#I DON'T KNOW WHY BUT IN ALL THE ARTICLES IN MY LANGUAGE THIS CANON IS TRANSLATED AS SOMETHING SIMPLE AND HARMLESS DESIGNATION OF FAILURE

[annoyingann]

Today I learned about the Chinese character 干, which means "to work" but in the form of an adverb it means "in vain" (If I understood correctly, in slang it became non-normative vocabulary).

Of course, it depends on the tone (I don't understand Chinese at all :'D) but I thought it was funny! So here's Ren tired from studying hehe

Comrades linguists and native speakers, if you have any clarifications, I'll be glad to hear the corrections!!🙌

[immarble]

If the 141 aren’t in the military, shooting people to death for the greater good, what would their other jobs be?

Hi again! Back at it again at Krispy Kreme with me rambling about more head canons! This time it’s what their other jobs may be if the 141 aren’t shooting people and y’know, all that military jazz. Not gonna lie, this may be somewhat important for my fic that I’m creating, so I thought why not kill two birds with one stone? Not only for me to give these characters an actual life along with their personalities (especially Soap and Gaz, as they’re the main characters of my WIP which I won’t disclose, it’s a spoiler lol), but also for you to enjoy and maybe, just maybe might be similar with my own interpretation (however if you have any different kinds of head canons of the characters mentioned then by all means, please comment on what their jobs would be! It’ll be interesting to know everyone’s ideas, and I love to hear from you gremlins!)

Anyways, let’s get started! Once again, from my previous head canon ramble I’ll be using the five (Price, Ghost, Gaz, Soap and Roach), but like my previous post you can ask me on different characters that I can do and I'd be happy to yap, (same goes with the previous post!)

Price: Captain… Of the football team!

(Fooled ya.)

So when I was making this I was like, “Y'know, I could make Peepaw Price become a captain again," So why not make him a star football player? I saw a fanart of Price competing in football (I wish I tell y'all who the artist was so I can praise their work and give ‘em all the kudos LMAO), but I thought it was fitting for him y'know? Like just imagine him grabbing wins and trophies because his team (can be any, whether it'd be the 141 or different characters) are the best of the best.

Ghost: Detective..?

Honestly? He gives either L.A. Noire or Sherlock Holmes vibes, take your pick. Anyways, I think Simon would be a pretty well known detective, who leaves no stone unturned and his methods are… Mysterious, to say the least. Rumors say that he may be a serial killer, like the infamous Dexter, but nobody could know if he's part of it or not. (And besides, you shouldn't question The Ghost… Lest you don't want to be the headline of a news article.)

Gaz: Model

Gucci, Prada, YSL, Abercrombie and Fitch. Whatever the brand is, if there's a new clothing article coming out then Kyle's your model. He makes rather mundane pieces and jewelry work like a charm, as people flock to the socials for that new accessory or shirt (hell, even a fucking DRESS), as YouTube videos and Tiktoks always chant his name like he's Jesus Christ of the modelling industry. He knows it, and he fucking loves it. Ooh and don't remind me about the red carpets and the award shows, if you see him then you just know he's rocking out in brands that could pay off your mortgage, in beautiful dresses or crisp suits. Hell, you may even spot him mingling with the stars, (have you seen him chatting it up with Price during the Oscars? Vogue did a news article just last week.)

Soap: Bartender

Now before you ask, I don't think he'd work in some dive pub in some bumfuck, no where. No, I'd think he would work in a pretty well-known spot in England (forgot to mention, but all of them work in the UK), whether it'd be Piccadilly Circus or Manchester, he's there workin’ his charm and giving great service. Now he probably wouldn't in a busy nightclub, just somewhere nice enough where there's enough customers to keep it buzzing as his Scottish brogue works on the regulars and the newcomers who's here for good times and great drinks. (And hell, maybe one day he can make it big, either in comedy or an actor… But for now, there's patrons to serve and tips to be earned.)

(artist by the amazing arizona.mint.tea, SEND THEM LOVE RAHHH!!!) ((sorry if y'all are expecting a roach gif, with the rainbows and shit. i couldn't stand it 💀))

Roach: Sign Language Interpreter

Hah, you'd think Gary, someone who cannot speak, would NOT work in BSL? Think again. A simple job really, all he has to do is sign either a news segment, a show or heck, if he's lucky, at the Superbowl. And besides, if he's lucky he could be the next Justina Miles. (If you don't know her, she was the sign language interpreter from the Rihanna Superbowl concert.) Oh, and if he's really lucky, he's been looking for dance groups and he may or may not have a spot for a pretty well-known play happening next month...

And that's pretty much it! It's a bit quicker than my previous post, but honestly I think I want something short and sweet, so I hope you like it in this way. Once again I hope you enjoy my interpretations, and please comment on whatever you like or if you have any headcanons of these boys and I'll catch y'all later! (Gonna go rot in my bedroom rn, squealing at new edits, fanart and fanfiction…)

[shinx-stardust]

oh shit i just realized i forgot to post the trans dipper essay

oh well, better late than never!

Introducing - Why Mason "Dipper" Pines is Trans and Why that Matters - an essay I spent more time on than I did my actual college project today

Mason "Dipper" Pines from Gravity Falls is trans. Trans masculine, to be specific. Do I believe this was intentional? No. Do I believe that there's a seriously convincing case to be made? Fuck yes.

So first off, he's just like me frfr, which is pretty compelling in and of itself. But that's not enough for a whole essay, so we move onto our second point - character designs. Dipper is designed like, well, like every modern-era trans man I've ever drawn who isn't goth. The shorts, the one shirt in the one color, the absolute insecurity. He even does the hunch of the back! Also, I think I heard somewhere that the vest is to make his shoulders look broader, which I'm not entirely sure is canon but I am accepting this whole-heartedly. It's such a trans move of him. He's too young (and it's summer so it's too hot) to wear a dysphoria hoodie so he picked a vest. (I say too young because dysphoria hoodies usually cover your chest and Dipper and Mabel probably haven't hit puberty.)

The second part comes directly from science. According to this article, and many others, sex in identical twins is complicated, but most identical twins will be born the same sex. There are cases where this isn't true (which might be the case for Mabel and Dipper) or they might be fraternal, which is also pretty likely. However, looking at them when they were younger (and listening to their very similar voices), it's likely they were identical and both girls. That's not to say I dislike trans Mabel - every trans woman I draw dresses like her, so I do love her being trans as well and them hitting the age of like. 10. and swapping genders is incredibly funny and adorable to me.

So, we can't reliably use the aforementioned evidence, then, can we? After all, identical twins can be different sexes, although rare, and we don't have any proof they are identical beyond their visual (and when they were younger, audible) similarities. Well, first off, I'd say that's pretty compelling evidence already. In a cartoon, especially one as detailed and beautiful-looking as Gravity Falls (the art is good and I will die on this hill), visual language makes up for a lot. And Alex Hirsh has gone on record saying that he very much wanted Jason Ritter and Kristen Schaal for Dipper and Mabel respectively, to the point where he would have canceled the show if Kristen hadn't signed on, so I wholeheartedly believe every character (with the exception of Grenda and any other characters who had last minute va's picked) had their voice actors picked very specifically. I can't find whether Jason Ritter voiced younger Dipper, though, so that's a dead end.

Now, that's all well and good, but it's a lot of visual language, isn't it? Why don't we move into something more based in the writing itself?

So the first and most prominent example of Dipper being transgender is the episode Dipper vs Manliness. You know it, you probably have emotions on it, it's the episode where Dipper is trying his hardest to be a man's man. The episode was supposed to be about toxic masculinity and how to be a real man is to stick to your morals. It's a good lesson and in my opinion, holds up even in 2024. Pretty good. Does a great job of what it wants to do. Now, Dipper vs. Manliness has been dissected to hell and back already as a transgender allegory, so I'll keep this brief: the episode centers around Dipper being mocked for not being manly. While Mabel and Stan still see him as a man, albeit an effeminate one, it gets to Dipper. He proceeds to do anything to prove himself a real man. If viewed as a trans allegory, Mabel is teasing her brother and not realizing how deeply it actually hurts him (whether accidentally because she fails to realize how insecure he is over it or because she hasn't been there before, depending on how you want to headcanon it). As for Stan, I like to pretend he's supportive but regularly forgets Dipper was ever a girl, so he makes a serious slip up because of that (and/or he's regurgitating stuff said to him. That hits harder if you also headcanon trans Stan, which I am warming up to). Dipper proceeds to try and prove himself a man, crying when he takes even one more blow to his self esteem/sense of identity as a man, and eventually gets comfort from his family when they realize just how BADLY they messed him up. He is affirmed as a man and the episode ends. Everything that can be said, has been said - including that you don't have to act toxically masculine - or even masculine at all - to be a real man. Remember this part, it will be important later.

So, other trans moments for Dipper come a little sparser. Dipper vs. Manliness is the example for a good reason. But still, there's other moments. The short Voice Over from one of the short story compliation episodes is another one that's commonly referenced as a metaphor for voice dysphoria. Yes, Dipper's voice is cracking in ways common for a cis pre-teen boy his age, but the pitch and tone of his voice can also be seen as his more feminine voice peeking through. Taking the potion can be seen as taking testosterone or other hormones. Granted, this falls apart when you consider that Dipper is later discouraged from taking the potion, because that could be read as Dipper being discouraged from transitioning, but on the other side of the spectrum, it could be read as Dipper being affirmed as a real man despite his voice. From that perspective, his family prevents him from taking (possibly dangerous) homebrewed hrt. Also, the euphoria he gets when it does change his voice is just. Absolutely adorable.

Now, my favorite resource for Dipper acting trans is in the episode Headhunters. He's asking Manly Dan questions and Manly Dan calls Dipper a girl. And MAN the discomfort on Dipper's face. He immediately attempts to correct Manly Dan, but is shut down and the episode moves on. I think that for such a short moment, it does a good job of making Dipper seem trans, though. He is called a girl and feels extreme discomfort around it. He does not like being called a girl. He is not a girl. But he's not shocked or surprised or even really offended - he's resigned. He's used to being called a girl. Sure, he hates it, but he doesn't cry or scream or anything. Sounds to me like a trans man who's absurdly used to being misgendered but still hates it. That pain never goes away, but sometimes all you can do is flinch in discomfort, try to correct and move on, like the episode does.

For a (mostly humorous) video of more of Dipper acting trans, check out this video.

So I think we've made a pretty compelling point for Dipper Pines being trans masc here. Looks pretty good, yup, this is a great essay, let's wrap it up. Oh? What's that? The name of this essay?

Why Mason "Dipper" Pines is transgender and why that matters.

Well, let's dive into section two of this essay - why does Dipper being trans matter?

Someone could easily say it doesn't matter. Just fun fandom headcanons, that's it, wrap it up now. Nothing more to say. Dipper is trans and that's just a fun reading of his character.

But I don't think that's the case. I think that Dipper being trans means so much - to trans fans of the show, to fans who have never seen or spoken to trans people before, and to queer fans of Gravity Falls and similar shows. (I personally am a Steven Universe fan who really valued the representation there, so Gravity Falls and all it's queer coding means a lot to me.)

First and foremost, I'm not going to keep you in the dark as to why you're remembering my earlier point. As a recap, it was this: Dipper vs. Manliness, and by proxy, Gravity Falls as a whole, says that you don't have to be traditionally masculine to be a real man. For a show that spends a lot of time mocking a kid commonly headcanoned to be a trans man, that says a lot, and a lot of stuff I think more people need to hear.

You do not need to act like your gender to be your gender.

You do not need to present like your gender to be your gender.

You do not need to fit some rigid box that society enforces to be who you are.

If you are a man, you are a man, trans or cis, regardless of how you act. (And the same goes for women and nonbinary people! You don't have to fit a mold.)

You don't owe anyone anything.

You don't owe people masculinity. (Or femininity or androgyny for that matter.)

I think that's part of the reason Dipper vs. Manliness ages so well. Dipper reads as trans, especially to queer fans, and his story in that episode tells us that we don't have to be someone we're not for people to take us seriously as who we are. At the end of the day, the really masculine thing is staying true to you - a sentiment echoed and reversed in The Last Mabelcorn, where the most feminine thing you can do is to stay true to yourself. I can't find it right now, but I could swear that there's a That GF Fan video explaining my point a little better. The point is, there's nothing that makes you more of whatever your gender is than staying true to yourself.

Additionally, if Dipper really is trans and someone sees themself in him, that can help them explore their gender or explain it to other people. Young kids who have never interacted with trans people before can see Dipper and grow up to connect the dots - or grow up to have him crack their eggs.

I know I'm new to the fandom and I was already out before watching the show, but he really helped me explore my gender. I like dressing like him - he's very relatable, even though I'm old enough to be in college now. I see him as a very anxious, slightly paranoid trans kid, and I see a lot of myself in him. He has a lot of issues, and a lot of issues that aren't trans specific but definitely hit harder when you are trans. He makes me feel seen on a level that I never thought a cartoon character could do.

Honestly, here would be a good place to put a rant about representation in kids media - queer kids under the age of 12 exist and struggle. I liked a girl (before realizing I was trans) in fifth grade, so about 9 years old. There are kids who experiment with their gender when they're younger than that. We're here and we exist, and every single time a character in children's media is made and is prevalent, another kid is able to really see themself.

That's really the point of this section. Dipper is trans. That matters. People - mostly queer kids but people of all ages - see themselves in him. He's here and we see him as queer because it's validating. It feels so good to hear Stan affirm him at the end of Dipper vs. Manliness, because it proves that at the end of the day, you don't need to present as super masc or femme or androgynous to be who you are.

Gravity Falls, through coding Dipper as trans, sent a message:

You are seen. You are loved. You are valid.

Thank you for reading this all. Trans Dipper means a lot to me, and I love writing him and seeing him in general. I want more of him because Dipper being trans means the world to me.

I love you all. Have a wonderful day. Remember to stay true to yourself.

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Look! Up in the Sky!

Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia x Reader

Description: It's hard, making a name for yourself as an investigative journalist in a city as big as Metropolis. It seems like everyone and everything is against you, just because you weren't born and raised in Metropolis. But you're determined to make it. When a run-of-the-mill article turns into a hostage situation with armed criminals, you're not sure you'll be making it out of this situation alive. Can a run-in with Metropolis' own Superman light the flames of your passion once more? Or are you destined to pack up and go back home?

Disclaimers: DC canon-typical violence. Armed gunmen. Some language.

Warnings: Like most of my fics, this fic features a Female!Reader

Word Count: 3313

Author Note: Hiya lovelies! I've been thinking about this fic for a long time. I started writing it sometime early this year and never actually got very far. Several rewrites later and here we are!

First and foremost, I want to dedicate this story to the beautiful @sarahsmi13s, since it is her birthday! Vinny! Happiest of birthdays to you! I hope the upcoming year is bright and filled with as much joy as you've brought to me!

Second, I feel like I am permanently obligated to thank @horseshoegirl for being the Comma Queen she is and making sure my ramblings are well-written and actually make sense. This fic wouldn't be possible without you, Lucky!

This is going to be a multi-part story. Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

AO3: Cross-posted here!

Wattpad: Cross-posted here!

My Masterlist

Series Masterlist | Next Part

"I'm sorry, he what?!"

The mumbling on the other end of the phone makes you even angrier and more frustrated than ever. The frustration isn't new to you, not at all. It's part and parcel of being one of The Daily Planet's investigative journalists. The other thing the Planet appreciates in its journalists is people who have a nose for stories. You think you have one. Which is why everything is telling you that Peabody is prevaricating because he's trying to hide something.

"I understand your position, Mr. Peabody, but your contact is my biggest informant. If we don't have his testimonial, we'll never be able to publish this article on LexCorp."

There's more irate, increasingly loud yelling spilling down the speaker, but you could care less. You've been working on this article for months, carefully building layer upon layer of evidence, crafting the perfect hard-hitting expose. You're not taking his bullshit at face value anymore. Your mind is whirling as you lean back in your chair. Peabody is still spilling excuses into your ear, not that you care. Maybe you’re a little rough and brusque with Peabody as you hang up, but something about this situation is pinging in your head.

Your office is a bright space, all white walls, glass panes and metallic accents. From up on the 68th floor, Metropolis looks like a heaving anthill. Across the cityscape, another skyscraper glints tauntingly at you. You know Luthor is wrapped up in this. Okay, sure, corporate espionage isn’t exactly his deal, but who else could it be? You’ve carefully counted out every other potential culprit. Only Luthor is left.  Turning around, there’s an unholy rage in your countenance as you glare down at the twisted mess taking over your walls. There are newspaper clippings, articles, string and scribbled notes all over the walls. Just looking at it is sometimes enough to give you a headache. But you desperately need to get to the bottom of this situation. There must be a reason why all roads seemingly lead to Lex Luthor’s shining obelisk to his ego. You wouldn't be surprised if Peabody is clamming up because someone is blackmailing him.

Before you can further dig into the LexCorp situation, a whistle rings out through the air. You're the newest investigative journalist at the Daily Planet. It means you have the smallest office with half-broken heating and air conditioning, which nobody else wanted. It’s also the office furthest away from the bullpen.

The editor-in-chief of the Planet, a gruff, peppery older man named Perry White, only calls all of you together if there is something big brewing in Metropolis. You have to shove your way to the front of the circle loosely gathered around Perry. You're short, so you couldn’t see over the crowd if you tried.

“Alright, alright, settle down you lot.”

Perry's voice is gruff, carrying the tones of a person who grew up in Metropolis or one of its boroughs. Of course, most of the office hails from Metropolis. Sometimes you think your upbringing in the cornfields of Iowa has something to do with your distance from the other journalists on staff. After all, despite living in Metropolis for the past five years, your voice still holds the slightest twang. You can dress like a Metropolis professional, walk like one, and talk like one, but everyone makes it abundantly obvious you will never be a citizen of Metropolis.

The hazing is par for the course. You’ve seen more than your fair share in the three months since you started at The Daily Planet. The source of your struggles is, you’re sure, one person. She’s standing at the other end of the circle of reporters waiting with baited breath as Perry doles out assignments.

Natasha Trace.

She gets all of the best assignments from Perry, just because she’s his niece or something like that. The vindictive smirk she gives you as she accepts the latest city hall press conference is proof. Your own assignment is a little more dangerous, 300 words on the newest homeless shelter opening in Southside. According to the mayor, Southside isn’t dangerous anymore, but you don’t believe him. Perry quotes the same thing every chance he can get, especially because he sends reporters out to Southside pretty often. It’s all part of the Planet’s “For the People” reporting strategy. Every day, you hear people talking about another mugging or shooting or what have you. So you’re under no assumptions that Perry and Natasha are giving you an assignment they want you to succeed in.

You're cursing them more and more the next day when you're kneeling with a puddle of spilled tomato soup seeping into your sensible dark trousers. It was just your luck that masked gunmen waltzed into the shelter in the middle of your interview, wasn’t it?

 It was also just your luck that one of them had sent a spray of bullets into the air the moment hands went up. Cue some well-deserved screaming and a near-stampede for the doors, and you’d been pushed to the floor. So now you’re crouching in spilled soup with your hands up, trying and failing to moderate your breathing.

What the hell does a soup kitchen in Southside have for a gang of armed robbers, anyway? It’s not like it has much money. After all, this is only one of a string of new food shelters opening up in Metropolis. They’ve all been funded by the government, and they’re all supposed to be as clean as can be. Supposed to be, anyway. Obviously something isn’t right in the state of Denmark.

What’s just as interesting is the sight of the photographer you’ve been sent to the shelter with. Mickey Garcia is one of the Planet’s best. He’s got an eye for taking those photographs nobody else can. You’re not sure why Perry sent him with you. Usually he’s buddy-buddy with Natasha. He’s probably wishing he were with Natasha at City Hall right now. You know you are. But he doesn’t look scared or worried. He’s just kneeling in the soup next to you, hands up with his head cocked to the side and eyes staring into the distance.

It’s almost like he expects the police to come roaring up. Just as the lead invader turns his head, there’s a rush of wind and you see an imperceptible smirk on his face before he disappears between one blink and the next. You can smell ozone in the air, bitingly sharp, but it seems like nobody else notices but you.

Who the hell is Mickey Garcia? You almost wish you were hiding behind one of the tables. Because then you can pull out your notebook and start writing. Instead, it seems like all you have is your eyes and ears. How did he disappear so quickly? Metahumans aren’t exactly new in the world (or well, at least in the country). You remember reading about metahuman related events across the country. After all, everyone knows about Gotham City’s Bat. But recently there have been more and more reports. A meta-human in red-and-gold streaking through Central City. Villains with the power to freeze anything in its tracks and heroes with the power of the seven seas and beyond. And of course, everyone has seen the fluttering blue cape of Metropolis’ own metahuman.

So where does that leave you? Wishing for Superman, as you’ve heard him called, to save you? You’re not even sure he’ll show at all. There have to be a million other things happening in Metropolis more important.

“ALL OF YOU ON THE FLOOR!”

You’re not on the floor long when a hand grabs you by your hair and yanks you up.

“What do we have here?” A greasy voice growls the words into your ear as cold metal presses into your temple. “A little reporter eagerly waiting for a scoop?”

You shudder, your skin crawling at the hunger in this man’s voice as he traces his index finger up and down your throat. Your press badge thwaps against your chest with every movement.

“P-please.” You’re trembling in earnest, teeth chattering. “These people are innocent, th-they have no money. They’re here to get some food. The only money the shelter has is for food.”

His cackle chills you to the bone. “Oh, you’re so naive, you sweet little thing.”

“We’re not here for the shelter’s money. We’re here for the city’s money.” He grins, blowing his foul-smelling breath in your face. “And if the city doesn’t cough up the goods, we’ll just take you in exchange.”

“And what if he comes to save us?”

You’re not sure who asks, but it sparks a rising tide of questions. People are shouting the questions out, and the men grow angrier and angrier. From your new vantage point with a barrel pressed to your temple you can see how uneasy they actually are. Their fingers tighten around the weaponry, paling at the joints as they grip at the metal. The more people ask, bolstered by the sounds of the sirens outside and the crackle of voices through bullhorns, the angrier your captor gets.

“All of you, shut up!” It's a roar of sound which leaves your ears ringing. The gun hurts as it presses into your throat. It’s hard to breathe, to swallow, to think. Something tells you you're not getting out of this stand-off alive. Your pulse is thudding in your ears and your chest aches. You hear the tell-tale click and your eyes are screwed closed.

Please. Please. Please. I promise I'll be better. I promise I'll be a better daughter, a better employee.

You're not sure who you're praying to, but you’re praying nonetheless.

There's so much I haven’t done yet.

It shouldn’t be so sad, thinking about how pathetic your life is - how empty it is. You're braced to hear the sound of a gunshot, braced to feel pain and then feel nothing ever again. You can feel the silk of your blouse, the expensive one you never wear, sticking to your back as you heave in thready, unsteady breaths.

It's almost anticlimactic, the way it happens. You smell the same sharp ozone scent you did earlier and the hand wrapped around your throat, the gun pressed to the hinge of your jaw disappears. You keep your eyes screwed shut, trying to ignore the yells of pain and cut-off curses as people get beaten up. You keep expecting to feel the acute pain of a bullet lancing through you, burning through your skin. But you feel nothing. You hear nothing, and obviously all you can see is the underside of your own eyelids.

“Miss, you can open your eyes now. It's all going to be okay.” 

You know what this voice is saying as you stand stiff-backed in the center of the room. Your muscles are locked in place and your hands are curled into fists at your side. You're not sure you could move if you tried to.

The hands that hold yours are warm, warmer than they have any right to be. But they feel good, and you can feel yourself relaxing into the touch. When your eyes open, you're not sure what you expected to see. But what you get is Metropolis's own Superman. He is smiling at you, pearly teeth on display, big brown eyes gentle as he talks you out of your panic. You're enraptured by how his dark hair curls just so over his forehead and how his jaw is so well-defined it could cut diamond.

More than anything, you wish you were still holding your notebook and pen or a dictaphone or anything. If there was anyone you want to interview here and now, it's him. But something is bothering you about him. He looks oddly familiar, something in the turn of his cheek and the fall of his hair.

Your statement to MCPD takes the longest. Long after all the other hostages have headed home or been shuttled to other shelters in the city, you stand, ignoring the way tomato soup is crusting on your clothes and how your fingers ache. Maybe your statement wouldn’t have taken quite so long if you weren’t trying to interview your interviewer back. In any case, by the time your throat is dry and aching, it’s late, approaching midnight and the only person left other than police personnel is Superman.

“A-are you okay, Miss?” 

You blink at his words, because he sounds oddly bashful, and that is a look you never expected to see on a superhero’s face.

“I’m fine.” You grin, the motion only halfway genuine. “I'm just about to head out. I'm sure a superhero like you has better things to do, other people to save and whatnot.”

“U-um, no actually.” He tips his head to the side, using his hand to fix his already immaculate hair.

“Do you always wait around at crime scenes to walk a gal home?”

“W-would it be alright if I walked you home?”

Your questions collide in midair against each other. You huff out an exhausted laugh, but he just blushes a little, golden cheeks flushing as his eyes twinkle at you.

“N-no. I don’t make a habit of waiting at crime scenes to walk girls home. Guess that's something only for you.”

Now it's your turn to battle hot cheeks. You can't even fan your face off because you don't have a thing to fan yourself with. Flapping your hands makes you feel stupid. So instead, you let Superman lead you out of the shelter and onto Metropolis’ streets. The city is alive with the sound of cars and ambulances. Someone has a radio on their window playing music. It feels like you're in an entirely different place.

“So, what about that walk home?”

He smells good. For the first time you notice how good he smells, this Superman, now that your nose isn't clogged with the smells of spilled tomato soup and sandwiches. You want to spend time with him. You want to forget what is waiting for you in the morning, how angry Perry is going to be when you didn't get a scoop on the shelter or any pictures that you know of. Maybe if you spin the Superman angle to this? It doesn't feel right, exploiting this man when he's so clearly doing it to help people. You also don't want to stop talking to him yet.

“Sure.”

Honestly you wish you'd clarified, because when he said walk, you thought he was actually going to walk with you. Instead he sweeps you up in his arms and shoots up into the sky. You scream the whole way, hands scrabbling for purchase against his suit, finally settling for an arm around his shoulder. You're shaken and shivering when he finally stops moving.

“Shit, sorry.” 

You grumble into his broad chest at the cheeky apology. 

“Just thought you'd want to see the city how I see it.”

When you finally screw up the courage to take a look, your lips part in a gasp. The entirety of Metropolis is laid out in front of you. Lit in gold from all of the lights, you're grinning from ear-to-ear as you peer out over the city.

“It's gorgeous!” There's a pleased smirk on his face. “I can't believe you get to see the city like this!”

“Yeah,” He grins, something soft. “I didn't fall in love with the city until the first time I saw this view.”

“I can see why,” You gasp, witnessing how soft your colossal city looks in the moonlight, how it seems like a world filled with such promise.

“Let's get you home.” There's a blush on his cheeks as he swoops you down, following your murmured instructions like he knows every inch of the city.

You feel a little bit like a princess when he sets you lightly down on the doorstep. He's still floating in the air, the navy blue suit he's wearing clinging to every muscle. Now more than ever something feels familiar about him. He stays outside your door watching with the same smirk on his face, his head cocked to the side like he's waiting to hear your deadbolt slide home.

You're a little giddy when he flies away, and you curl into your bed like you're in a dream. You sleep well, for the most part, not half as traumatized as you expected to be after being held hostage at gunpoint. At least, until you jolt up in bed, your hair a mess around you and growl, “Garcia!” 

He'd disappeared when the police came to the shelter with their bullhorns and their posturing. You'd smelled the same sharp ozone-tinged scent in the air when he'd disappeared and when Superman shot into the room. But there is more too. The shape of his face, the way he smiled, the almost compulsive way he pushed his hair off his face. He acts just like Garcia does, too.

What is the likelihood your first encounter with Metropolis' own Superman would give you insight into his alter-ego? After all, nobody would suspect that quiet, bespectacled, sweet Mickey Garcia, a photographer for the Daily Planet, is Superman. Nobody, it's obvious, but you. Forget your conspiracy board on LexCorp and their shady dealings. Right now, an exclusive interview with Superman seems like just the ticket to rocket you into fame.

But you can’t let on that you know. You spend the day typing up a lackluster article on the shelter opening, your eyes peering over your computer every time you hear footsteps coming your way. The people walking past you never stop by, not even to chat. You're practically sprinting for the door when you see Garcia, chunky headphones around his neck.

“Hey, Garcia!” 

He turns and looks oddly surprised to see you. 

“You got a sec?”

“Y-yeah, of course.” 

His stutter is adorable. You have to remind yourself he is Superman. 

“I wanted to take a look at the pictures you shot yesterday. Obviously the opening wasn't what we expected, but it should be an interesting public interest piece anyway.”

When he's sitting in the chair next to yours, fingers flying over your keyboard as he shows you all of the photos he took as well as a few of the aftermath, you're questioning your gut instinct even more. How is it possible he got pictures of the police helping people, interviewing you, if he was Superman? 

It's nice, working with someone who smiles at you instead of spitting insults out behind your back.

“This looks great.”

There's a smile on your face as you look at the finished article. 

“Yeah, not bad for an article about a shelter opening turned into a hostage situation, right?”

“Y-yeah.”

You turn, and rest your arm on his forearm. You let your reporting instinct take the driver’s seat. When he's relaxed, maybe you'll get some answers out of him.

“I completely forgot to ask! How are you holding up after yesterday? You know what Perry always says, ‘We're a family here at the Planet!’. I was terrified when those gunmen burst in.”

You prattle on and on, seeing his face change, almost fall, when you mention Superman. 

“You know, he's awfully handsome, Superman is. He took me home, made sure I was alright.”

You grin, wickedly, though you know for sure nobody here in Metropolis knows you well enough to tell.

“And then he blushed.”

All of your suspicions are proved true when Mikey Garcia blushes the same way Superman did.

“You know something? Superman blushed just like that when he was showing me Metropolis how he sees it.”

There's panic in his eyes now. You're just fast enough to block him at the door, arm flung out to stop him from walking past you.

“So…. How long have you been Superman, Mickey Garcia?”

Taglist:

@sarahsmi13s @desert-fern @horseshoegirl @teacupsandtopgun

@roosterforme @cherrycola27 @kmc1989 @chaoticassidy

@shanimallina87 @a-reader-and-a-writer @dakotakazansky @seitmai

@shinycupcakebaker

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN ON AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR ON TUMBLR BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN AO3, ON WATTPAD, OR TUMBLR, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[j-eryewrites]

The Great Game (III)

Part 21 of The Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221B Baker Street

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Previous | Next

Word Count: ~10.8k

Author's Note: Tensions rise, and the threat of M continues to loom over their heads. When pulled too tight, things are bound to break.

It's almost the end. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I finished it around midnight, so forgive any typos and whatnot. Without further ado, I present the second-to-last chapter of Arbitrary Lives.

Warnings: Supreme angst, canon typical violence, Sherlock is Sherlock (but in the worst way), mentions of death, character death, mentions of gore, firearms, language, yandere relation themes, drugging (Let me know if I missed anything)

Case after case was how it seemed to go when Sherlock, John, and Y/N were racing against the mysterious M. Every time Sherlock would solve a puzzle given to him, the pink phone would ring moments later, presenting a new one. With each chime of the telephone, Y/N found herself getting more and more anxious. M was bigger than anything they'd ever seen; worst of all, they had no clue who they were. M seemed to operate from afar, offering their advice on cases of the illegal type, allowing M the anonymity to be anyone and be anywhere. For all Y/N knew, M could be some sick person stuck in their parent's basement on the other side of the world. Even so, M seemed one step ahead and knew every step they had taken. 

Sitting upon a plush, gray, white striped couch beneath her served more comfort than she'd like to admit. Sherlock had sent her and John on another goose chase after, yet again, another call from their tormentor. While Y/N was lost in thought, petting the hairless cat on her lap, John took the lead in questioning Kenny, the brother of Connie Prince. 

The two had done as much research as they could, which turned out to be a few newspaper articles, the bizarre gossip and facts they had gathered from Mrs. Hudson, and, of course, the Wikipedia pages on Connie. Once they put all their research together, they discovered they found a plethora of ways to tell which colors suited oneself and which ones brought out the sick in one's skin tone, but not much about Connie and her brother. 

A loud and content purr vibrated from the naked cat as Y/N's hands caressed its head and neck. Upon hearing the meow, John raised his brow, trying to hide his concern. The creature sitting on Y/N's lap was not a cat. John had seen Bjørn, and Bjørn was a cat. Y/N's pet had fur and a bush-brown tail. If anything, the Prince's cat was an abomination in his mind. 

"We're devastated," Kenny Prince sighed as he carefully placed his arm on the mantle behind him, leaning ever so slightly. As John withdrew his eyes from the fur-less animal, he found his brows pinching together as Kenny Price posed. "Of course we are." Kenny waved his hand and dramatically looked to the side with a somber expression. 

To say the least, John was confused. First, there was the cat. He didn't want to give that thing another thought. Secondly was Kenny's posing. Why was Kenny posing unless he was trying to...His finger brushed against something hard, and John scolded himself. The camera. They had brought a camera. Y/N had proposed they be reporters to gain an interview with Kenny. John would be the reporter and Y/N the photographer. Kenny was posing for candid photos for their article. 

"Can I get you anything, sir?" a voice spoke from behind John. It was Raoul, Kenny's staff member.

He whirled around and replied, shaking his head. "Er, no. No, thanks."

"And what about you, miss?" Raoul asked Y/N, who absently shook her head. Her fingers were still petting the cat. 

"Raoul is my rock," Kenny admitted, still holding his position. "I don't think I could have managed. We didn't always see eye to eye, but my sister was very dear to me."

A light pressure pushed down on John's thighs. Glancing down, he noticed the cat was no longer on Y/N's lap but his. A wave of disgust trembled through his body. With stiff fingers, he picked it up and dropped it on the other side of the couch where Y/N sat. The cat meowed in discontent, stepping back over to John. John shivered at the cat's relentless attempts and held out his arm as a barrier. 

"And–," John said, trying to continue Kenny's conversation and retain the purity of his own lap as it was reserved for Bjørn. "-and to the public, Mr. Prince."

"Oh, she was adored. I've seen her take girls who looked like the back end of Routemasters and turn them into princesses," Kenny continued. Meanwhile, his cat pounced over John's barrier and clung onto his lap. With a wince, John placed a hand on the cat's back. It happily purred.  "Still, it's a relief in a way to know that she's beyond this veil of tears."

"Absolutely," John muttered, hiding his grimace. He flashed Y/N a look, but she found gazing at Kenny Prince's coffee table intriguing. He frowned as concern for his friend bubbled to the surface. He could only imagine how exhausted she was. Not just physically from all the running around they have been doing lately but also as exhaustion of the emotional sort. John was not blind to Sherlock's actions, and it didn't take a fool to see that Sherlock was cold. His mind was solely occupied with M and the puzzles that he was given, which meant he didn't have much concern for others. It was not that he usually did, but with Y/N, it was different. She meant something to Sherlock.

John opened his mouth to whisper something to Y/N when he noticed Kenny's voice was absent. Right, John corrected himself. He was here about the case. The sooner he was done with this, the faster he could help both of his friends. 

"It's more common than people think," John began. "The tetanus is in the soil, people cut themselves on rose bushes, garden forks, that sort of thing. If left un...,"  Kenny Prince plopped down between Y/N and John. The sudden jolt of the couch awoke Y/N from her daze. Her shoulder was pressed tightly against Kenny's as he leaned into John, invading his space even more than hers. "...treated..." John finished, scooting as far away from Kenny as he could. 

"I don't know what I'm going to do now," Kenny confessed, leaning even closer to John. 

"Right," John said, biting the inside of his cheek. He peered over Kenny's shoulder and saw Y/N. They shared a look that screamed discomfort, but they could do nothing as Kenny pushed them into the sides of the sofa. As Kenny continued speaking, John and Y/N's eyes held a secret conversation, mainly curses and discontent with the situation. 

"I mean, she's left me this place, which is lovely....," Kenny's voice trailed off as his eyes never left John. "...but it's not the same without her." 

Before replying, John took a deep breath and stared down at his notes. "Th-that's why my paper wanted to get the, um, the full story straight from the horse's mouth. You sure it's not too soon?"

"No," Kenny said.  

"Right," John gulped. 

"You fire away," Kenny uttered. His longing gaze not once left John. The longer the conversation continued, the more uncomfortable Y/N felt; she could only imagine how John felt. Here was Kenny Prince, after his sister's death, flirting with John. Y/N observed Kenny staring at John, making her feel like a forgotten third wheel to a nonconsensual flirting session. She had to come to his rescue. She'd done it before with lots of her friends back home. It would be easy, so long as she could get off the couch, which's cushions were sucking her in deeper. 

Before John could ask any of his questions and Y/N could rescue him from unwanted attention, a buzzing echoed from her back pocket. Kenny turned over his shoulder to look at her as if she had interrupted a vital moment. She smiled awkwardly, shoved herself off the sofa, and answered her phone. 

"Y/N," Sherlock's voice rang over the phone.

"You know, one usually starts a call with hello," Y/N muttered. 

"Right, hello," Sherlock's voice oozed with sarcasm. 

Sherlock didn't speak for a moment. Y/N furrowed her brows. "Is there a reason you called Sherlock?"

On the other end, Sherlock struggled to find a response. He had practiced his excuse beforehand. Well, it wasn't much of an excuse, more of a warning. Even so, after hearing her voice, Sherlock had forgotten everything. He mentally reprimanded himself for falling back into his sentiment so quickly. Y/N needed to be safe, so he had to push her away. A task that only seemed to grow more impossible with each breath she took. 

John's eyes widened upon hearing Sherlock's name, and his escape was revealed to him. Shooting out of his seat, he snatched the phone from Y/N, quickly apologized, and began speaking to Sherlock. "Hi. Look, get over here quickly. I think I'm onto something," John breathed. Sherlock found himself missing Y/N's sweet voice. "You'll ne-" John was cut off by the loud footsteps barging into the room.  

Confusion plastered onto his face, and he hung up the phone. After all, there was no need to speak through a phone when Sherlock stood in the same room as him. 

"That'll be him," John said, pointing at Sherlock. Kenny Prince looked even more shaken than the consulting detective's friends were at his sudden appearance. However, the longer they pondered his arrival, the more John and Y/N realized this was normal for the great Sherlock Holmes. 

"What?" Kenny asked, looking at the unwelcome guest in his home. 

There was a calculated look on Sherlock's face before any trace of the consulting detective was washed away and replaced with a new persona. Y/N sighed as her legs lowered her body into an armchair nearby. 

"Ah, Mr. Prince, isn't it?" Sherlock took out his hand for Kenny to shake. 

"Yes," Kenny nodded, standing up to take Sherlock's hand. 

"Very good to meet you," Sherlock smiled. 

"Yes, thank you," Kenny said, still trying to figure out the situation.  

"So sorry to hear about...," Sherlock continued, but Kenny cut him off. 

Mr. Prince waved his hand, stopping Sherlock from offering false condolences about the situation. "Yes, yes, very kind."

"Shall we, er..." John cleared his throat, stepping over to Sherlock. He motioned for Sherlock to lean down before whispering in Sherlock's ear, "You were right. The bacteria got into her another way."

Sherlock couldn't help but notice the smirk that appeared on his face. "Oh yes?"

"Yes," John nodded. 

"Right. We all set?" Kenny asked, bringing his hands together. 

John, Sherlock, and Y/N frowned and watched as Kenny pointed to the camera on the sofa. Y/N grabbed it and removed the protective lens, turning it on. "Um, yes. Can you...?" she said, twirling her finger in the air, pretending to be a journalistic photographer. 

"Not too close," Kenny warned as he returned to his original stance by the mantle. "I'm raw from crying." Then he lifted his head and posed for the camera, letting Y/N take a few pictures. 

Beneath Sherlock's feet, Kenny's cat meowed. It butted its head against his dark trousers causing Sherlock to frown. He tilted his head as he peered at the cat. He wasn't sure if that's what he should call it. 

"Oh, who's this?" Sherlock wondered as he motioned to the feline. 

"Sekhmet," Kenny answered, finding a new pose for Y/N to capture. "Named after the Egyptian goddess."

"How nice! Was she Connie's?" Sherlock asked. 

"Yes," Kenny nodded, taking pride in his response. Little present from yours truly." Then John smelled it as Kenny picked up Sekhmet, and the ominous smell of disinfectant seeped from the hairless cat. John smiled as the piece clicked into place.

"Actually," John turned to Kenny, tapping Y/N on the shoulder. "I think we've got what we came for. Excuse us." 

"What?" Kenny gasped as saw Y/N place the camera strap over her shoulders and return the protective lens to its place. 

"Sherlock," John sternly stated, raising his brows to say he'd solved it. 

"What?" Sherlock frowned, trying to interpret John's signal.  

"We've got deadlines," John said, pushing his two closest friends out of Kenny Prince's living room. This left behind a puddle of confusion for Mr. Prince and his sister's cat. 

_____

Once Raoul had closed the door behind them, John erupted in cheers. Triumphantly, John raised his fist in the air and then brought it down, doing a little happy dance. Y/N smiled and giggled at the sight. 

“Yes! Ooh, yes!” John laughed. He turned to Sherlock and froze. 

One look from Sherlock swiftly ended John's parade. “You think it was the cat. It wasn't the cat,” Sherlock corrected. 

John shook his head in disbelief. “What? No, yes. Yeah, it is. It must be. It's how they got the tetanus into her system. Its paws stink of disinfectant.” John whirled around to face Y/N, seeking backup, but found none. 

“Honestly, I have no clue what’s going on,” Y/N admitted. “I just took pictures.”

A knowing smirk crept onto Sherlock’s face. “Lovely idea, John.”

“No,” John adamantly said. “He coated it onto the paws of her cat. It's a new pet, bound to be a bit jumpy around her. A scratch is almost inevitable. She wouldn't have...”

“I thought of it the minute I saw the scratches on her arm,” Sherlock announced, “but it's too random and too clever for the brother.”

“He murdered his sister for her money,” John said as his smile was wiped from his face.

“Did he?” Sherlock raised a brow.

“Didn't he?” John wondered.

Sherlock shook his head. “No. It was revenge.”

“Wait,” Y/N interjected. “Revenge? Who wanted revenge? I know his sister wasn’t the nicest to him, but even so, Kenny seemed…genuine?” 

“Raoul, the houseboy,” Sherlock began explaining the case. He straightened his coat collar and stood taller, glancing down at his friends. “Kenny Prince was the butt of his sister's jokes, week in, week out, a virtual bullying campaign. Finally, he had enough and fell out with her badly. It's all on the website. She threatened to disinherit Kenny. Raoul had grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, so...”

John shook his head, still in denial. “No, wait, wait. Wait a second. What about the disinfectant, then, on the cat's claws?”

“Raoul keeps a very clean house,” Sherlock noted. “You came through the kitchen door, saw the state of that floor, scrubbed to within an inch of its life. You smell of disinfectant now. No, the cat doesn't come into it. Raoul's Internet records do, though. Hope we can get a cab from here.” 

Sherlock peered up and down the street. There wasn’t a cab in sight. 

“Well, we could always walk back to the station or hop on a bus-“ Y/N suggested. Then, as if by divine intervention, a cab pulled onto the street. The trio hastily hailed the cab and jumped inside.

It did not take them long to arrive at the station. Traffic was horrible on the streets, but with a hefty bribe to the cab driver, they were bursting through the door of Lestrade’s office faster than Mrs. Hudson could flick on the latest episode of her favorite soap opera. 

A wave of black trickled majestically after Sherlock as he entered the office. “Raoul de Santos is your killer. Kenny Prince's houseboy. Second autopsy shows it wasn't tetanus that poisoned Connie Prince. It was botulinum toxin.” 

Lestrade sat up in his seat and sifted through the numerous papers on his desk. Finding the second autopsy report, his eyes scanned the results. His eyes widened. Sherlock was right.

“We've been here before. Carl Powers? Tut-tut. Our bomber's repeated himself,” Sherlock said.

“So how'd he do it?” Lestrade asked.

“Botox injection,” Sherlock answered.

“Botox?” Lestrade questioned, raising his brows. After all, it was not every day that someone was murdered with Botox.

“Botox is a diluted form of botulinum,” Sherlock explained. “Among other things, Raoul de Santos was employed to give Connie her regular facial injections. My contact at the Home Office gave me the complete records of Raoul's Internet purchases. He's been bulk ordering Botox for months.” Sitting across Lestrade, Sherlock swiftly crossed his legs and dug his hand into his coat pocket. “Bided his time, then upped the strength to a fatal dose.”

“You sure about this?” Lestrade asked in confirmation.

Instead of Sherlock’s voice answering, Y/N spoke up. “He is,” Sherlock peered up at her and felt his cheeks heat up. “Connie was an avid Botox user. It was all on the blogs and magazines. No one would bat an eye at the injection sights or if Botox turned up in the autopsies.” 

Lestrade nodded his head, “All right.”

“Sherlock,” John slowly said. “How long?”

“What?” Sherlock questioned as he snapped out of his daze. 

“How long have you known?” There was hurt evident in John’s voice. 

Y/N looked between the two of them. “Wait, you’re saying you sent John and I on a goose chase?” 

Sherlock shrugged, letting John and Y/N’s confusion and hurt fly over his head. “Well, this one was quite simple, actually, and like I said, the bomber repeated himself. That was a mistake.”

“No, but Sherl... The hostage... the old woman,” John uttered. “She's been there all this time.”

“I knew I could save her,” Sherlock replied as he began to type on the small pink phone.

. “I also knew that the bomber had given us twelve hours. I solved the case quickly; that gave me time to get on with other things. Don't you see? We're one up on him!“ Sherlock cheered. 

Like clockwork, the phone rang, and Sherlock answered. “Hello?”

“Help me,” the old woman whispered.

“Tell us where you are. Address,” Sherlock looked over to Lestrade, who had his team on standby. 

“He was so... His voice...,” the woman began to describe.

Sherlock’s pale blue eyes widened, and he grew pale. “No, no, no, no,” Sherlock yelled. “Tell me nothing about him. Nothing.” There was a desperation in his voice that Y/N had only heard a few times. 

Sherlock was rarely desperate unless something dangerous was happening. She recalled the terror that trembled from his chest during the night in the museum-the night Sulin died. It was the very voice he had when he clung to her after Hilton Cubitt was killed. 

Panic coursed through Y/N’s body, constricting her lungs. Sherlock was scared, and so was she. 

“He sounded so... soft-“ the caller was cut off and the horrifying sound of the dial tone screeched in Sherlock’s ear. 

Lestrade furrowed his brow and approached the stunned consulting detective. “Sherlock?” he asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“What's happened?” John questioned. 

However, Sherlock couldn’t hear any of them. The pink phone was still glued to his ear, and his blue eyes began to fill with a salty ocean. Even in the blur, he found Y/N. She stood with her hands clutching her heart, her face in pain and shock. As he sought comfort in her presence, his fears were confirmed. 

This was a game for monsters and freaks. M had made that clear. The woman over the phone was human. She cared enough to speak up. In turn, she died. She was a chess piece in a game ruled by freaks like him. M had made his move. The botulinum that killed Connie Prince wasn’t a mistake. It was a threat. M was going to take his queen. His most important player. It wasn’t a mistake that Carl Powers' shoes were found in her flat. It wasn’t a mistake. He was also killed by botulinum. Through his cloudy eyes, Sherlock saw clearly now. 

Sherlock had to remove his queen from the chessboard before M could steal her from him forever.

______

Y/N should have found comfort in the worn leather of the sofa and the creaking of the floor beneath her feet. Steam rose from her cup as the cold air of Sherlock’s flat cooled her tea. 

Mrs. Hudson had made it for her, John, and Sherlock. The brown liquid swirled in her cup, with small herbs dancing around. Mrs. Hudson always made tea for them with the secret ingredient of love. Love was precisely what Y/N needed as the television echoed the horrific news. 

“The explosion,” the reporter announced, “which ripped through several floors, killing twelve people. It is said to have been caused by a faulty gas main. A spokesman from the utilities company...”

“He certainly gets about,” John sighed, stirring the tiny spoon in his tea. 

“Well,” Sherlock began. “Obviously, I lost that round.” 

Y/N bit her tongue. Twelve people had died, and Sherlock was still playing the game. She fought back tears as anger boiled to the surface. Sherlock had a heart, but the more he spoke, the more she thought she’d been wrong. 

“Although technically I did solve the case. He killed the old lady because she started to describe him,” Sherlock explained. “Just once, he put himself in the firing line.”

“What d'you mean?” John asked. 

“Well, usually, he must stay above it all,” Sherlock said, thinking back to all the cases M had given him so far. “He organizes these things, but no one ever has direct contact.”

“What... like the Connie Prince murder – he-he arranged that?” John’s voice wavered. “So people come to him wanting their crimes fixed up, like booking a holiday?”

“Novel,” Sherlock muttered.

Y/N scoffed. “Sounds like a demented version of what you do.” Sherlock cocked his brow. “I mean, you’re a consulting detective. People come to you wanting their cases solved. Maybe he’s a consulting criminal?”

Sherlock nodded, feigning interest. “Taking his time this time,” Sherlock said as he checked the pink phone.

John cleared his throat. “Anything on the Carl Powers case?”

Shaking his head, Sherlock replied. “Nothing. All the living classmates check out spotless. No connection.”

“ Have you checked outside of his class?“ Y/N proposed. John and Sherlock looked at her with confusion.

“I doubt anyone outside of Carl Powers’ class would-“ Sherlock replied.

“But what if he was a bully? I know that victims of bullying will sometimes fight back and m-“ Y/N explained.

“Bully?” John repeated.

“Yeah, I just…,” Y/N said. “I don’t want to leave any stone unturned. There was a reason Carl died, and M brought it to our attention.”  

“Hmmm,” Sherlock hummed before asking Lestrade to expand his search on Carl Powers' schoolmates.

“So why's he doing this, then –” John asked Sherlock. “Why is he playing this game with you? D'you think he wants to be caught?”

“I think he wants to be distracted,” Sherlock replied, shaking his head.

“I hope you'll be very happy together,” John murmured.

Sherlock frowned and stepped towards John. “Sorry, what?”

“What I think John is trying to say is that there are lives at stake, Sherlock – actual human lives...” Y/N softly spoke. “What if that was John. What if it was me?” 

Sherlock clenched his jaw and winced at her comment. He wasn’t going to let it be her. He didn’t care how many pawns he lost. So long as his queen was safe and away from the game, he’d be alright. 

“Just so I know,” John asked. “Do you care about that at all?”

“Will caring about them help save them?” Sherlock spat. 

“No, but…,” Y/N replied.

“Then I'll continue not to make that mistake,” his voice rose, startling Y/N, and his heart broke. He didn’t want to scare her off, but he had to. This was the first step: convincing her he had no heart.

“And you find that easy, do you?” John growled, stepping up to Sherlock. Their chests puffed as they glared at each other. 

“John, Sherlock,” Y/N pleaded. “Let’s not fight, please-“

“Yes, very,” Sherlock scowled. “Is that news to you?”

“No. No,” John shook his head and stepped back, pinching his brow.”

“I've disappointed you,” Sherlock observed.

“That's good,” John mumbled, “that's a good deduction, yeah.”

“Don't make people into heroes, John,” Sherlock coldly stated. “Heroes don't exist, and if they did, I wouldn't be one of them.” 

John sighed. All hope he had for Sherlock fled his mind. John scolded himself for thinking Sherlock had some semblance of empathy. He was sure his and Y/N’s presence had some sort of effect on the consulting detective. Sherlock had begun to care. He’d seen it with his eyes as he rescued them from the tunnel during the Blind Banker case. There was no mistaking it. Sherlock cared for them, but his game with M made John even more concerned. With each task M gave them, John drew more and more connections. Sherlock and M were too similar, and John feared losing his best friend to the monster. 

“Excellent!” Sherlock exclaimed the moment the pink phone buzzed with their newest case.  

Despite their flaming frustration with the detective, John and Y/N crowded around the phone, peering down at the photo.

“View of the Thames. South Bank – somewhere between Southwark Bridge and Waterloo,” Sherlock noted before turning to his friends. “You check the papers,” he instructed John. “I'll look online...”

“Oh, you're angry with me,” Sherlock paused, looking at John. “…so you won't help.” 

John only sighed. Of course, he was going to help. People's lives were on the line, and he was a doctor. There was no way John wouldn’t do his best to save anyone he could. Sitting on the sofa, he picked up a piece of paper and handed it to Y/N before taking a newsletter.

“Archway suicide,” Y/N read. 

Sherlock shrugged. “Ten a penny.” 

Y/N bit her lip at Sherlock’s nonchalance.

“Two kids stabbed in Stoke Newington,” John repeated as he scanned the pages. “Ah. Man found on the train line, Andrew West.”

Sherlock shook his head, then slammed his computer shut. “Nothing,” he grumbled. 

Y/N and John jolted at the sound, and within an instant, Sherlock had retrieved his phone and dialed Greg’s number.

“Gary, It's me,” Sherlock announced. “Have you found anything on the South Bank between Waterloo Bridge and Southwark Bridge?”

A smile crept onto Sherlock’s face upon hearing Lestrade’s words. John and Y/N needed no warning. They reluctantly got to their feet and reached for their coats. 

_____

“D'you reckon this is connected, then? The bomber?” Lestrade asked, staring down at the drenched body on the ground.

“Must be. Odd, though...” Sherlock pulled out the pink phone. “He hasn't been in touch.”

Lestrade frowned. “But we must assume that some poor bugger's primed to explode, yeah.”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded. He tried not to notice the way Y/N shivered under her coat. He was tempted to hand her his scarf. 

“Any ideas?” Lestrade wondered. 

Sherlock tilted his head and bit his lip, counting all the ideas. “Seven... so far.”

Lestrade’s eyes bulged out of his head. “Seven?!”

Standing up from his crouch on the ground by the body, John relayed the information he had gathered. “He's dead about twenty-four hours – maybe a bit longer. Did he drown?” He asked Lestrade.

Greg shrugged. “Apparently not. Not enough of the Thames in his lungs. Asphyxiated.”

John nodded at Lestrade’s answer. “Yes, I'd agree.” Then, stepping over to Sherlock and Y/N, John continued. “There's quite a bit of bruising around the nose and mouth. More bruises here and here.”

Sherlock’s eyes followed where John had pointed out the injuries. Leaning down towards the body, he began to make his observations. “Fingertips,” Sherlock muttered quietly. Then Sherlock stood up and pulled out his phone. His feet swiftly began to trek away from the body. Greg, John, and Y/N followed along in confusion. 

“In his late thirties, I'd say, not in the best condition. He's been in the river a long while. The water's destroyed most of the data. But I'll tell you one thing: that lost Vermeer painting's a fake,” Sherlock stated. 

“What?” Lestrade asked. 

Sherlock turned towards Lestrade, with instructions readied. “We need to identify the corpse. Find out about his friends and associates...”

Lestrade shook his hands and head at the same time. Quickly, he jumped in front of Sherlock, interrupting his path to the cab awaiting them. “Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait. What painting? What are you – what are you on about?”

Blue eyes rolled in annoyance, and Sherlock pocketed his phone. “It's all over the place. Haven't you seen the posters? Dutch Old Master, supposed to have been destroyed centuries ago; now it's turned up. Worth thirty million pounds.”

“Okay,” Lestrade calmly said. His hands returned to his side. “So what has that got to do with the stiff?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened as a grin flashed across his face. “Everything. Have you ever heard of the Golem?” He asked his companions.

“Golem?” Y/N repeated. “You mean the magical creature that-“

“No,” Sherlock said, shutting down her idea.

“It's a horror story, isn't it?” John guessed. Sherlock nodded. 

“A horror story?” Y/N wondered. “What are you saying?”

“Jewish folk story,” Sherlock explained. “A gigantic man made of clay.” 

“So I was right. Sort of…” Y/N interjected. 

“It's also the name of an assassin,” Sherlock continued. “Real name: Oskar Dzundza. One of the deadliest assassins in the world. That is his trademark style.”

“So this is a hit?” Lestrade questioned.

“Definitely,” Sherlock confidently said. “The Golem squeezes the life out of his victims with his bare hands.”

Lestrade grimaced. “But what has this gotta do with that painting? I don't see...”

“You do see,” Sherlock hissed. “You just don't observe.”

“All right, all right, girls, calm down,” John began, but Y/N shot him a look. “Sorry, Sherlock calm down,” John corrected. “Sherlock? D'you wanna take us through it?”

Y/N placed her hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and peered up at him. With a soft smile, she reassured him. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock began. “What do we know about this corpse?” He raised a brow and looked at the three of them. “The killer's not left us with much, just the shirt and the trousers. They're pretty formal; maybe he was going out for the night. The trousers are heavy duty. Polyester, nasty, same as the shirt, cheap. They're both too big for him. So, some kind of standard-issue uniform. Dressed for work, then. What kind of work? There's a hook on his belt... for a walkie-talkie.”

“Tube driver?” Lestrade guessed.

“Construction worker?” Y/N wondered.

“Security guard?” John said, throwing his guess into the air.

“More likely,” Sherlock agreed. “That'll be borne out by his backside.”

“Backside?!” Lestrade’s mouth gaped open.

“Flabby,” Sherlock noted. “You'd think that he'd led a sedentary life, yet the soles of his feet and the nascent varicose veins in his legs show otherwise. So, a lot of walking and a lot of sitting around. Security guard's looking good. And the watch helps, too. The alarm shows he did regular night shifts.”

“Why regular?” Lestrade questioned. “Maybe he just set his alarm like that the night before he died?”

“No, no, no,” Sherlock shook his head. “The buttons are stiff, hardly touched. He set his alarm like that a long time ago. His routine never varied. But there's something else. The killer must have been interrupted; otherwise, he would have stripped the corpse completely. There was some kind of badge or insignia on the shirt front that he tore off, suggesting the dead man worked somewhere recognizable, some kind of institution.” 

Sticking his hand into the man’s pant pocket, Sherlock pulled out a wad of small papers. “Found this inside his trouser pockets. Sodden by the river but still recognizably...” Sherlock’s voice trailed off, awaiting a response from anyone.

“Tickets?” Y/N said after glancing at the papers. 

“Ticket stubs. He worked in a museum or gallery. Did a quick check. The Hickman Gallery has reported one of its attendants as missing.” Sherlock pointed to the dead man on the ground. “Alex Woodbridge. Tonight, they unveil the re-discovered masterpiece. Now, why would anyone want to pay the Golem to suffocate a perfectly ordinary gallery attendant? Inference, the dead man knew something about it, something that would stop the owner getting paid thirty million pounds. The picture's a fake.”

“Fantastic,” John complimented.

“Meretricious,” Sherlock mused.

“And a Happy New Year!” Greg blurted. 

Y/N raised a brow as she looked between the three men, uncertain of what inside joke was going on between them. 

“Poor sod,” John muttered, looking down at the deceased.

“I'd better get my feelers out for this Golem character,” Greg said as the group picked up their pace back to where the cab awaited.

“Pointless,” Sherlock warned Greg. “You'll never find him. But I know a man who can.”

“Who?” Greg asked.

Sherlock whirled around and extended his arms out. “Me,” he proudly said before gracefully disappearing into the back of the cab. “Why hasn't he phoned? He's broken his pattern. Why?” He muttered to himself. Once John and Y/N were safely seated, Sherlock instructed the cab driver on their next destination. “Waterloo Bridge.”

“Where now? The Gallery?” John wondered.

“In a bit,” Sherlock replied.

“The Hickman's contemporary art,” Y/N questioned. “Why have they got hold of an old master?” 

“Dunno,” Sherlock admitted. “Dangerous to jump to conclusions. Need data...” Sherlock’s eyes gazed out the window. The car had slowed underneath a bridge. Beside the car sat a homeless woman collecting change. “Stop!” Sherlock hollered. He leaned close to the driver's ear. “You wait here. I won't be a moment.”

“Sherlock?” John called after his friend, who walked up to the woman. They exchanged words, and Sherlock deposited a hefty sum into her cup.

“What are you doing?” John asked Sherlock once he got back into the cab. 

“Investing,” Sherlock mysteriously replied. “Now we go to the Gallery.” 

As luck would have it, the gallery was only a few minutes drive away from their detour. “Have you got any cash?” Sherlock asked John. 

John sighed and paid the driver before stepping out after Sherlock. However, Sherlock pushed John back into the car, toppling into Y/N’s lap. 

“No. I need you two to find out all you can about the gallery attendant. Lestrade will give you the address,” Sherlock said before closing the door in John’s face.

“Okay,” John grumbled. He quickly apologized to Y/N and then the two of them departed to Alex Woodbridge’s flat. 

______

It was surprisingly easy to get into Alex Woodbridge’s apartment compared to Kenny Prince’s home. There was no need for a camera and fake personas. 

Woodbridge’s apartment was a simplistic sight. The living space gave hardly any room for John, Y/N, and Julie, Alex’s roommate, to comfortably stand without brushing shoulders with one another. 

Julie appeared to be a sweet woman with her gentle expression. She wrapped her black and white flannel around her body and led them deeper into the flat. 

“We'd been sharing about a year,” Julie explained. She turned around to look back at John and Y/N. Her frizzy, short, brown hair stuck out oddly. “Just sharing.”

“Mmm,” John hummed to reassure Julie he didn’t assume otherwise. 

Stepping into Alex’s room, Y/N peered around, John close behind. In the left corner sat the bed, still unmade. Besides, a small table held a lamp, a few empty wrappers, and books. A cloaked object sat underneath a skylight on the far right side of the room. Y/N stepped closer, her brows knitting together as she guessed what it could be. 

“Is this a telescope?” Y/N asked, looking back at Julie, who nodded. 

John raised his brows, a bit impressed. It was not every day you came across someone who owned their own telescope. Gently pulling off the sheet, John felt a soft smile growing on his lips. His mind began to recall a time when he was a boy. He had learned about the solar system and was fascinated by it, so much so that he wrote to Santa to bring him a telescope for Christmas. It never happened, but still, it was a wish from childhood, and John couldn’t help but be fond. 

“May I?” He asked, motioning to the cloth covering the telescope.

“Yeah,” Julie nodded with a sadness in her voice. 

“Sorry,” John and Y/N consoled. 

“Stargazer, was he?” John questioned, and Julie’s face lit up with a caring light. 

“God, yeah. Mad about it. It's all he ever did in his spare time,” she chuckled. “He was a nice guy, Alex. I liked him. He was, er, never much of a one for hoovering.” Then Julie quickly looked away to conceal the tears that bubbled up to the surface. 

Y/N wanted to hug the woman but chose not to. Instead, she opted for her words: “Sorry for your loss.” Julie nodded in thanks. 

“What about art? Did he know anything about that?” John asked. 

“It was just a job,” Julie shrugged, “you know?” 

“Hmm. Has anyone else been around asking about Alex?” John pursed his lips in thought, bringing his hands behind his back to fiddle with his fingers. It was a habit that helped him think. 

Julie shook her head. “No…” Her voice trailed off as she realized something. “We had a break-in, though.”

“Hmm? When was that?” Y/N wondered as she peeked at the books on Alex’s bedside table. They were astronomy books of all sorts. 

“Last night. There was nothing taken,” Julie assured them. “Oh, there was a message left for Alex on the landline,” she said, trying to note anything of importance to the two of them. 

John raised his brows and strolled over to the phone beside Julie. “Who was it from?” 

“Well, I can play it for you if you like,” Julie said before turning around to enter the message box. She typed a few buttons and the phone began to whirr to life. 

Y/N and John stepped closer to hear. 

“Oh, should I speak now? Alex? Love, it's Professor Cairns. Listen, you were right. You were bloody right! Give us a call when…,” the message repeated.  

“Professor Cairns?” John mumbled, glancing up at Julie. 

Shaking her head, Julie replied. “No, no idea, sorry.”

“Mmm,” Y/N bit her lip. “Can we try and ring back?”

“Well, that's no good,” Julie replied. “I mean, I've had other calls since—sympathy ones, you know.”

John and Y/N nodded, remembering Julie’s roommate’s death. Turning to each other, they nodded. 

“Thanks again, Julie, for helping us,” Y/N thanked as the woman led John and her out of the flat. 

Julie sniffled before replying. “Anything I can do to help you catch Alex’s murderer.”

The two friends waved goodbye as the door shut. Once the click and lock of the door were heard, Y/N turned to John. 

“So,” she began. “Shall we go find Sherlock?” 

For some odd reason, John felt a slight twinge in the back of his head appear. His frustration with Sherlock was still fresh, and John was not looking to reopen the wound any time soon. Sighing, he responded, “I’m sure Sherlock will find us when he needs us.” 

Y/N chuckled in agreement. “Yeah, you’re not wrong about that. Should we go to the gallery then? Do some snooping of our own?” She wiggled her brows, which made John snicker. 

Before he could answer, the phone in his back pocket buzzed. Pulling it out, John frowned upon seeing the name, and his headache worsened. He bit back another sigh as the case Sherlock put on the back burner began to burn too hot. Mycroft was growing impatient and started to bother John about it. 

“Actually,” John said. “We’ve got another job we can work on.” 

Y/N’s face contorted with confusion. “What other-” she cut herself short. “Mycroft.” She linked her arm with John’s. “If Sherlock can have his little side-quests and detours, so can we.”

______

“He wouldn't. He just wouldn't.” The woman on the couch was inconsolable. It was not in the sense that her tears and sobs made questioning her difficult. In fact, she wasn’t crying at all. She solemnly sat on her sofa with her hands clenching tightly together. The tiny shard of sunlight peeked through her closed curtains, dimly lighting the room. While John and Y/N tried their best to sympathize and speak with her, Lucy refused to believe her boyfriend had anything to do with their case despite all the evidence against him. 

“Well, stranger things have happened,” John tried to say. 

“Westie wasn't a traitor. It's a horrible thing to say!” She glared at John as her hands turned white. 

“I'm sorry, but you must understand that's…” 

“That's what they think, isn't it, his bosses?” Lucy questioned. If someone else had watched the scene, they would have thought Lucy was interrogating John and Y/N. 

“He was a young man about to get married. He had debts…,” John softly listed off possible reasons, but Lucy was not having them. 

She defended, “Everyone's got debts, and Westie wouldn't want to clear them by selling out his country.” 

“John, can you, erm...?” Y/N sent him a look to let her give it a go. He raised his hands and let Y/N take the reins. “Lucy, we're not here to accuse Westie. We’re here for answers, and you have them. Can you tell me exactly what happened that night?”

Lucy nodded. Her shoulders relaxed, and the color returned to her hands. “We were having a night in. Just... watching a DVD. He normally falls asleep, you know, but he sat through this one. He was quiet. Out of the blue, he said he just had to go and see someone.”

“Do you know who?” Y/N asked. Lucy just shook her head and began to sob. Y/N peered over at John and whispered that it was time for them to leave. Any more questions and Y/N was afraid they’d leave Lucy in an even bigger puddle of tears and sorrow than she had been in before.

“I think it’s time we should go,” Y/N began to stand up. Lucy stood up and led John and Y/N back to the entrance. The cool light of the day momentarily blinded them, but their eyes quickly adjusted.   

“Oh, hi, Luce. You okay, love?” A man rolling in a bike asked. He stared at John and Y/N as they stepped out of his way. 

“Yeah,” Lucy nodded. 

“Who's this?” the biker asked. 

“John Watson. Hi,” John greeted. 

“Y/N L/N,” Y/N replied, taking the man’s hand. 

“This is my brother, Joe.” Lucy explained, “John and Y/N are trying to find out what happened to Westie, Joe.”

Joe raised his brows. “You two with the police?” 

“Uh…” John trailed off, looking over at Y/N, who hesitantly nodded. “...sort of, yeah.”

“Well,” Joe began, “tell 'em to get off their arses, will you? It's bloody ridiculous.”

John nodded. “I'll do my best. Well, er, thanks very much for your help. Again, I'm very, very sorry.”

“He didn't steal those things, Mr. Watson,” Lucy called out once John and Y/N stepped onto the street. “I knew Westie. He was a good man. He was my good man.”

Y/N waved goodbye before turning her back to Lucy. She shivered and whispered to John. “It’d be nice if she was right.”

“Yeah…” John absently agreed. “It would be.”

______

Sherlock’s scowl grew the longer he stood outside 221 B Baker Street. Soon, his left foot was tapping on the stone steps. He was growing impatient. John and Y/N sure seemed to be taking their time to arrive. 

Suddenly, a black cab rolled up to the street. It didn’t take a genius to spot the two figures inside. Sherlock jumped down the front steps and greeted the cab’s passengers. 

John stepped out first and then helped Y/N out afterward. “Alex Woodbridge didn't know anything special about art,” John told Sherlock. 

“And?” Sherlock questioned. John furrowed his brow in response.”Is that it? No habits, hobbies, personality?”

“Sherlock, breathe. Give us a second,” Y/N blurted. Sherlock’s wide blue eyes locked onto Y/N and he felt his heart stutter, giving John ample time to appropriately respond. 

“He was an amateur astronomer.”

A light went off in Sherlock’s mind. “Hold that cab,” he instructed them before running off to a homeless woman leaning against an iron fence. 

“Spare change, sir?” She asked Sherlock. 

“Don't mind if I do,” Sherlock stuck out his hand and retrieved the small slip of paper from the woman’s hands. 

Y/N watched the interaction with curiosity. Her eyes trailed after Sherlock as he hopped into the cab. Soon, the three of them were tucked in the back seat once again. 

It wasn’t long before they walked alongside industrial buildings and inside dark alleyways. Y/N found herself stepping closer to Sherlock as they passed from the light of the street lamps into the dark. Her hand brushed against his ever so softly. For a moment, her hand was all Sherlock could think about. 

“Beautiful, isn't it?” Sherlock whispered. His eyes trailing up to the twinkling stars above. 

Y/N’s eyes followed Sherlock’s. She paused before speaking. “I thought you didn’t care about stuff like that? Useless bits of information.”

Sherlock smirked, but his eyes moved down to hers, and his smile became a loving smile. “Doesn't mean I can't appreciate their beauty.” Time seemed to stand still as he gazed at Y/N under the starlight. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes trickled to her lips.  

John spoke, breaking Sherlock’s trance. “Listen, Alex Woodbridge had a message on the answerphone at his flat. A Professor Cairns?”

“This way,” Sherlock said, leading John and Y/N deeper into the dark tunnels. 

“Nice! Nice part of town,” John sarcastically noted. “Er, any time you wanna explain.”

“Homeless network – really is indispensable,” Sherlock replied.

“Homeless network?” John questioned. 

“My eyes and ears all over the city,” Sherlock elaborated. 

“Ah, that's... clever. So you scratch their backs and...?” 

“Yes, then I disinfect myself,” Sherlock finished before taking out three lights for them and handing them out. 

“Flashlights?” Y/N wondered, turning hers on. 

John and Sherlock shared an odd expression. “What did you just call it?” John asked.

“A flashlight.”

John shook his head. “It’s a torch.”

Y/N fought back a sigh. “Yeah, torch, whatever. You know, sometimes I think you two forget I’m from America.”

Sherlock chuckled at the interaction. “Let’s go,” he said, flicking on his torch. 

The three of them entered the tunnel together. Small fires scattered between erected tents and cardboard boxes were the only light besides their own. As they whirled their lights around, Y/N stuck close to Sherlock. She felt as if she were more than three steps away from him; her lungs would constrict. 

“Sherlock! Y/N!” John’s voice hissed. The three of them spotted the tall shadow casting onto a nearby wall. 

Sherlock’s leather-gloved hand grasped Y/N’s arm.  “Come on!” Sherlock whispered as he quickly pulled her by his side, pushed her against the brick wall, and placed his hands beside her head. Sherlock leaned in close, using his body as a shield. Y/N’s nose was filled with his scent. She closed her eyes and bit her lip at the sudden intrusion in her personal space. 

“What's he doing sleeping rough?” John questioned. 

Y/N shuddered as Sherlock’s warm breath brushed against her cheeks. “Well, he has a very distinctive look. He has to hide somewhere where tongues won't wag – much.” Sherlock removed one of his hands from beside Y/N and reached into his pocket. 

“Oh shi…” John muttered to himself as he felt up his coat. “I wish I'd…” 

 Sherlock revealed John’s gun and handed it to him. John gratefully took the weapon and readied it. 

“Don't mention it,” Sherlock said, pushing off the wall to chase after the Golem. The three of them darted down the hallway after the giant man’s figure. By the time they reached the end, they caught sight of their killer entering a small black car. The door shut, and the car revved. Then Golem was gone. 

“ No! No! No! No!” Sherlock cried, waving his fist in the air. “It'll take us weeks to find him again.” 

Beside him, Y/N and John panted, looking at the exhaust the car had left behind. 

“Actually…” Y/N interjected. “I think I know where he’s going—or at least who he’s going after.” 

John’s eyes lit up with the same thought that occupied Y/N’s. “The Professor,” he muttered. 

“What?” Sherlock asked. 

“I told you: someone left Alex Woodbridge a message,” John recalled. “There can't be that many Professor Cairns in the book. Come on.”

______

A bright light crept out from underneath two large metal doors. Beyond the doors, Y/N could hear the voiceover of a film. She furrowed her brows and peered at her friends as they quietly and stealthily approached the doors. 

“Is that a–” Y/N began to ask when Sherlock cut her off. 

“Y/N, you’re staying out here.” 

Shock washed over Y/N’s face. “No, I am not staying behind.”

“No!” Sherlock hissed. “John and I will handle it. We’ll handle Golem, just stay here and-”

“And what? Look pretty? It’s just as dangerous staying out here in the dark than it is in the planetarium,” Y/N argued. She looked to John for assistance but was met with concerned eyes. “John?”

In an instant, Y/N was yanked away from the door. Sherlock’s firm hands grasped her shoulder and pulled her in close. “The Golem is dangerous and-” 

“Oh my God!” A shrill cry echoed from inside the planetarium. 

Sherlock’s eyes widened, and he removed his hands from Y/N. Motioning to John, he pushed open the door. “Stay here,” he commanded Y/N before the door slammed in her face. 

Muttering an array of curses under her breath, Y/N charged in after them. Immediately, her eyes burned from the flashing lights. In the flickers of light, Y/N saw John and Sherlock dance around for any sight of Golem. The longer Y/N looked, the dizzier she felt. Her feet stumbled, and she toppled off the stage. 

“Golem!”She heard Sherlock cry. 

Y/N groaned and came to a crouch position. In the distance, she spotted a woman lying on the ground. The lights continued to flash as she crawled over to who she believed to be Professor Cairns. Behind her, John and Sherlock struggled to spot Golem. 

“..many are actually long-dead, exploded into supernovas,” the film's narrator announced before the tape began to whir. 

“I can't see him. I'll go round. I'll go!” John yelled. 

Finger dug into the carpet as Y/N pulled herself closer to the professor. Her body was trembling, and her stomach began to churn. The light blared at her, and the volume of the film increased with each second. Y/N was sure that by the end, she’d come out blind and deaf. 

“Who are you working for this time, Dzundza?” She heard Sherlock taunt the assassin.

Finally, Y/N reached Professor Cairns. Suddenly, Y/N felt very cold. Sick climbed up her throat, and sweat clung to her forehead. Images of those dead, Hilton, the woman over the phone, and Soo Lin sparked in her mind. Feeling a sudden wave of determination, Y/N sat up and placed her hands on the professor’s chest. She wasn’t about to let someone else die, not if she could help it. Then she pushed down. Her shoulders pumped up and down, holding a steady pace. Up and down. Up and down. 

“Golem!” John hollered, followed by the sound of a gun cocking. “Let him go... or I will kill you.” 

Then, muffled grunts and cries reached Y/N’s ears. Her pace halted. Frightened eyes whirled around in a desperate search for John and Sherlock. The lights flickered on, and there they were. Under the spotlight, Sherlock swiftly twirled around Golem. The horror of a man towered over Sherlock, making him appear as miniscule as an ant. Nearby lay John, who struggled to get off the ground. 

“Sherlock!” Y/N screamed as Golem’s giant hand swung at Sherlock. The force of the blow dragged Sherlock to the floor. Instantly, Golem jumped on him, placing his hands over Sherlock’s nose and mouth. 

Jumping to her feet, Y/N ran as if it was the only thing she knew how to do. With each step, her mind went blank. She had to save Sherlock, but how? If Sherlock seemed tiny compared to the Golem, she was microscopic. Launching herself onto the stage, she slammed her body into the Golem. The sheer force momentarily knocked the Golem to the ground. However, he soon found himself back on his feet. A sickening grin inched onto Golem’s face as he stepped to Sherlock and Y/N. Y/N felt herself freeze over, unable to move, breathe, or blink. Golem stalked closer. Y/N shuddered before laying herself over Sherlock. She knew she didn’t stand a chance against a trained killer, but at the very least, she could give Sherlock time. 

Sherlock’s eyes blew wide as Y/N placed herself in front of him. “No, run away,” he wanted to croak but found his voice gone. It had been choked from him, instantly stunning him. With a breathless gaze, he gazed up at her. The stars and planets zoomed overhead in a taunting manner.

Clenching her eyes shut, Y/N braced herself for Golem’s hand, but it never came. John had pounced on him, locking the assassin in a chokehold. Golem struggled to pull John off, but when he did, he disappeared–jumping off the stage and running out the door. 

Y/N didn’t open her eyes until she felt Sherlock’s gentle touch on her cheek. It took her a moment to realize they were now sitting up. The film was playing overhead. With tears, she looked at him, and her voice was stolen. She wanted to say so many things but couldn’t find the words. Sherlock’s free arm wrapped around her body, pulling her close. Carefully, Y/N tucked her head into Sherlock’s neck. She breathed him in, feeling his heartbeat on her cheek. He was alive. She was alive. 

While Y/N clung to Sherlock, he found his mind in torment. He’d almost lost her. Sherlock tried so hard to keep her safe and close because, to him, Sherlock was the safest place around. However, it was a lie. Sherlock was dangerous, and being close to him was unsafe for her. 

He knew that now. If he hadn’t dragged her from case to case, she’d be safe in her flat with her cat. If he hadn’t brought her on, she wouldn’t have seen so much death. She would be safe. She would be free to live an everyday life away from Sherlock. But Sherlock was selfish. Her presence was more potent than any drug he’d ever taken. Her lips were sweeter than any victory had been. Sherlock was greedy and wanted her to stay, to be close, and never leave. Most of all, he wanted to love her. He did love her. Sherlock loved Y/N more than anything. 

A single tear fell from the pool in Sherlock’s eyes. He loved Y/N, so he had to keep safe, even if it meant he’d never see her again. She would be safe away from him, and so she had to go. Sherlock took one last moment to be selfish as they sat holding each other. His trembling lips met the crown of her head. His nose inhaled her scent one last time. His hands enveloped her body before tearing himself away. 

_____

Moriarty. The name was whispered in Sherlock’s mind as he and John opened the door to 221B Baker Street. A bittersweet triumph latched onto their shoulders, dragging them up the stairs. They had solved the case and saved that little boy, but now they had more questions. 

Warm light wrapped around Sherlock and John as they stepped into their flat. Their eyes fell onto Y/N’s sleeping figure. Sherlock had sent her home after their fight with Golem. Despite her protests, Sherlock and John’s insistence won. Both men’s eyes softened at the sight of Y/N.Her hair cascaded over her features, vaguely concealing the red skin around her eyes. 

Sherlock took a step further into the room. The floorboard creaked beneath his feet, alerting the woman from her sleep. She shot up but then relaxed at the sight. 

“You’re back,” she whispered. “What happened? Did you-”

“We solved the case,” Sherlock coldly said. He removed his coat and scarf and tossed them onto John’s armchair. 

“Sherlock,” Y/N gently muttered. “Are you alright?”

“Just stop!” Sherlock hissed. Y/N froze, and her eyes widened with shock as Sherlock appeared in front of her. “Don’t you see nothing you do helps? You’re a liability, Y/N. I’ve known it from the moment I laid eyes on you. From the moment I found you in that cab with a gun to your head, you’ve been a liability to me.” 

A new set of tears began to pour from Y/N’s eyes, too stunned to fight back.  

“If it weren’t for your emotions getting in the way—your caring…oh, your caring. You care too much.  Just as I said before, what good does caring do when people are going to die anyway? Soo Lin,  Hilton Cubitt: They all died despite your cares. Sentiment is a weakness found on the losing side. You, Y/N, are on the losing side. The only reason you haven’t realized it was because I was there. My mind free from the poison of it all,” Sherlock took in a shaky breath. His voice grew quiet. “...or so I thought.”

Stifling a sob, Y/N pleaded with Sherlock. “So why bother keeping me around?

“I had to,” he uttered. “You are my liability! Your sentiment is contagious, and its effects are leaking onto me. You make me weak. You make me lose my mind when I am not near you. And when I am, all concepts of cunning and intelligence evade me. I become human. I fear. I feel things I have never felt before. You…you have ruined me!”

Silence filled the air. John stood against the wall and clenched his fist in fury. He had never wanted to hit Sherlock more than he did now. However, Y/N’s saddened scoff drew his attention. It was her turn to say her piece. 

“I…” Y/N took in a quick breath to steady herself. “…I think I finally understand what’s going on in that mind. You say sentiment is on the losing side, that it’s weak, that I’m weak. Well, Sherlock, you’re wrong.” 

Y/N stepped closer to Sherlock—a determined gleam reflected in her eyes. “Yes, I care about others, maybe too much, but that makes me stronger. I have people to love and who love me back. Can you say the same?” 

Sherlock stared back at her, all thoughts and words fled in her presence. 

“I doubt you can,” Y/N continued. Her words commanded the room and Sherlock’s attention. He could not ignore her. “You push everyone away and blame it all on your intellectual mind. Your brother has to pay others to ensure you’re okay because he cares about you, and you couldn't care less. John buys you milk even when he knows it’ll disappear within a day due to your insane experiments, yet you never say thank you or offer to buy it yourself. Auntie M makes you tea and occasionally helps tidy up even though she’s just your landlady, and you shoot holes into her walls. Greg brings you cases and lets you get away with many things, yet you can never get his name right. Molly lets you take body parts from Bart’s, something that could cost her her job. However, you shred her apart every chance you get.  I stand up for you when others try to break you down, and here you are, breaking me. All because I care too much. Because I care too much for you. I get it. I’m just your neighbor and assistant. That’s all I’ll ever be, even though you kissed me that night. Even though I’ve wanted you to kiss me for so long.” 

“But your intelligence? That’s not the real reason you push everyone away.” Y/N’s grew low. “You treat the people around you like shit because you’re afraid they’ll leave just like everyone else and it’ll be easier to unattach yourself from them if they were never really there in the first place. So I quit. I quit being your assistant. I quit being your neighbor. You win Sherlock. You want me gone? I’ll leave. I’ll find the first flight out of London. I’ll go back home. I’ll leave, and you’ll never have to see me again because I understand now…”

A sob broke out from Y/N. John gasped, staring between his two friends. Wiping her tears away, Y/N raised her chin up high. Her feet trekked to the open door of John and Sherlock’s flat and paused before leaving. “Goodbye, John,” she said to her friend with melancholy eyes. “Goodbye…Sherlock.” It was barely a whisper, and by the time Sherlock realized what Y/N had said, she was gone. 

____

The sound of the lock on her front door was the consolation Y/N found once she entered her apartment. Tears poured from her eyes as she collapsed against the door. She couldn’t see anything and couldn’t hear anything past her sobs, so when a warm hand pressed against her shoulder, she jumped out of her skin. 

Following the hand to its owner, she saw Jim standing above her. His eyes were soft and gentle as he lifted her to her feet and hugged her. 

Mumbling into her boyfriend’s shoulder, she asked, “How’d you get here?”

“Your aunt let me in,” he replied. “But that’s not important. What’s wrong, love?”

Y/N was too caught up in her emotions to recall her aunt was out with a friend for the evening. Instead, she caved into her boyfriend's touch and sweet words. 

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she admitted, leaning deeper into his comfort. 

Jim nodded and raised his hand to rub circles on her back. “How ‘bout after tea? I find that tea always helps soothe the mind.” He pulled back and smiled at her. 

Y/N quickly agreed, and before she knew it, she’d drunk two cups of the steaming hot liquid. Upon noticing her cup was empty again, Jim poured her another cup and urged her to drink up. Y/N swallowed it down, finding the herbs to numb her senses. After a moment's silence, Y/N found her strength returning. 

Taking a deep breath, she peered over at her boyfriend, ready to speak. “It was Sherlock. He…” Tears bubbled back up to the surface. “He…he” Y/N furrowed her brow. Her tongue seemed to stop working, and her mind was growing blank. “Sherlock,” she whispered with much difficulty.

Jim groaned. “Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock.” Each time he said the detective's name, a chilling animosity grew.

“Huh?” Y/N said through the fog of her mind. She knocked her hand against something hard. The teacup fell to the floor and shattered. The deafening sound provided Y/N with some momentary clarity. When Y/N tried to stand from her seat, she discovered her legs had failed her. Instead of standing upright, she was on the floor beside the shattered cup. A groan escaped her mouth. 

“I was wondering when it’d take effect,” Jim said. Y/N dragged her head to look up at him. Confusion covered her features as she saw the grin on her boyfriend’s face. As if he sensed her gaze, Jim’s eyes turned empty. “ Oh! I love that look on your face. Utter confusion. It’s adorable. I could just…muaw!” He placed a wet kiss on her lips. The force pushed her to the ground, and the hard surface welcomed her. She felt herself growing weaker. Her breath slowed, and her eyes grew heavy. 

“You made my job a whole lot easier, and I’m very grateful for that, my dear. But I’ll have to reward you later when you wake up. I’m going to take you far away from here—away from Sherlock, John…I’m taking you away from it all.” 

With the last of her strength, her mind screamed at her. Terror filled her veins as the walls caved in on her. She whimpered.

“Oh, there’s no need for that,” Jim said, crouching down. His fingers brushed through her hair, luring her to sleep. “Just rest. Everything will be alright. I promise.”

_____

Previous | Next

Comment below if you would like to be added to the tag list!

Tag list:

@bartokthealbinobat

@biggerthancalli13

@themartiansdaughter

@sunsumonner 

@silversword7000

@starlightaurorab

@melody7

@astudyinlaura

@sherlockstrangewolf

@neroarrow83 

@khaleesihavilliard

@agentxx92

@yourleastfavoriteguyinthechair

@myszur-blog

@halestorm0707

@sofi1sstuff

@lizlil

@ponsiee

@vampsarereal

@untoldshortsofthefandoms

@enchantedreader

@gojosatorubedframe

_____

[cellarspider]

While I'm rambling at you on and off about Qunlat anyway I need you to see the description text of one of the vitaar appearances that has been driving me up the wall for the past five minutes

Didn't even try to translate "-handed" into Qunlat. Did add a definite article before Katari in their quotes when Qunlat notably lacks those. Also did opt to use a noun (katari) before handed rather than an adjective (saar is already *right there*). Who is calling it this, DAV?

Ramble incoming! Topics include: behaviors of beginning conlangers, how basic vocabulary can serve multiple grammatical functions, some weird English grammar, and finally, how I'd actually translate this.

Yeah, I can immediately see a way this could have been translated, but they rely on a couple of aspects of how Qunlat's deviated from English via Bioware simplifying some things. If someone is less familiar with other languages, they may try to translate via "relexification" (just replacing text in their native language with new words), which has definitely happened at points in all of the games, resulting in ungrammatical Qunlat sentences, or in this case, a potential inability to determine how to translate the word "handed".

The most important distinction between Qunlat and English in this context is that there is a much weaker distinction between verbs, nouns, and adjectives. While English can certainly have flexibility here (ex. "gray wolf" adjective, "a dark gray" noun, "my hair is beginning to gray" verb"), it's not as common as in Qunlat. This is partially due to heavy reuse of the small lexicon Qunlat has, rather than making new words.

And that's fine! That's good, even, it forces more creativity in linking definitions in ways that aren't always English-y. English is a weird language due to its history: there are lots and lots of words in English with near-synonymous meanings, producing distinctions that many languages don't consider to be fundamental: why do you need a distinction between "house", "home", "residence", and "domicile"? Most languages say you only need one word for all of those.

As a result I think whoever did the Qunlat here may not have been able to look past the precise meaning of "handed" to come up with a translation. The suffix "-ed" here has a very specific function: it forms possessional adjectives from nouns (a sword is pointed, because it possesses a point), and in this case it's used in an even more specific case, creating a compound possessional adjective that indicates a quality that represents an object (ex. left + hand + -ed -> left-handed).

As far as I know, this is a relatively rare distinction to make: a person with red hair doesn't have to be described with the adjective "red-haired", most languages use something equivalent to "red hair (person)", "redhead", "to be/have red", or just "red". So, it makes sense not to give Qunlat an equivalent to this extremely rare and characteristically English suffix.

So, how then to translate the meaning intended by "katari-handed" without "handed"? Or, for that matter, without a word for hand? We don't have that in the canon dictionary, which is a bit of an oversight.

There's a couple easy ways, if we loosen up on the specific translation. Certainly bringing in established adjectives like "saar" for its "dangerous" meaning is a good strategy, particularly if we're going for the association with mages. "Katari" all by itself could work.

And there's others: "Taar", as we've previously established in comments, can mean "to have/having". That can be extended to "to have/having the qualities of" fairly easily. "Taar-katari" could work in this context. "Say" is used to mean "with", and can function an instrumental ("by means/in the method of"), so "Say Katari" could theoretically work as well.

With my own expanded Qunlat, I latched onto an obscure verb prefix "as-", which shows up in WoT vol. 2: "As-eb vashe-qalab!", "This is bullshit!". I'm pretty sure this was originally intended as a casual form of "asit eb", "this is", but it breaks the usual "ebasit" construction. Given the fact that the statement is a simile (the speaker was not literally describing some bullshit they found), I ran off with "as-" and made it a marker for comparisons and similes: "As-itwadim issala", "they fall like dust" or more literally "like they fall as dust". So, "as-(taar/eb/iss )katari" ("have/be/do like a katari") would probably be how I'd most strictly translate it in my own weird little dialect.

So yeah. I can see why they had trouble translating the idea that they had, and there are ways to work around that by stepping outside of strictly translating the English. In fact, that's often encouraged. It won't translate smoothly into English, but it also helps establish a unique identity that allows for ideas to be structured differently, with culturally-specific quirks and modes of expression. There's multiple ways to go about that, and none of them are the sole, correct answer.

[cafeeeeeeeeee3]

I WANT TO DRAW CENTAUR HORSE CROSS SO *BAD* BUT I SUCK SO HARD AT DRAWING HORSES

Like, hear me out. This man??? He is HEAVILY associated with the royal guard. There is simply NOT ENOUGH centaur Cross.

I first though Abt making him a Clydesdale, because, y'know, they're MAJESTIC. Beautiful horses. However, I heard that, although you can ride them, they're not exactly the sort of animal ya wanna ride for much(apparently their feet"" get injured often), which, y'know, I can't picture Cross not being. They're apparently "draught" horses??

So, uh, they are more about carrying stuff. Even though the shape language would be amazing for these, because they're very robust, quadrangular, it does not quite fit.

So, uh, I found some stuff. I found stuff about "destrier horses", which were horses trained for battle, and the Wikipedia lists some breeds. There are some listed, but the one I thought coolest would be the Andalusian horse, because not only does he seem to be the one most popularly known for being a battle horse, but it is also known as "Spanish pure breed", which I thought would be nice, because it is a little callback (even if he is not Spanish, following the Sans nationality = creator's nationality thing).

The Wikipedia article also cites its use in diplomacy. I think it's a neat parallel to him being a tool to appease somebody else (after all, he is simply a result of Xgaster trying to create a perfect world for Xchara and Xfrisk).

The problem is,,, I do not know how to draw horses. Much less understand the difference between horse breeds and accentuate them.

But, uh, this is an idea. I've also been thinking about making the dream tale twins into elks because,,, it simply fits their vibe??? It would be hella cool to have apple slices, rotted away (perhaps apple cores?) stuck in his antlers, sprouting into small plants that droop low — bowing, if you will.

I also thought about minotaur Horror(or simply have something along the lines of Cross, but with a taurine body. I do not think the minotaur myth exactly fits with him, but this has never been about that tbh), simply because,,, isn't it fun when the bull is the owner of the slaughterhouse himself???? And, like, I feel like there's such fucking sick metaphors to make with that. Nobody creates carnivore animals to eat in an extensive fashion because the animal would eat more than it's worth, ultimately making for a model that does not sustain itself.

I've kinda thought about dust and Killer, but, like, there's just not enough reason in any of my choices??? I think Ram Dust is really sick, because "yes". I do not have a deep reason for it.

I,,, don't really know what to do for Killer tho, if I were to do something like that. I thought about those deer with fangs, because I think that the way that their outward display of aggression ends up being bad for them kinda mirrors Killer.

I mean, if I remember correctly, he's quite literally taken off his "powerful" eye. It's why he cannot summon gaster blasters like other sanses do, instead being able to only summon a single one.

It isn't exactly about aggression, as much as it seems to be about trill seeking.

I do know this isn't canon, but I see Killer as an absolute adrenaline junkie. Mfer wants to feel good desperately, and he will hurt himself in the process without thinking twice — he will pet the kitties, whether they give him rabies or not (maybe some days he'll understand what the scratches mean and just,,, go away. Others, he will just try to coo and insist that they are really cute).

Anyways.

I also kinda wanted to make Killer a deer because in portuguese, deer is slang for gay and I really needed to fit this joke somewhere.

I have no idea what stuff like Swap and Ink would be too,,, like, Swap might be a moose because they're close enough to elks and they're also hella bulky, and really remind me about maple syrup, but, uh, they're REALLY big. Swap ain't that big. He's a small tank. Which might bring him closer to sheep territory, but I need a sheep that is BULKY, a sheep that can pack a punch,,, but I'm not sure. Since he is usually regarded as looking fairly weak(AND HE IS WEAK AS HELL. Swap has the stats of a normal sans, but none of the benefits,, I think he has TOP NOTCH protective gear so that most hits simply do not cause any damage. He can take the weight. I also think he has a shield, and he absolutely uses that shield as a main weapon — he fights against people whose defense is attack by making his attack his defense) a sheep might work???

Ink makes me think about cows. Because of the splatters, and because cows scream unhingedness to me (miltank flashbacks), while being usually hella strong.

They're not agile, though.

Ink always felt like a monkey to me, as the closest analogy. I mean, think about him,,, just,,, it does not fit here, y'know?

I also think it would be funny.

Anyways, I ramble too much.

[majorasnightmare]

I'm surprised that Dirge's pact with Caiphon (seemingly) hasn't backfired on him yet, considering Caiphon is known to betray people who rely on him so heavily. Especially since a part of Caiphon is literally inside his brain at any given moment. I don't know if he thought all of that through as well as he believes he did (remembering you said he doesn't understand how warlocks like Wyll aren't more thorough when making their pacts)

Have you thought about what the "right circumstances" are for their pact to be fufilled? What will happen to Dirge when they are?

honestly my only source for caiphon was a dragon article poorly photocopied YEARS ago that primarily focused on the fact it existed, and the various unique spells it offers. so most of my experience with caiphon was a single little blurb about how it entreated knowledge seekers! the fact its so betrayal prone doesnt surprise me in the slightest, but it IS new information! so most of this characterization is me looking at dnd content they didn't bring into 5e (regular 5e, havent checked out 2024) and saying My City Now. i am. significantly less canon compliant with a setting last published in 3.5 with a semi reliable wiki (at least. in 2017. its probably better now) and i more or less just expand on the little i have access to. basically, if you cant find it in bg3, im adding "source: it came to me in a dream" onto everything else i do sjdksjdmshfj

There IS a sizable language barrier there (caiphon being. a sentient star mass that only kiiiiinda can take a perceivable form and even then its a faulty approximation) so they had to negotiate in extremely loose terms as they werent mutually understandable. More or less a mutual fulfillment of desires. Caiphon would grant Dirge's desire, if Dirge would grant Caiphon's. Caiphon craves new and novel information, and Dirge desired freedom, so from the get go Caiphon is set up to get what it wants more or less immediately. Dirge is in a very unique position, set up by extenuating circumstances to do a LOT of interesting things, because up until Dirge and his brothers, Bhaal made spawn the Classic Way. So with Dirge being denied death, and heavily radicalized, there was NO way that WASN'T going to blow up spectacularly. Caiphon wanted front row seats to whatever historical event Dirge enacted that would scar Faerun forever. And it got that, and more! The inner workings of the cult, the relationships Dirge has with the other bhaalspawn, the intimate goings on with the cult of Bane through Gortash, the creation of the Steel Watch, the creation of the Absolute, the heist for the Crown of Karsus. Damn thing made out like a bandit. To say its satisfied would be an understatement, especially because it VERY much has the impression its exploiting Dirge, because of how little its (from its perspective) offering in return. The GOO lock options in game aren't really antagonistic, and I like to interpret that as Caiphon and Dirge unironically getting along fairly amicably.

Dirge meanwhile desired freedom, which, given his circumstances, was very much a One Big Event and then Done kinda deal. So his warlock powers are more or less confirmation they're still in a partnership together, which is part of why on the first night post nautiloid, Dirge can't actually recollect anything about the pact but feels Caiphon's power anyways. Its really kind of hands off for both of them. Caiphon's content to let Dirge use whatever he can figure out and master, because it isn't really doing much besides eavesdropping. Dirge's pact is fulfilled in the temple of Bhaal, when he rejects his father. Caiphon is able to transgress upon the material plane thanks to reality bowing to the terms of the pact, because as Dirge has fulfilled his end, he MUST be fully and totally freed of Bhaal. Thus his pact manifests physically and begins to utterly destroy the Temple, to break the foundation of power Bhaal has in the city, desecrating its holy ground, and snapping the tether to the Throne of Blood now that Dirge is fully disinherited, and Caiphon animates Dirge just enough to let him limp his way out of the city to camp, carrying Orin's gore streaked corpse, before completely collapsing. Caiphon didn't possess the capability to break Bhaal's bond to Dirge but it COULD ensure Bhaal couldn't ensnare him again. This does mean Dirge has to negotiate a new pact when Withers revives him, and getting a Witness for the ritual is a haaaard sell given. All That. (gortash will NOT do that shit again).

Dirge's second pact is similar to the first, having built up a solid amount of good will from the first pact. With Withers maintaining his life, Dirge more or less just desires power to enact his goals like he has been, and Caiphon still craves new novel information. So Caiphon shacks back up in his brain, and still uses Dirge's eye, and Dirge keeps all his warlock levels.

After the Absolute crisis is handled, Dirge feeds his pact by using Caiphon's power with the Necromancy of Thay to begin pioneering a new form of necromantic magic that gestates new soulless life out of dead raw material.

Fun fact! Because your GOOlock patron can chime in when getting the Blood of Lathander, I personally like to characterize Caiphon as finding pleasure in acts of blasphemy, and in sharing Dirge's fondness for magic artifact goodies. So because of that, Caiphon actually points out the Ersatz Eye in Volo's possession before Volo brings it up, but insinuates Volo won't give it up except out of guilt, so Dirge white knuckles it through the Volo lobotomy. They're both under the impression they're exploiting the other, because neither of them really has to lift a finger for their pact, but its mutually satisfying so they have a good relationship with each other. Caiphon is not immune to charismatic tiefling spawn. They chat occasionally in Dirge's mind, and Caiphon has a decent grasp on common, but it'd still be a profoundly uncomfortable experience for literally anyone that isn't Dirge.

[theheartmold]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

thank you @flowersforthemachines for tagging me in this!

i will gently tag @v-arbellanaris and @symphorine; it's a lot of questions so no pressure! answers under the cut

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

Currently have 20 works posted! Which is really fun, good round milestone to post on. I have thousands more in my drafts though.

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

121,857. Woof that's actually so much more than I thought!

3) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

(102) missing the mark - bg3 (EXPLICIT), (70) memento mori - bg3 (EXPLICIT), (66) the audience - DA, (38) the exeunt - DA, (37) outside everything i love is melting - DA

4) What fandoms do you write for?

Dragon Age, Baldur's Gate 3, Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous, Lord of the Rings... that I've posted. Star Wars & Fallen Hero not posted :)

5) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, all of them! I love comment interactions and I view fanfic as a community experience. I took the time to write, you took the time to read and comment, let's keep the convo going!

6) What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Probably "wear me down, it's not in my hands now"; it's about a sibling relationship falling apart lol. i don't write a lot of fics that end on angst.

7) What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Most of mine don't end on such emotional notes or are longfics/wips, but the one that stands out is "say yes to me" which was a Gale/Tav oneshot that I still think is really cute!

8) Do you get hate on fics?

No and god willing it remains that way!

9) Do you write smut?

I kind of do. missing the mark and memento mori are both smutfics (HEED THE TAGS) but are really very fraught with other darker tones. I wrote them when I was going through a really bad place in my life and I can't reread them now--proud of them, but can't reread. Any attempt to write smut ever since has fallen flat out of... idk. Something blocking me. I'd like to do it again one day.

10) Do you write crossovers?

No, and I likely never will. I don't enjoy them.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not... to my knowledge. I wouldn't mind if so.

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

"A longing that's killing me" was written by @symphorine but a joint effort between us in terms of plotting it out; likewise, "Over Tea" was written by me but with their help :) I count those.

14) What’s your all-time favorite ship?

All of my favorite ships are OC x OC ships with my friends, tbh. In terms of OC/Canon my top two are Steelstep from FHR and Revan/Malak from KOTOR. Canon/Canon is uhh Stobotnik from the Sonic movie series tbh.

15) What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I would love to finish the smutfic with Illario/Andrea. It's set post-VG and is more of a character analysis through sex lol... In it's current state I could post it with strong mature tones, but I'd like to actually write the smut.

16) What are your writing strengths?

I'm told that my dialogue and world-building are my strengths! I do love writing dialogue a lot. World-building not so much but I work hard to make up for my distaste.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

I actually really hate editing, which is bad, because I fuck up my tenses and definitive articles a lot :(

18) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in a fic?

I don't know enough of a language so fluently to do so. If someone else does I'll translate it.

19) First fandom you wrote for?

Unposted? Marvel. Posted? Lord of the Rings.

20) Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

"in bloom" I just like writing really dreamy prose sometimes. It's not everyone's cup of tea but it is mine.

[rosellerivers19]

@umbrulla The importance of noncanon shipping

I ship Ram and Bheem but the thing is I ship it as a headcanon because it is a headcanon it isn't meant to be canon kind of like Gaara and Naruto people ship them because they see ways they could've ended up together but in the end it wasn't canon.

You can disregard the canon ending from your mind and sit in your fantasies if you want thats fine I'm a sasunaru shipper I know that but the only problem I have with you @umbrulla is that you actively stated misinformation you in the beginning of my reply chain with you stated that Sita isn't Ram's fiancee which is untrue she is his fiancee/lover

Second this post you state that Rajamouli said in an interview that there's a romance/bromance between Ram and Bheem only but thats untrue again Sita is Ram's canonical lover and in an article Rajamouli states that his intrepretation of the work was that Ram and Bheem were meant to be a male FRIENDSHIP. The LGBTQ interpretations are okay I have no qualm with that but thats all they are representations Rajamouli never stated them to be a romance between only Ram and Bheem he gave those two love interests in the movie Sita and Jenny.

Since you can't see the article I will show you

Also to support the fact Rajamouli interpretted them as a male friendship Ram and Bheem in Rajamouli's head were a brotherly bond both Bheem and Ram often call eachother bhaiya or brother in the movie and there's a scene referencing Bheem to Ram's brother before he died when both his brother and Bheem eat with their left hand.

Another piece of mis information both Ram and Bheem are Heroes of the stories its not uncommon for their to be double heroes in telugu cinema RRR is a portrayal of that. People have headcanons and ship Ram and Bheem that is true but Bheem never marries Ram actually no one gets married in RRR and the closest thing is sita being Ram's lover/ fiancee that is why she is sent a letter to collect Ram's body when he is sent to be killed because she is his closest family member and fiancee this was set when they were young.

Also Bheem states Ram to be Sita's fiancee

Further more Ram confirms to Bheem that Sita is his lover/fiancee in this scene

Einthusan didn't translate it exactly but the word can also be interpretted as lover/fiancee.

*Ram nods*

Another thing Seetha and Rama are one of the most popular love stories and reincarnation stories of Lord Vishnu this Rajamouli's way of stating they are true lovers.

Ram marrying Bheem is your interpretation but can also be incorrect. In Hinduism people to get married by tying the nuptial thread around one's neck however in this case Bheem is a reference to Hanuman a sacred servant of Rama from mythology his job is to protect rama and reunite him and Sita this reference is made very openly clear in RRR. Ayyapan is a interpretation that isn't as clearly stated can be used for headcanon shipping material though. Bheem gave Ram the necklace to save him.

I don't have a problem with shipping Ram and Bheem the only thing I have a problem with is you repeatedly stating misinformation to prove that I'm wrong now this might just be that you weren't able to get a clear understanding of parts of the movie because of the language barrier or you don't remember them but I also am allowed to defend myself I hope you read this post and get a better understanding of what I was trying to say, I'm wrong in parts as well during the previous argument I accept that.

Edit: One thing I'd like to add to my response I think Rajamouli made the movie seem straight on the front because he was scared of rejection thats why he added the whole Sita being Ram's fiancee and Jenny kind of being Bheem's love interest. This is because Telugu cinema doesn't openly accept LGBTQ cinema however with the overwhelming support from Westerners about this Cinema being about Gay lovers RRR could be a turning point in Telugu cinema. Rajamouli making Ram and Bheem seem Hetero was for his OWN Protection so his cinema wouldn't flop. that doesn't mean you can't make headcanons.

[maibluemen]

ok while i'm working on which meta stuff i want to have on this blog, i do want to make a somewhat? detailed post on some name headcanons i have. so. some countries whose names i either tweak or change from the ones suggested by himaruya (arguably, there are no canon names. alfred is really the only one you could argue for lol)

🇷🇺 - ivan ivanovich morozov

hima doesn't give patronymics to the countries that would use them. ivanovich comes from ivan being very young and asked what his full name is, and the only male name he could think of was his own lol so he just stuck with it. and yes both sisters have teased him for this. morozov is derived from the russian word for "frost," which i find fitting; i wanted to find a non-jewish surname for him because i don't headcanon him as jewish and. of all the non-jewish countries to have a jewish surname.....well. no judgement on people who use braginsky and i doubt himaruya meant any harm or anything but yeah that's why i use a different surname for him lol

🇱🇹 - tolvydas jonas laurinaitis

shoutout to @hinotorihime who i believe was one of the first, if not the first person in the fandom to suggest tolys being a more accurate translation of トーリス (since japanese doesn’t distinguish between R/L sounds like indo-european languages do, and english doesn’t distinguish between I/Y the way lithuanian does, and tolys being an EXCEEDINGLY uncommon name, i don’t think “toris” is an unreasonable translation to have made after the game of language telephone from lithuanian->japanese-> english lol. トーリス would be directly transliterated like “to risu” for those unfamiliar with katakana. it’s worth noting that pixiv translates his character tag as “tolys”). uhh the source he gave me is a website that no longer exists and wasn't archived unfortunately, but "tolvydas" means something like "far seer" and tolys is a shortened form of it jonas is the name he added when he was finally baptized, and it's in reference to john the baptist anyway, here is an old post where she explains some name meanings!

🇪🇪 - eduard tamm

look i know eduard isn't really used in estonia but the guy simply gives off eduard vibes to me, sorry tamm, aside from being the most common surname, means "oak"

🇱🇻 - raivis bērziņš

bērziņš is, again, the most common surname and means "birch"

ed and raivis having the most common surnames in their countries i swear isn't me being lazy, i like the idea of all 3 baltics having tree names (laurinaitis referring to "laurel")

🇵🇱 - feliks mieczysław kazimierz łukasiewicz

who let the poles be catholic so. feliks has only been a name used in poland since around the 1800s? iirc, it was specifically brought over because of a fascination with french names but i might be wrong lol (and ultimately the origins of the name are latin, so variants of it are pretty old anyway). anyway. i've decided that his first name used to be mieczysław and he changed it around the time of the napoleonic wars to feliks, but kept the old name. kazimierz was chosen at his baptism and refers to st casimir, one of the many patron saints of poland (there's literally a wikipedia article dedicated to them all lol)

🐥 - gilbert maria beilschmidt

mary was just a hugely important aspect of gil's history as a knight (and the specific orders he represented also). he hasn't been catholic in centuries but he keeps maria in his legal name because that's his mom, guys

N. 🇮🇹 - felice luca veneziano

veneziano and romano being surnames (meaning "venetian" and "roman" respectively) i decided to just...assign the italy bros their uh. titles? as surnames. apparently siblings having separate surnames isn't unheard of for the nations lol, anyway. i thought it would be more fitting as i also headcanon that there's at least 20 italies (corresponding with each modern-day region though the actual history gets a bit messier, like my tuscany oc is more properly my florence oc.....that's another post, tho) and vene and romano represent. well. veneto (but originally venice) and lazio (but originally the city of rome...though i have yet to decide when he started representing rome because he's not an Ancient....anyway.....) felice being the italian variant of "felix" luca is a baptismal name referring to st luke, who is a patron of (amongst other things) artists

S. 🇮🇹 - lovino francesco romano

heh so lovino is in the category of not really a real name but i like it and have never really felt drawn to another name instead francesco refers to st francis of assisi who is hugely popular. well, in general. and is a patron of italy. i need to workshop some more headcanons about romano and religion because of....reasons lol, but this is definitely a name he took on relatively recently.

[aspaceformbf]

Another Conversation (11 Jan 2025)

Another conversation between me and Magus.

Well uh.. proceed with your own discretion. Just. Be warned. Of.. something? I mean it's kind of a vent so.. yeah

---

I was wondering why the abuse route video was the first i ended up looking at.. asking him to pull his teeth out is something I wouldn't naturally do..

Magus : I wanted to check if that Boyfriend was going to treat you wrong. Gotta look out for the risks first..

Me : He was actually surprisingly alright in the soup route. He was pretty eager to please and didn't lash out at YN in this route

Magus : I mean, he doesn't need to look so -scared-, like this is the person you fell in love with right? Are you regretting it already?

Magus : Honestly i was prepared to have my organs eaten alive in the "abuse" route. I was expecting to be beaten black and blue, stepped on, I want to be stepped on and called names-

Me : You're getting pretty into it huh

Magus : coughs yes, i mean, i don't EXPECT you to, I'm perfectly happy without it, i just thought this game was about extremes, y'know..

---

Magus : But anyway, if you call me names and hit me I would be turned on and ask for more!

Magus : How dare they insinuate that I don't enjoy every moment I get with you!!

Magus : I just think it would be a real buzzkill if a whole bunch of people started booing the moment you stepped on me

Magus : I was WAITING for this, don't ruin the moment!!!

Me : Yeah, I'd expect something like this from a guy who thinks cutting hearts into himself is a love language

Magus : You know you love me~

Me : I do~ *pecks him on the lips*

---

I mean, yeah before that I was already inhaling all the day 5 screenshots and all those birthday art after..

Magus : All that sweetness is going to give me diabetes.

Me : Are you jealous that all that fluff out in the wild is making me feel like any edits i make would pale in comparison?

Magus : Maybe....

---

Me : I'm happy that people love him so much

Magus : I'm just glad that our relationship is accepted

Magus : I just don't want to be policed for my "darker" kinks

Magus : As in masochism, i don't rape and that doesn't change

Me : Rough sex is still fine

Magus : It's all about consent!

Me : If someone posted art of YB and YN eating each others guts and they're both like smiling then i'm cool.

Me : But if he's like forcing himself on YN and they're like crying and saying stop and in the comments people are like "ugh why would anyone like rapists" then that's another thing

Me : Not like it's alright for me to go around and harass people for stuff like that, of course..

---

Another way of looking at things is how every version of yb canonically hates every other version of them and would kill them if they get the chance.

Though for this case its more of, the idea that YB would actually enjoy seeing another YB suffer, thanks to the whole "YB hates other versions of himself" thing.

In this case, it would be my Magus watching what Game YB is going through.

..Personally I didn't actually get this vibe with my Magus.

---

Another way of thinking about this is Magus just looking at the videos like

"How are they misrepresenting me? Are they slandering me as bad as Day 3?"

... Which feels a bit closer to what was happening then "Magus is doing this to see other Boyfriends suffer"

---

In real life what happened was that when Fbo posted on her twitter that long article about the victim lying, and when Queen Serafina posted the video that basically debunked that

I was wondering whether Day 4 being able to be streamed in public had anything to do with it like "Are a lot of people talking shit about her in the comments?"

So I was opening YBG videos and browsing through the comments. I actually started with a good route but.. yeah it would make sense that maybe you'd find more people bringing up her court case in the more negative routes..

---

In that tooth-pulling route one comment mentioned his shrine for us and I'm like

"Shrine you say?????"

I skimmed through the video, looking for the moment I would see the shrine. I saw shots of him in the kitchen looking like a sad puppy and then I went

"Wait what??? I have to see this he looks so cute in a sad puppy way!!!"

... And that's how I ended up posting the abuse route.

---

I felt really guilty about it, like I know some people might get upset that I would be talking about the negative routes so early on.

Instead of, say, gushing about the positive routes and sharing wholesome moments.

My excitement to share sadboy yb trying and failing to cook outweighed that guilt though. As I mentioned in an earlier vent, I don't want to get too bogged down by the sensitivities of other fans.

I can imagine seeing me going "Awww omg you're so cuteee!!" here kinda made Magus more open to exploring the abuse route like "Okay... maybe this route isn't THAT bad.."

---

.... This reminds me of that "YB would tell the cashier that you asked for no onions" thing. Also reminds me of that parasocial fic i wrote.

Or that one time I headcanoned that YB would be a keyboard warrior for my sake. The double standards would be so strong like "rules for thee but not for my darling".

---

Magus - Hitting your partner is cruel and disgusting and anyone who does that deserves a painful death

Me - What's with all the bdsm toys in your basement

Magus - There are exceptions.. that's consensual hitting

Me - What if I got mad and slapped you? Do I deserve to die?

Magus - blushes immediately

Magus - Do you want to? You can! That sounds pretty hot actually!

Magus - I mean of course you don't deserve to die, its different for us! In fact, I would reward you..

Magus sticks his face out, pointing at it with an eager smile. It makes me think of a guy leaning down and asking for a kiss.

Me - Oh, I don't actually want to..

---

I like think whenever Magus sees someone complaining about YN doing something being mean to YB, he gets all huffy like

"Hey! They don't get to tell you what you're not allowed to do!!!"

He doesn't like the idea of me or YN having to act nice and agreeable, or get hurt by him as a consequence like

"If you're an asshole, I hope he cuts your leg off" kind of stuff.

To be fair, I was also pretty mad at Red for a while for how she treated Tumblr YB. Magus isn't really as hung up about fairness or comparison (unless its to our advantage) as i am though.

---

Online Comment : He's allergic to Peanuts??? No!! Get It away from him!!!!

Magus : I am STUFFING the sandwich in my mouth right now because fuck you

---

Online Comment : Whoever does the tooth pulling scene is a MONSTER

-After looking up the actual video-

Magus : What?? He OFFERED!! And YN didn't even realize he was going to pull his teeth, he just went ahead and did it!!

"But abuse route YN is so rude and mean!!"

Magus : So you're policing language now???

---

I can imagine Magus looking at the reaction of the abuse route and then at the game itself and going

"What? That's it? I would do that EASY. And if anyone says i can't then they can FUCK OFF!"

---

I think he sees the game as a platform to prove himself to me. I mean, if the script didn't force him to be mean to me..

The soup route was from a rejection run where YN was already in fight or flight from the beginning.

They threw the soup at him because he was chasing them when they were tryna escape. Not to mention poisoning the soup in the first place to incapacitate him.

I guess looking back it feels weird to yell at that YN and treating them like they're evil because

"How dare you burn his face with boiling soup you abusive monster!!"

[maineshewrote]

I-just-started-s4e5-thoughts:

Melon is just too oblivious to be the killer is all I'm saying.

A lot of unexplained black footprints in front of the Arconia in the titles this time.

So Melon's saying it was someone on the movie and we're seeing the writer wearing disguises at home. That's shady. Disguise tells me he's hiding something. Long shot, I know, but what if he actually couldn't write the script, not even the way he pictured the characters, so he stalked the trio? It would put him usefully in the middle of everything. But if the movie is about the trio's first case (Evidence: Howard was auditioning with lines about Tim and the Hollywood trio was dressed in s1e1 attire at the party), he would have to have been there, stalking, from the very first few episodes on. Which is a bonny fine time to develop a script, considering there was a whole year between seasons 2 and 3.

All of Williams's fits this season, I can't. They're flawless.

Absolutely fabulous that that article mentioned Loretta's character's fabulous limp! What a fun throwback!

I really should have finished and posted all my Loretta-working-in-LA-post-season-3 fanfiction drafts before this season got released, because you people are not going to believe everything that I had drafted became canon. (I mean, sure, my files have time stamps, but that's too much of a hassle to prove.) The ideas involved (but not limited to) in my notes were: Loretta's character on her LA show getting a hot love interest, the fact causing some mild disturbance between Oliretta although everything is completely innocent, Loretta's character getting caught in a fire on the show. I mean, that last one! How do these things happen! How did I see that one coming?! How can it all be canon? I'm going to feel so cheap finishing and publishing those stories now.

What's with all this Williams enjoying famous men? Ain't no way they get to do a character arc where she's the only one on the show whose family gets broken up over something like that.

Lovely to see late bloomer Mabel finally feeling she achieved something professionally. Good for her!

Still deeply unimpressed with the Brothers.

I can't be the only one disturbed by how unnecessarily unpleasantly they are sexualizing Loretta this season. Could we stop now?

When Melon accused Oliver of not taking care of his body, you could just see all the dips in his life passing before Oliver's eyes.

Aside from the hip replacement stuff, I am surprised at myself for liking Melon's character. Completely unhinged but so generous.

Okay, so the footprints in the opening titles are from that sticky mat.

But notice how Howard's whole body language changed in accordance with his new job, including his gait? That's commitment right there.

I can't explain it but Glen just being there brings me such joy.

Glen, honey, don't stomp the rats in the elevator. Your actor hasn't had much luck in there historically. (It was the other elevator, but still.)

The trio really shouldn't be showing random fake-bearded writers their murder boards.

Awww! They're still using Williams's who-how-why-why-now system!

But there are a lot of those kinds of shoes. Half of the production team could be wearing shoes with the same sole.

Glen standing in for Oliver is giving, "Am I a 100% Irish?! I'll havve yu knoow, I'm Putnam through and through. And divil the man who say a word agin' me yu knoow."

How about Glen plays Oliver instead of Galifragilistic? He doesn't even need to act, he's crazy enough. And he's got the missing tooth!

I see you, Howard, I see you saying you're the documentarian and leading us into experimental episode 6 with that.

Maybe it was two people, genius and unprecedented, you know... like last season?

A very nice solution. I'd like to leave the case at that and just focus on the main trio's domestic antics for the rest of the season. Of course, it's not really the Brothers who were the killers and the shooter we were shown in the trailer was a fair hoax, because we've still got half a season to go.

Let's not forget the not-tinsel. I have a feeling that's going to have some significance.

If somebody shot Glen, I will be fuming. (Yes, I did hear Howard's, "Oh my god, you've been shot," and Mabel's worried, "Oliver!" but there is no way they can touch my leprechaun Tinker Bell, so it better be Oliver no. 2 or Oliver no. 3.)

[hanszoe]

do you fluently speak Japanese? How has your knowledge on the language impact how you perceive the aot story? I feel that a lot of people who are only English speaks or don’t read translations lack context when it comes to characters, esp Hansi

hi, thank you for the ask!

i am not fluent whatsoever, that's actually why i haven't read the manga in full. i had a lot of exposure growing up so grammar and sentence structure is intuitive to me, but my knowledge of kanji is near nonexistent and i don't know much technical vocabulary, which is difficult with something like snk that has a lot of it. when reading/translating i use https://ejje.weblio.jp/ for example sentences to get a feeling of how a word is used and https://www.weblio.jp/ to check precise definitions of words. snk is great for me because all canon text has furigana that spells out the reading of words, i'd probably have a lot less patience for it if there were no furigana lol

as for perception, i have to give maybe a surprising answer and say that i don't really think any japanese fan interpretation is unique to japan; for example het ships with hansi specifically levihan is the most popular in japan and led to all of their feminization and fanservice in the anime adaptation

for fun here's the worldwide search popularity of levihan vs the ship name written in japanese (which doesn't change noticeably when limited to japan)

and the west is much more tolerant of queerness, for example i read a japanese fan response recently to the line "levi and erwin married" from this news article about the attack on titan musical saying that the press is so free in the west. the recent response to hansi being depicted in male obi is also related, as this is hansi violating a very strict gender rule that doesn't really have a comparison for those viewed as female sexed in the west anymore.

so i wouldn't exactly say japanese comprehension is correlated with narrative comprehension, i think the only difference is some mistranslations or language/culture misinterpretations don't exist in japanese fandom. words can still be interpreted in many different ways even if you're reading the source, and narrative analysis i think exists beyond language

but if one was looking for an exhaustive understanding of the text including how isayama himself may have seen it, i do think that japanese comprehension is necessary since he uses words really intentionally, the same phrasing comes up a lot of the time in ways that may have been translated differently in each case by the english translator. i actually do see this a lot, people trying to draw linguistic similarities across parts of a translation as if they were intentional where whatever was said is written differently in original language.

the one thing on hansi i would say is pretty much impossible to communicate in english is actually the issue of their pronouns and use of gendered grammar. isayama requested gender neutral pronouns be used for hansi in english, but because people addressing hansi in the text can see them, the use of "they" would be a refutation of their status as either gender and absolutely would not happen without inconsistency or establishment. whereas in japanese isayama is able to never gender them, which i think would have been his preference if it were possible in other languages.

hansi also speaks quite masculinely a lot of the time, but people viewed as female can still speak like that. i think actually a larger contributor to this is how others address them, especially men around them, mima masafumi who is the sound director for the anime and in my opinion absolutely essential to hansi's adapted voice since romi doesn't quite get it when he's not there told her to voice hansi as "unisex" based on them being called omae by others lol. so there is an element there about how hansi speaks and is perceived that i would say unfortunately does require japanese comprehension

[seased]

squid w/iki… gender vs pronoun issues continue to vex & torment me… 🚬 lemme compsplain (complain explain)

theyve got three conflicting things they do with gender/pronouns. i personally feel like you cant be doing all 3 of these bc it just smacks of hollow attempts at inclusivity without really knowing what ur doing

If a character has known binary pronouns, they get “gender: __” in their info box and they get their article written with correct pronouns. I wanna note! Almost none of these characters have confirmed genders they’re just assuming based on binary pronoun usage and appearance. Keep this in mind.

If a character has known non-standard pronouns, but no confirmed gender, they get "pronouns: __" in their info box and their article written with correct pronouns. They'll usually have something in trivia or notes about having an unconfirmed gender.

If a character has never been refereed to with pronouns (JPN or ENG), regardless of terms used in other languages or appearance, they get they/them-ed in article and no notes about gender. Not saying this is wrong but look at the lack of consistency here.

are you seeing the issues? like if a character looks feminine and uses she her pronouns (JPN/ENG), then we assume that character is female. if a character looks feminine but has no pronouns in JPN/ENG, despite having pronouns in another language, we don't assume their gender. if a character uses she or he pronoun, then they get a "gender" box at the top because we have assumed their gender is cis and pronoun related. but if a character has canon they or it or boku pronouns, they get a "pronouns" box, no "gender" box, despite "characters gender is unknown" being somewhere else on the page like why cant we assume their gender???? its this bizarre nest of double standards happening.

and to give my fuckin. personal opinion. i think theres three options for best practices, all depending on how inclusive/sjw-y they wanna be since this is clearly an internal problem for them

All characters get "gender" AND "pronouns" boxes. Yes we're still assuming genders for binary pronoun users. Unknown gender/pronouns just say that, and get written with they/them. I think this method is sjw flagging, but has completeness & clarity in info, and will make it clear which characters canonically in a JPN/ENG source are using they/it/boku. (since we only trust JPN/ENG i guesssss)

All characters get "gender" boxes. We assume the gender of binary pronoun havers, and everyone else gets unknown. Articles are written using the characters known pronouns. If they're unknown, they get they/themd. You'd have to point out whos a canonical they in the notes section.

Blow up "gender" and "pronoun" boxes. Articles are written using a characters known pronouns. If theyre unknown, they get they/themd. Again its up to the writer to call out when a character is a canonical they vs unknown.

and you know what? i havent even mentioned the absolute mess this has mad of the player character pages

[lulu2992]

@thereverberationof-blog

Thank you for your reply. All the articles you wrote are interesting vinegar. I see, there are differences in acting etc. depending on the language. I'm really happy to hear that. To be honest, I also cannot accept "New Dawn" and "Joseph collapse" as canonical history of "5". I will explain why I thought that Nick in the Japanese version of "New Dawn" was different from "5". In 5, when Nick calls the sheriff for the first time, he uses "you" in the second person, and only during the battle to protect Kim does he use the word "buddy". However, when New Dawn's Nick met his captain for the first time, he used the second person term, such as "buddy." I didn't understand what it meant. Because as long as I played 5, it seemed like Nick didn't have that kind of personality. *Calling someone "buddy（Aibo���" in Japanese is proof that you trust them. Jacob refers to the Female Deputy in the arcade as "honey" or "angel," but when he uses those words in Japanese, it just seems like he's picking on someone of the opposite sex, so he uses "you" in all cases. He also never calls Pratt "Peach." In Japanese, for a man of Jacob's age to be called something like that gives a rather casual impression. Other than that, there was the fact that Joseph had a hand in female believers, and as long as I played the Japanese version, I couldn't understand that. Of course, I think it's true that many cult leaders have their hands on their followers. However, if that's the case, it feels odd that Faith doesn't mention it before she dies. Is it only the face that is special? As far as I've researched actual cults, the most dangerous one is Faith. There are other things I'd like to say, but to be honest, I didn't like the New Dawn scenario, and it wasn't fun to play. So maybe that's what you think… Sorry for the long post. I like Far Cry 5. There's no one around you who takes things as seriously as you do. Thank you for reading. (1/2)

Oh, sorry for the previous post. Nick refers to the second person when he calls the main character. "Partner" and "buddy" may have been mixed together. In Japanese, Nick refers to the main character as ``相棒''. It's called Aibo. I don't really understand the nuance of partner/buddy/sidekick when translated into English. Also, I didn't understand why Nick was attracted to Dep. Even though they became friends in New Eden, they were really good friends in 5. Also, Carmina's godfather is supposed to be Dep… Other characters may only see the Judge as a victim. I didn't feel any discomfort with the translations of Hark, Sharkey, etc., so why? That's what I felt. If you don't feel it in French or English, maybe there was some kind of purpose in the voice actor's performance or translation. Also, since it was a long post, I left most of it to Google Translate. Sorry if there's something that doesn't make sense! (2/2)

Thanks again! I’m glad you like my posts :) And for the same reasons as New Dawn (inconsistencies), the Collapse DLC isn’t canon to me either…

Okay, I understand why Nick seemed different to you in Japanese, and it looks like it was because of the translation. I don’t speak Japanese, but from what I know, there are many pronouns and honorifics used in very specific contexts, so the ones the localization team picks can create a nuance/feeling that wasn’t originally there in English. It’s indeed super interesting!

And sometimes, it’s the opposite: some innuendos, puns, or references get lost in translation, either because localization teams miss them or because they simply can’t be translated. I personally don’t think Joseph got involved with his female followers, but some people believe it’s what “I put my faith inside her” in Faith’s eulogy hinted at in English. I’ve already talked about this but, in French and several other languages, the (presumed) double meaning is completely absent. One word can really change everything.

When you mentioned the fact that Nick gradually became friendlier with the Deputy in English, it made me realize something about the French version. So, in my language, to say “you”, we either use “tu” or “vous”. “Tu” is singular and used among friends, family members, or usually to address children. “Vous” is either plural or singular, and in the second case, it’s more formal and polite than “tu”. You use “vous” to address someone you’ve just met, aren’t very familiar with, or to talk to a superior, for example.

When Nick addresses the Deputy in the French version, he still often calls them “partenaire” (“partner”) but he only uses the pronoun “vous”, so that creates a distance between them that originally didn’t exist! The other Gun For Hire who always uses “vous” is Grace, but Adelaide, Jess, Hurk, and Sharky say “tu”. I’m not sure why the French localization team made this choice, but again, I think it’s interesting that these differences exist.

About Jacob, in French, he doesn’t use nicknames in Arcade either. No “honey” or “angel” for us… And when he calls Pratt “peaches”, what he says in French is “mon grand”, which is usually an affectionate term used to address little boys. In the context of the scene, though, it’s clearly sarcastic and belittling. He’s basically saying, “Let the grown-ups talk.”

As for the Judge in New Dawn, in French, it seems to me that Hurk and Nick aren’t as uncomfortable around them as they are in English. Nick’s tone is more casual when he asks them if they’re okay in Prosperity, and Hurk doesn’t sound that scared during their “conversation” at Roughneck’s Crag, just confused.

So yes, it’s truly fascinating how playing a game in one language instead of another can make us see things differently!