The older girl noted, "Hate for you to break your glasses."

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  Notes:  

Alright, my lovelies!

Please leave a Kudos and/or comment down below!

See y'all next time

~Rosie