#false might commit murder not sure | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chronically-ghosted · 1 year ago

Text

stay sexy and don’t get murdered

rating: E for Explicit! 18+

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 6K

summary: Trapped behind a secret wall to hide from a murderer, the close proximity forces you and Dieter to confront feelings you rather bury underneath your case to prove your favorite neighbor didn’t commit suicide.

(This is the Only Murders in the Building smut fic in the chaotic stylings of Dieter Bravo.)

warnings: brief moments of tv-appropiate terror, arguing, mentions of suicide, mentions of death/murder, but more importantly: smut (like half of this is smut), oral (f!receiving), dieter’s bare ass nearly catching on fire, too many feelings for something that started as a crack fic idea

a/n: this is my submission for the Dieter Brainrot Club server challenge! Thank you so much to @sp00kymulderrr for putting this together!

🤍AO3 Link

🤍Dieter Bravo Masterlist

🤍Masterlist

On the other side of the false door, the floor creaks. Fear arches up the back of your spine, your fingers digging into your thighs, your heart pounding somewhere near your ears. The threads of light that struggle through the nearly invisible cracks fade and emerge as heavy boots cross back and forth over the wooden floor. A thousand panicked thoughts pierce one after the other –

Did you shut the door all the way?

Could the intruder see the seams in the wall?

What were they waiting for?

And then, like a red, bright flare barreling through your brain: what the fuck were they after in Dieter’s apartment?

Another step closer to the false door and dread smothers every thought in your head, until you can hear the thundering of your own heart, the quick draw of your breath that is obviously so loud, the intruder has to hear it.

Another bootfall, another creak, less light – he’s coming right for you you’re drawing him in – you inhale sharply, fear beating your heart against your breast bone the closer and closer the shadow comes – all the light is gone – and –

His hand slips over your mouth and draws you against his chest. The chill of the hidden crawl space dissipates against his warm skin, his solid forearm like a protective barrier over your chest, his fingers suddenly around your wrist as if to catch you. Your body must think it's falling because your hands grip him around the forearm, pulling him even tighter, his warmth a balm to the sinking cold of fear.

Shhh . . .

Maybe he says it or maybe you just hear it in your head, his lips against your ear, not a gust of air between your bodies, his own breathing so faint you vaguely think he might be holding his breath. The heady scent of his muted cologne – days old at this point – mixed with the zing of something citrus-y has your head fogging up faster, fear dripping away like melting ice. You want to keep your eyes trained on the cracks of light, keep your muscles tense and ready for a fight when that door inevitably opens – but you swallow against his fingers when you realize that underlying smell of spice coming from him is the smell of Takis sticks and how much it turns you the fuck on.

In the silence, the footfalls stop. The pressure and overpowering heat at your back makes sweat peak at your hairline, heartbeat at a low thrum. You’re entirely sure both of you have stopped breathing, just waiting, hoping –

You squeeze your eyes shut –

And then the boots turn away. Heavy, lurking, but in the opposite direction. The invader paces up and down the length of the apartment, never coming near the secret door again. And then, as quickly as he came, the front door opens and shuts.

There is quiet, a ringing silence.

“Oh thank fuck,” Dieter gasps out. He lets you go, giving you space again, and you are instantly cold. He drops his hands to his navy sweatpants over his knees, head dropping down against his chest. “Holy shit I thought we were gonna die.”

Your lips are still warm from his hand so as if to give it back because you don’t want anything from him, you pout them out.

“If you didn’t fight with me about hiding, we would have had more time. Why are you physically incapable of listening to me?”

You watch sweat roll down his temples and you realize your back is also damp. Your knees quake as the adrenaline subsides. The droplet from his hair continues down his throat, catching on his collarbone between the two folded edges of pink-and-black see-through kimono he wore like it was a totally normal thing. Of course this is his painting outfit.

If Dieter catches you oogling, he doesn’t say anything. Instead he straightens up and rubs his eye with the back of his wrist, still a bit out of breath.

“You know, when someone with tits like yours pushes me into a dark closet, I’m not really one to argue, but I think I should get some credit for not calling the cops on the first person who broke into my apartment today. What the fuck were you doing in there?”

You’re not quite sure what makes you flush harder: that he caught you doing something highly illegal or that he thinks your tits are dark-closet worthy.

“Your apartment is one of the few original rooms built as part of the Rhododendron,” you answer defensively, arms crossed. “And since these passageways never showed up on any later building plans, I figured no one knew they were here.”

Dieter frowns as he wipes the back of his neck with his palm and your eyes definitely don’t track it.

“You’re saying there have been people living in my walls, watching me jerk off and I never knew?” His dumbstruck look melts into one of lewd satisfaction. “Nice.”

No, see, this was why nothing was ever going to ever happen between you two.

“God, Dieter, you’re disgusting.” You shove past him and lean into the door. “People aren’t living down here. Didn’t you hear what I said? Hardly anyone knows about this at all – and they aren’t waiting around – to watch – you come –,”

Three hard pushes and the door remains firmly shut. What the fuck? Your fingers skim the seams, looking for a latch or a handle, something.

“You can yell at me once we get back inside.” He shudders and wraps his arms around his chest. “I’m freezing my nips off in here.”

“I’m trying, Dieter, but it won’t open –,” you push harder, using even more force than you did to open it on the other side. “It’s stuck.”

“Move, I’ll do it –,”

“Fuck you, Dieter, I got it.”

“We’d be outta here by now if you did.”

“Just help me–,”

“Ugh – fine – on the count of three – one –,”

“Two –,”

“Three!”

Nothing. He slumps to the floor, his bare feet sprawled out in front of him.

“For this much grunting and sweat,” he pants, “we should definitely be fucking.”

You flick his ear, glaring at him, the heat of exertion sparking up to your cheeks at his words. He scowls up at you and claps a big hand over his ear as if to protect it from further assault.

With a huff, you take out your phone and slide on the flashlight. As suspected, the crawlspace continues on, long into the dark.

“C’mon, there has to be a way out somehow.”

“You’re not serious,” he snaps from behind you. “Even I know in an emergency situation you have to stay put and wait for the authorities.”

“Oh, you mean the authorities that don’t know we’re here and probably will never know, with my –,” you check your phone for emphasis, “zero bars!”

His hands fly to his pant pockets and groans. “Fuck, I don’t have mine.”

You step back, hinging at the waist in a low bow. “Then lead the way.”

“Fuck, this is not how I wanted to spend my night.” He groans again and shoves the heel of his palms into his eyes before crawling to his feet. He wraps the air-thin kimono around his torso and fixes you with a solid glare. “Fine, but I’m charging you for every toe I lose to hypothermia.”

The hallways grow colder and darker the further you go, the air thickening with dust. You walk longer and longer as the passageway narrows until his shoulder bumps yours and eventually he has to follow an inch behind you to get through. But he’s not close enough to be warm.

“Can’t believe my last fucking meal was Froot Loops,” Dieter announces to the darkness after what feels like you’ve been walking for hours. You don’t need to see his face to know he’s scowling. “Fucking nasty.”

Your jaw aches from how tightly you grind your teeth together.

“If it was so nasty, then why did you eat it?”

“I couldn’t UberEats Captain Crunch,” he sniffs and you realize how cold your own nose is. “There’s a blizzard going on outside, didn’t you hear? Or were you too busy playing Nancy Drew, Baby’s First Break in?”

“I didn’t think you’d be home so early. You usually stop painting around eight, not 6:30.”

“And just what were you hoping to find?” The casual sarcasm has been leached from his voice and genuine anger crackles over your shoulder. “I told you Mags gave me that key to her apartment of her own free will –,”

“– which you just conveniently forgot to mention–,”

“– she gave it to me months ago and, so, yeah, sue me for forgetting!” You want to bite back with something, something to make the painful ache in your chest when you found out he had been lying to you go away. Something to scrape the taste of shame and disappointment off your tongue. But you know everything you’d throw at him would be unfair and childish. You stew so long in a bottle of your own rage and hurt that you don’t realize the silence has stretched on far too long.

When Dieter speaks again, he’s several steps behind you. You shine the flashlight on him and he barely flinches. You can see his broad shoulders shivering and you do think his feet look worryingly pink.

“The last time I saw Mags was just before a six month shoot. She gave me that key and told her to surprise her when I came back.” His teeth are chattering but he won’t look up at you. “I meant to call her, check in, while I was gone, but I just . . .” He shakes his head, eyes tightly shut. “I got back into town an hour after they found her body . . . which means I didn’t kill her, for the record. You can check my ticket.”

Your mouth drops open, shame spreading out like an electric shock across your skin. “Dieter, I never thought that you . . .”

His glare levels you and you wonder what his face looked like after you slammed the door behind you that night you found the key. You had spent two weeks afterwards wandering the halls looking for secret tunnels to peel the image of his face just before you left in a rush from the walls of your brain. What had he done in all that time apart?

“Whatever. Let’s just go. I think you already owe me a thousand bucks.”

He tries to move forward but you block him, standing in the middle of the hallway. The light of your phone hits him from underneath and his jawline plays shadows on his chest.

“I didn’t leave because I thought you killed her, Dieter. You lied to me. I’ve been running in fucking circles over this thing for weeks and all this time you kept something from me! It felt like you were . . .”

“What?”

The heat of your anger rolls up to the back of your neck. “It . . . i-it felt like you were manipulating me. Play detective with the little idiot in 2B because you’re bored and I was . . . available. Like what we were doing, it didn’t matter to you.”

Dieter’s teeth clench on the right side of his jaw. “Of course it matters to me. Mags was the only one in this entire building who treated me like a person and not a fucking spectacle. She was important to me and I know she didn’t kill herself. I wanna get the fucker who did it as much as you do.”

“But you kissed me!” You feel the cold in the air drop down into your lungs so fast your chest aches. “You kissed me, Dieter, and then I found the key on accident – like you were hiding it from me – a-and I heard the message Anika left on your voicemail. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, but . . .” You squeeze your eyes shut, the cold from your lungs seeping into your bones. It’s nearly hard to breathe. “You and I are very different people, Dieter, and there’s not a world I can imagine you want anything to do with me, or Mags. I thought you were just . . . playing with me.”

The light of the phone hovers between you and him. Your toes are starting to ache from the ice-cold concrete and you briefly consider taking off your shoes and giving him your socks because that’s the instinct he draws from you. Despite how you fought it, how you clawed and scratched, you want Dieter Bravo to be okay, to be happy. But you can’t prostrate yourself on the altar of someone who wouldn’t do the same for you.

Not again.

“Dieter, please say something.” You can see his pant leg tremble in the blue light. “I’m sorry I–,”

“Did you ever think I like the fact that you’re different from me? From everything that my world means? That everything that makes you, you is amazing and gorgeous and I’m so fucking drawn to it, I lose sleep at night.” His voice is deep, hulking in a way that fills up the dark corridor until you feel like you are being smothered. But it’s not angry, not aggressive. If anything, his voice is thick with regret. “Anika was . . . a mistake. She knows that now. She’s seen it. So I can’t blame you for r-running the way you did, but . . . I’m not lying to you. Not about Mags, or how I feel, or anything else. I never have and I never will. You got that?”

Swallowing the grisly, meaty knot in your throat that could be mistaken for your emaciated heart, you nod. You are suddenly overwhelmed by the desire to fall to your knees and confess your own sordid past that made you the way that you are because he needs to know you’re NOT amazing or gorgeous or anything resembling someone worth losing sleep over.

He needs to know he should run from you

“I’m starting to lose feeling in my toes, seriously. We need to get out of here.”

He stands there staring, the dark shadows abandoned by the light of your phone hiding whatever is in his eyes. And then you realize he’s waiting for you to move. Your knees and elbows locked from the cold and the weight of his confession, you stiffly turn around, heading into the darkness without looking back.

About an hour later, Dieter bursts through his apartment again with a cry of relief and immediately bolts for the fireplace. He twiddles with the switch a second before a massive fire belches from behind the sleek black grate. With another deep groan, he drops in front of the fire and sticks his hands centimeters from the metal fence. He wiggles his toes and props them up on the marble lip. The stiffness recedes, the pink fading, and he glances over his shoulder.

“Well, don’t just stand there. Either come in and shut the door . . . or leave.”

Your fingers wrap around the edge of the black door. You are cold. Your fingers are cold. The hole in your heart that’s been growing there long before you met Dieter . . . makes you step through the threshold and shut the door behind you.

Dieter wiggles his toes against the marble lip, his elbows over his knees, his eyes the color of earth in autumn. He neither tenses or relaxes when you sit down next to him, extending your own extremities closer to the fire.

The color has returned to his lips and you can’t find anything else in the room to look at.

“I’d offer you a drink,” he murmurs to the flames, “but I still can’t feel my feet.”

I lose sleep at night.

“Dieter, look, I’m . . .”

His thick fingers wrap around the bone of his wrist and he shakes his head. “Don’t. You don’t have to say anything. Don’t . . . don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“Thank you, Dieter.” You glance at him. The fire crackles in his eyes, wide in disbelief, fingers tangled together. “I mean that. I wouldn’t have gotten as far as I have without you.”

He chuckles after a pause. “That’s not what you said when I broke into the super’s storage closet for you.”

“You’re going to get us arrested,” you roll your eyes and bump your shoulder into his. With a grin that is innocent and hopeful and full of bright fire from behind the grate, his gaze drops to the plush of your mouth, the wet crease where your tongue soothes dry skin, and his bottom lip curls between his teeth.

“Oh,” he murmurs, “I’ve always liked the idea of you in handcuffs.”

As though his gaze has a solid presence, it licks fire down your throat, over the back of your neck, rocketing into your spine and swooping low into the peak of your thighs. It darts over your lips, your nose, your cheeks, your ears, dragging lightning in its wake.

It isn’t the first time you’re consumed by the thought of kissing Dieter Bravo and it certainly won’t be the last, but it’s the first time you are made so overwhelmingly helpless by it, the wind is knocked out of you for a second.

You wait too long to breathe, too long to tear your gaze away from his lips, too long to realize you’re leaning into him, until his broad hand redirects your forward motion up into his open mouth.

This is the first time you’ve ever kissed Dieter Bravo and dear fucking god, please don’t let it be the last.

His tongue lines your bottom lip, tasting, memorizing, marking that place that has you tilting in closer. Beneath your fingertips, the recluse beard scratches and burns and you take his jaw in both palms because you can’t wait to push it between your legs. His fingers wind into your hair and he’s leaning over you, consuming you like only your dreams of this kiss had before.

All it takes is one soft sigh, one final moan of relief, your fingers curling around the flimsy kimono, and Dieter pins you to the floor in a single fluid motion. His knee digs into your thigh, trapping your legs apart, to make room for himself in the cradle of your hips, pressing himself into you and pushing air from your lungs. You can feel him hard, the tip of his cock warm against you, and that simple fact – the fact he wants you so badly – has you slotting an arm around the back of his neck, tugging him in tighter, closer, because not even sex would bring him deeper inside you. With a grunt, Dieter’s hand leaves your cheek, running hotly down your neck, the curve of your shoulder, and into the dip of your hip. He squeezes and you whine against his teeth. He rucks his leg up under your thigh, squeezes you again, rougher, more intentional, and you tug your head back, gasping for breath, lungs on fire and mind whirling like a book flipping open in the wind.

You groan, air precious and limited, as he sinks just a hint of teeth into your jaw, your earlobe – harder, then – your throat, his tongue going flat and fat against your skin, then the valley of your collarbone. He mouths lower on your chest over your shirt, need overwhelming logic, and your fingers fly to slide up your own shirt, wriggling between his cock and the floor, and when he sees you peel your shirt up over your ribs, his mouth parts, eyes dark, framed by darker lashes.

“Fuck.”

Your back arches towards his mouth, towards his tongue and lips and teeth and the hot pant of air coming from the back of his throat. The lip of your shirt exposes your heaving tits and Dieter plants his mouth in the curve, groaning with a mouthful of your skin. He sucks, teeth prickling the skin, as if he could eat his way through you. His hips sway forward, heavy against the seam of your jeans and his nose draws up to your jaw before he’s kissing you again.

“I’m not manipulating you,” he hums out of nowhere. He blinks his bleary eyes at you, his wide hands stilling in their touch, and you want to laugh and grin and tell him he’s being silly but you can’t, you can’t over the wild beat of your heart, the sincerity in his voice a grounding force beneath the bloom of pleasure riding up from where his hips press into yours. He dips his head and drops a hot, open-mouth kiss to your throat. “‘M not, I swear, I swear–,”

“I know, Dieter.” You tug his chin up with the press of your thumb, into your seeking mouth, and he groans, tasting the transference of want, of truth, of pure desperation on your tongue. The slip of lip between his teeth turns his touch frantic.

“I want this.”

“Me too.”

Shifting over you, he kisses back down your neck, short whiskers stroking tiny burns against your skin, down your chest until he dips his head over your right breast, and bites – then soothes with his tongue. His hand nearly maps your other tit in one palm.

He squeezes as he bites again and your hips drive up into his, bliss sparkling like lightning between storm clouds beneath your skin. You aren’t sure if you moan his name or if it’s just pasted over every thought in your head. He makes you lose all sense.

With a groan he lifts his head just an inch, the cold tip of his nose drawing senseless shapes over the curves of your breast.

“Wanna see your tits – can I see your tits, please?” His hand slides up your back, between your bra band and your hot skin and digs his nails in. “Please, pretty girl, please.”

You whine your consent, nodding into the messy heap of hair that tickles your chin, and he pinches your bra off before the last dip of your head. He flings it into the darkness behind him and with a strained groan, Dieter opens his mouth around your nipple and sucks.

The corners of his mouth are still a bit cold, the heat of the fire not quite enough, and when he slurps up from the underside, the fat curve of your tit, up to your nipple again it’s like someone outlined your goosebumps in ice. You scratch at his head, begging him deeper into your chest, and he obliges with a wet, swollen hickey on the top of your tit. His teeth hurt but with each suck, it’s like he’s plucking at the string connected directly to your cunt. You throb for him.

His fingernail grazes the irate pink of your nipple, circling it again and again before he pinches and you arch, right into the flat hardness of his cock. You shake and intentionally, unintentionally, you don’t know your own body right now, rub up against his cock and Dieter, with your tit halfway in his mouth, chokes.

“Fuck, I’d ask you to do that again, but I’m gonna come like a fucking jet engine in my pants. Lemme in,” he’s babbling as his hands drop to the button of your jeans and wrench the zipper down, “I’m gonna eat you out till you’re fucking dry.”

Shoulders pressed back against the white shag carpet, you help him yank your pants down over your hips, up your calves, and off your feet. Dieter’s eyes can’t find a place to land – from the purple claim he’s laid over your tits, to the sucker pink swell of your lips, to the wettest cunt he’s maybe ever seen in his whole life –

He sits up on his heels and nearly gets caught up yanking the kimono off his shoulders. With shaking fingers, he unties his sweatpants and tugs himself out.

You’d never noticed before when your mouth flushes with spit at the sight of a good meal.

You do now.

He’s not overwhelmingly long, but he is thick, thick and a ruddy red, cream dribbling out. The sweat on his chest and stomach a few inches above sparks gold and warm in the light of the fire. In a single swipe over his palm, Dieter spreads that wet precum over his long cock, easing a few smooth strokes.

“Mhn, this is what I look like when I fuck myself at night t-thinking – thinking of you,” he groans. His hand curls around your thigh, keeping you pinned, keeping you spread. But the sight of him jerking off and moaning your name drops your knees apart and your hand on your clit. With every swipe, you circle faster until you think it’s his hand on his cock that’s doing this to you. Dieter watches, mouth open, shoulders curved as you spin yourself wetter and wetter. “Came so hard I blacked out with the thought of you like this in my head. Wait, baby, move, I wanna –,”

His hands on your knees, he shuffles closer and like you can see his words without asking, you tilt your hips up towards him, receiving him as he rubs his cock between your soaked folds. His blunt head catches your clit again and again, and you twitch, as though shocked in an electrical storm.

“Oh, fuck, baby –,”

You dig your nails into the back of his hands over your knees, using the leverage to speed up his thrusts, the ruddy tip smacking where you need him most but never inside. His eyes flutter as he feels you soak his cock, slick dripping between your thighs and the shine against your skin nearly knocks the wind out of him. He grips you harder.

“Fuck it, I gotta know what you fuckin’ taste like.”

In a move that catches your legs over his shoulders, rolls your ass up off the floor, and his body back and further down, Dieter tucks his head and latches onto your cunt, presented high near his face. He inhales as he drinks, as he eats, as he dines on the spillage down to your ass. Dieter moans and suddenly the boiling heat of pleasure rages to an inferno when he wraps his lips around your clit and licks with the flat brim of his tongue.

“Oh, oh-h-hmy fucking god, Dieter!”

It’s whiny and debauched, but it’s also a plea, a desperate bid to the last traces of your sanity. Your eyes roll back in your head and your back, flat, on the floor, but Dieter lays flat on his stomach, fingers pressing into your thighs, shoulders shoved up against the curve of your legs – his tongue still dragging breathless gasp after breathless gasp out of you. He’s tapping out nuclear launch codes with little licks of his tongue, eyes as effective at pinning you down as his thighs were.

You can feel yourself drip for him, on him, into him because his mouth is pressed right up against the seam of your pussy. Words rise and fall and die in your throat, your mind following the rising path of your orgasm into nirvana.

“Say it, baby,” he husks into your damp curls. “Tell me how good I fuck you with my tongue.”

You groan, riding his nose. “So fucking good. Oh, fuck, wait, right there – oh, shit – Dieter, baby, ahh–,”

It comes on without warning, without slowing down, without giving you a second to breathe before bliss flattens you like a train. It courses through you, singeing your blood and showering sparks behind your eyes. You spill more for him, so much for him, and he eats, like drinking honey from the source – spill, and spill until there’s nothing but a thready pulse inside your body.

He’s sucking directly from your tingling pussy when you finally push him back with a groan. Dieter retaliates with a huff, mhm mm, eyes black like the coals inside the grate, the entire bottom half of his face hidden from view as he hungrily tugs your hips to him with both arms. You’d never seen him quite so sure about something, so possessive.

Like he already owns your cunt. Stop me, I dare you, he taunts with his eyes.

“Dieter,” you plead, mouth dry, heart fluttering with each lick of his tongue. Your poor clit is drenched and stiff. “B-baby, I need you . . . up here.”

With one last prod that slides just barely between your cheeks, up through your leaky hole, and swiping your clit one last time, Dieter unplugs himself from you, murmuring and wiping his mouth as he goes. Your skin glistens where his mouth leads and he can’t resist shining up that purple swell as if showing off where he lanced you through the heart.

You half-expect him to shove his pants all the way down and shove himself into you, but he doesn’t. Instead the man known for his hedonism around the world and certainly within the building crawls up your body, drops a grateful kiss into the bend of your neck, and one by one, folds onto his elbows over you. His face smells like you, his aquiline nose inches from your own, his lips still damp and warm, and the soft brush of those lips high on your cheek has you shuddering in his arms, digging your nails into his expansive shoulders and tipping him into your waiting mouth.

He kisses you for a moment, breathing roughly out of his nose, before he wipes his broad palm across your forehead and pushes your hair back over your head, cupping the curvature of your skull. The motion drags your eyes open.

“Hi there, baby,” he murmurs quietly across your lips, eyes soft and a thousand miles deep. Your legs tuck up around his hips. “Can I fuck you now?”

You nod through the sudden blockage in your throat, the swelling in your chest making your heartbeat twice as hard. You think you might die if he doesn’t. Dieter presses a kiss with just a hint of teeth against your cheek before sliding back down, littering your skin with kisses full of praise and heat, and hovering above your belly button, he knees off his sweatpants, fully down from his hips, the motion bending him forward and pressing his face into the swell of your stomach.

“I wanna make this last,” he slurs into your skin, “but I don’t think I can. Fucking dreamed about you for weeks. Scared out of my mind when you didn’t pick up your phone.”

Dieter covers you with his body, his palm planted by your ear, the other hand wrapped around himself, and his words register in your brain, the desperation peeling back the fog of lust-drunk.

“W-when didn’t I answer my phone?”

His eyes, dark and wet, glance up from where you’re nearly combined and you nod, hands sliding from his biceps up to his shoulders. With a groan deep in his chest, Dieter rolls his hips forward, the blunt head of his cock sliding you apart and your mind nearly in half. You arch your back to take him more fully.

Half-way in and he drops his other hand to mirror the one by your head. He keeps pushing, keeps making room for himself, the thickness nearing choking you into blackness. You whine, incoherent syllables, and he grinds his jaw together.

“W-when you – fuck, baby, you’re so tight – when you went to that m-meat – ngh –,” he’s almost flushed against you, “that factory, ah-all by yourself.”

Are you sweating? How are you sweating already?

He ends against you, and you both groan at the sensation of his thick weight settling inside of you. You bury your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and tug – how dare you make me feel so good why haven’t you done this before please god don’t fucking stop now

“You were f-filming – Dieter! – you were in another countr-ry.”

With half a laugh, delirium twisting his mouth up into a smile, he lowers down and kisses you, your own mouth slow to follow him. He pulls back, a fraction of an inch.

“I would have dropped everything for you. Now, hush, I gotta fuck you until you can’t walk straight.”

His palm cupping the back of your head, his arm curled with his hand flat on the floor, Dieter starts slow, his pace deep, curious just how much of him you can take without actually tearing apart, and his cock brushes something that sends sparks up behind your eyes, splits your mouth apart, and wrenches his name out of your mouth.

“There we go,” he hisses in your ear and speeds up his thrusts. Like music cranked up on a radio, you can feel yourself pulse, your heartbeat in your neck, as every tap of his cock overwhelms your body with pleasure. The least you can do is hold on; you wrap your arms around his heaving back, and tuck your legs up to your ribs and he squelches in deeper.

“Hm – yeah – needed that–,”

Heat builds between you: between your neck and his panting breath, between the flushed skin of his chest inches from your sweaty one, between the brush of his course curls against your clit. He’s trying to make you remember every fight you had, every touch you shared, every shallow drop of his heart when you pushed him away again and again – he fucks you like he wants you to synonymize him with the very sensation of heat itself. But you’re unspooling rapidly with every thrust of his hips – more of you leaves as more of him comes in.

For the first time in weeks, you don’t think about Mags. Or her murder. Or her blue-cold apartment. You don’t think about failure or fear, or your anger that you wield like a weapon. You don’t think of your parents or what the fuck you’re going to do with your life when this mystery is over – when Dieter inevitably tires of you – you can’t think at all. He won’t let you.

He knows you want to recuse yourself, retract and hide, but he won’t let you.

The unimaginable stretch keeps your mind unfocused, blurred, and just when you think you might stabilize under the sensation, he kisses you. Harshly, softly, any kiss he knows you need to keep you in your body, forced to receive every devastating wave of pleasure he gives you. He palms back your sweaty hair off your forehead, salt clinging to his own curls, and sucks on your earlobe, asking how’re you feeling, my good girl? from between his teeth.

Your stifled sigh is answer enough.

“Almost there, love, what do you need, huh? What can I give you?” His words, offered in a voice so lust-strained, you feel the vibrations over your skin. You palm the center of his back, muscles hot and tight, and you answer with the only thing that’s on your mind:

“You.”

Breath suddenly short in his chest, he quickens his pace – shorter, faster thrusts that send you higher, sprinting towards an inevitable, bright end. His grip shifts as he squeezes your hip, that low ache tightening and locking down, the overwhelming sense of Dieter spiraling you apart.

“Show me you mean it,” he whines, the scruff of his beard rubbing your jaw raw. “Come on this cock for me, baby, show me who you need.”

You yank on his hair again and with a snarl, he snatches your wrists from around the back of his neck and pins them above your head.

“Gonna fill you up with e-exactly what you need, gonna fuck you so full of me, your undies are gonna drip white for weeks–,”

“Mhmn, yesDieterplease, yes, m’yours, y-your –,”

Another release, this one wild and spiraling, tears through you, up your spine, out of your mouth in a wide, silent scream. Your body curls around him, clinging to him as you pulse and seize, your legs twitching. Your hands tingle with a sudden loss of sensation as Dieter squeezes down on your wrists, head tucked into your neck, and with a shuddering, “f-f-fuck,” he follows your release with his own. A rough shove and he breaches your squirming cunt with his warm cum, the feel of it tugging your own smoldering orgasm along a bit further. Basking in the last twitches of your cunt, Dieter lowers his head to your shoulder, his thumbs distractedly rubbing soothing circles around your wrist. You can’t move, can barely breathe with his weight on you, but the pounding of his heart through his chest into yours settles the haze in your brain.

You know now you can’t hide the thunderous machinations of your own heart from him either.

“Don’t wanna move,” comes the dispassionate grunt at your neck, “but my ass is on fire.”

A smile then a full body laugh, that makes Dieter lift his head. His own smile strikes you in your heart: adoration, a little sleepy, and relief. He glances over his shoulder at the exposed flames mere feet from his bare ass.

“S’ what I deserve, fuckin’ in front of an open fireplace.”

“We all must suffer for our art.”

At that he turns back to you, grinning wildly and a tad bit proud. His own ego blown up to excuse his softening cock, Dieter slides out of you and onto his back. Without his chest, the heat from the fireplace collides with your bare, sweat-slick chest and you shiver.

“Cold?” He sits up and tries to catch a loop of the sheer blanket on the back of the couch but you still him with a touch of your hand on his back. The look in his eyes, that dopey ease by which Dieter lives his life, makes your other hand on your stomach tremble.

You don’t want your overthinking to ruin a truly blissful mood, but anxiety chatters at the back of your teeth. Instead of suggesting you both go to his room to shower off, or if he thinks the police might know about the secret passageways, you ask:

“Did you mean it?”

His face softens, eyes go warm. You should specify which part, but he doesn’t need you to.

“Yeah. I did.” He leans down and kisses you briefly on the mouth, knowing you have more to say and worry over.

“But–,”

“As cute as your but is, we’re not gonna do that right now. You’re going to get under this blanket with me and we’re going to talk about what you’ve found about the case and then we’re going to solve this mystery together.” Dieter reaches back and finally snags the blanket. With a shuffle, he, sweat-streaked and cum-covered, lays down with the blanket over his shoulder and opens his arms to you as though he’d done it a thousand times. Your face hot and your eyes painfully dry, you curl up into him.

“Together,” he repeats. “Did you hear that part? That’s important. We’re going to Scooby-Doo this together.”

Silence, where all the wrong things sit heavy on your tongue, your own twisted morality desperate to push him away and run out the door – silence stretches, uncomfortable and tight and –

“I’m proud of you for that pun, and not using it like I’m gonna ‘Scooby-Doo-Screw-You’.”

“Fuck,” Dieter groans and you giggle. “It was right there!”

His chest is warm as you bury your face into his skin.

You watched true crime television specials to be prepared for the worst. You listened to podcasts about missing women to avoid making deadly mistakes. You fought and hid-away your whole life to keep yourself safe and protected, but nothing – nothing in the entire world – could have prepared you for falling in love with Dieter Bravo.

His smile is soft and he knows you well enough to know that you’re thinking about something. With a brush of his thumb over your cheek, he asks:

“What?”

And all you can do is shake your head, the deluge of words and feelings trapped behind your lips and the only noise you can make to keep them inside is a squeak.

You press your forehead into his shoulder and his arms smooth across your back, tugging you closer.

“Nothing. It’s just . . . I feel safe with you.”

Safe, and happy, and loved.

#brainrotclubserverchallenge #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x reader #the bubble #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble fanfic #pedro pascal

220 notes · View notes

unseededtoast · 2 years ago

Text

One Bright Morning | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: After experiencing the most traumatic moment of your life, Spencer helps guide you through the darkness into one bright morning that changes the both of you. (Based off of "First Light" by Hozier)

Cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3

Word count: 8.8k

Warnings: Violence, angst, light smut. Poorly edited

a/n: Howdy y'all, this is my second Spencer oneshot based off a Hozier song and honestly at this point i think i might just create a Spencer fic for every song on Unreal Unearth. Anyways, here's my masterlist if you wanna check out my other stuff:)

"Hello?" You hear his voice as the door swings open, and the soft lighting from inside his apartment illuminates his figure as if he's an angel.

"Please." Is all you can say through your cries and he wastes no time before he's helping you inside of his apartment.

Your forehead is slick with sweat, your stomach tied into knots as you pace back and forth. Shaking hands push away the hair falling into your face and you know you have to do something soon, or the little girl is going to die. Your mind swims in all the information the team has collected about the unsub so far, trying to identify any leverage you can use in a last ditch effort to save the hostage's life.

"Does anybody have anything?" Your voice is thick with stress and tension, a bead of sweat rolls down your back. The quick pitter patter of your heart echoes in your ears and it's almost like a ticking time bomb.

"We've tried every angle we can think of." Morgan answers, equally as stressed out. But you can't accept that answer, there has to be something.

"What if I go in? Offer myself for her? He might think he can use me to get out of this situation." You're already taking off your bulletproof vest to carry out the mission, but Hotch puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you from taking it all the way off.

"No, it's too risky. We know he's suffering from hallucinations and if you walk in there he might just kill you." He explains, but you fight his hand off your shoulder. Maybe it's just the adrenaline pumping through your veins, but you can't understand why the team isn't doing more to save the girl.

"And if we don't do anything she's for sure going to die." Before he can protest, you shove your vest into his hands and make your way to the house across the street.

The team had tried to negotiate with the unsub, feeding him false promises of a safe getaway and immunity, but he hadn't taken them. He explained that in order for the victims soul's to be saved, they had to die before they could "commit an unforgivable sin". He's convinced he's saving their souls, but what he's actually doing is mutilating young girls in their own homes and leaving their bodies for their families to find. Unfortunately for him, you and the rest of the team had interrupted his salvation of this girl and unfortunately for the team, he had taken the girl hostage and is unwilling to let her go.

The house he's blockaded himself in is a typical, unassuming suburban home. The landscaping is manicured to perfection, the lawn is trimmed neatly, but behind the white door is a deranged murderer with a knife to an eight year old's throat. Your feet quickly carry you to the door and with heavy, shaky breaths, you knock on the door and speak to the unsub.

"I want to be saved." You tell him, hoping to appeal to his delusion. There's a loud crash in the house and you hear the girl cry out.

"Please, I want to be saved." You say with more urgency. Twisting the handle of the door, you slowly make your way in, not seeing the unsub or the little girl anywhere in immediate view. After a few seconds of silence, you hear the girl's muffled cries.

"I know you can save me. Please, help me." You beg, making your way towards the sound. As you round the corner into the kitchen, you see the unsub holding the knife directly over the girl's carotid artery. Your eyes dance from the blade to the psychopath holding it and see nothing but pure evil within him.

"Don't move another step. I know you're one of them." He yanks the girl back, further into his hold and you put your hands out in front of you to show him you're unarmed. Your head shakes, denying his claim.

"They're wrong. They don't understand the mission." Another small step is taken towards the man, and for a second you see his resolve starting to falter.

"No, they don't. I'm just trying to save them!" He cries out, seeming to be in agony. Another step is taken towards him. You're only ten feet away from him, if things keep going well you might just be able to get the girl from his grasp.

"Save me. Please, I want to be saved." You boldly take two more steps forward but freeze on the spot when he jerks back with the girl, pressing the blade more tightly to her neck.

"You can't be saved. No, not you. You've already committed an unforgivable sin. But she can still be saved. Yes, she can still be saved." His gaze moves from you to the crying girl, his voice becoming more stable.

You see a sick smirk crawl its way onto the man's face, and he glances at you from the corner of his eye before he readjusts his grip on the blade. As if time suddenly begins moving in slow motion, you see him tilt his head back like he's experiencing euphoria and his arm makes one clean swiping motion. Reaching out in a last ditch effort, you try to still his motion, but it's too late. You were too late.

Your body knocks into the man's and sends him tumbling to the ground. The fountain of blood released from the girl's neck splatters your face, she chokes and gurgles as she falls to the floor. Ignoring the man, you collapse beside the girl, holding your hands to her neck in a frenzied attempt of saving her life. You get tunnel vision, the only thing you can see is the girl and how the light slowly dims in her eyes.

At some point, you must have screamed out and alerted the others, because several pairs of hands are dragging you away from the girl. You fight them with all the strength you have left, reaching out for her small body, desperately trying to help her as her crimson blood drips through your fingers.

A team of EMTs rushes into the house past you and you see them leaning over the girl before you're taken away from the scene. You feel your chest tighten, your heartbeat race, and you're not able to form a coherent thought. All that consumes your mind is the little girl and how you were right there. You were right there and you still weren't able to save her.

-----

Days later you walk back into the office, running on maybe five hours of sleep since the incident. You had been given instructions to take three days off before coming back in and you know the team had to deal with the fallout of your shortcoming. In fact, you walked in with your badge and gun in hand, fully prepared to be suspended.

The atmosphere in the office is noticeably tense. Everyone is quiet with their heads down doing their jobs. Without greeting your team like normal, you duck your head and make a straight route towards your desk, trying to make as little sound as possible when you take your seat. Placing your gun and badge beside your computer, you see a single file laying on your desk. There are usually about ten.

Trying your best to keep your composure, you open the file and are met with a blank incident report. Unable to think about filling it out, all you can do is blink back at the white paper. What do they expect you to say? Thankfully, you're ripped from going down that rabbit hole by a hand touching your shoulder. Looking over, you see Hotch with a somber look on his face.

"Why don't you follow me?" His voice is quiet, and you agree wordlessly, following him into his office. As you walk through the office, you try to commit it to memory just in case this is your last day here.

Once you reach Hotch's office, you take a seat in front of his desk and wait for him to say something. You're keenly aware that you deserve to be suspended and reprimanded for you actions, or lack thereof, seeing as how you blatantly ignored orders.

"None of us blame you." His words shock your system, eyebrows drawing tightly together and lips falling apart in confusion.

"But-" You try to condemn yourself, but he holds up a finger to stop your words.

"All of us here have lost someone. Some more than others. It comes with the territory of the job, this is only your second year and you have a lot to learn. But with that said, you did ignore orders to not engage. For that, we cannot let you back in the field until you're deemed fit again. You're to stay here and help from the office while we go to case sites." Your mouth feels dry as he speaks, and you can't understand why your punishment isn't more harsh. An eight year old girl died because of you and all you're getting is a slap on the wrist?

"But-" You try to convince him again that you deserve worse, but he cuts you off again.

"Don't say anything. Go back to your desk and do your job." He orders you away, and this time you listen to him. Your walk back to your desk is a blur, mind fuzzy with questions you don't have the answer to. You feel several pairs of eyes on you, but you ignore them and go back to staring at the blank white paper that waits for you.

-----

Hours pass by, and you've made no progress on the report. You thought that maybe a change of scenery would help, and so you relocated to the break room with only the paper and a single pen. The team is already preparing to leave on their next assignment, and all except you and Spencer are going. Spencer had volunteered to stay behind and help Garcia, which he did on occasion.

You hear the team approaching the break room, preparing to leave, and so you quickly grab the pen and act like you're writing something useful. They come in and grab last minute snacks, telling you that they'll be back in a few days and you give them the best smile you can muster and watch with a tired soul as they walk out to catch the next monster.

"You know that's not true, right?" A voice behind you startles you, causing you to jump and drag a line of black ink across the paper. Spencer is standing behind you, coffee cup in hand.

"What?" You ask, not having the slightest idea of what he means. He takes a seat beside you at the table, his eyes locked onto the paper you had been scribbling your thoughts on.

"What you're writing. It's not true." You look from his face down to the paper to see what exactly you wrote. You're not entirely sure yourself.

She died right in front of me because I was slow. I was too slow and she's gone. She was right there. Right there.

The words accurately reflect the rhetoric that's been repeating itself inside your mind around the clock. You can't seem to find the lie he so obviously sees. You've been working with Spencer for two years now, and his mind still amazes you. But even geniuses are wrong sometimes. With a shake of your head, you bite the inside of your cheek and stare at the words.

"It's exactly what happened though." You confess, clearly remembering how the man had time to enjoy slitting the girl's throat. And you were still too slow.

"You tried to feed into his delusions, it was the only play we had left. And you were probably the best one to approach him, seeing as how you most closely resembled his victims." He explains with a wave of his free hand. Your eyes meet his and you see that he's being sincere. You've never been good at expressing your emotions, and so you try to deflect the ones bubbling up inside you.

"Spencer, are you saying I look like a ten year old girl?" You know he's only trying to help you deal with your fresh trauma, but you can't help yourself from making the comment. Used to your antics, his mouth flattens into a straight line.

"You do not look like a ten year old girl but seeing as how you're the youngest one on the team it was the best we shot we had." He follows up his explanation. You appreciate the effort he's making to make you feel better, you just wish it worked. With a sigh, you crumple the paper up and toss it across the room, barely missing the trash can.

"Don't say anything, I'm getting it." You preemptively dismiss the comment you know he's about to make. No matter how many times you try to sink a paper ball into the trash, you always end up missing somehow, and Spencer is always there to keep track of just how many you've missed.

"One hundred forty three." He quickly says before quickly moving out of the break room. A ghost of a smile finds its way onto your face and you pick up the pen you left on the table, going to search for a new report page.

-----

Unfortunately, by the end of the day, the report still had not been completed. You're unable to look at this case objectively, and you entertain the idea of asking Spencer to do it for you. But that would still mean you have to tell him what happened, and you know there's no chance those words can find their way out of your mouth.

The clock on the wall indicates that the work day is over, and so you close the blank paper inside the brown folder, vowing that tomorrow you will finish it. You don't want to stay here, but you also don't want to go home. But you guess it doesn't matter, no matter where you are you know the nightmares will find you in the dark.

Everyone leaves the office, save for you and Spencer, who's working over to finish his case backlog. Though in your two years here you've never known him to have a backlog. His insane memory is always allowing him to fly through reports three times faster than the rest of the team. But you're too tired, physically and emotionally, to delve into why he has a backlog now.

Realizing you've been staring at your desk for the past thirty minutes, you decide you can't stay here overnight. Standing from your desk you rub the drowsiness from your eyes and weakly smile to Spencer, who looked over to see what you were doing.

"See you bright and early." Your voice is soft as you push your chair back in.

"Wait, let me at least walk you out to your car. It's dark out there now." He says, standing from his own desk. You shake your head, not wanting to inconvenience him.

"That's okay Spencer, I'll be fine. But thank you." You try to dismiss him, but he's already got his jacket slung over his shoulders.

"I was just finishing up anyways." He says, and you're skeptical of how much of his statement is the truth. But you don't fight it, and let him accompany you to your car. After hours the office is eerily quiet, and you find yourself being thankful he wanted to walk you out.

"At least let me take you home, as a thank you." You say as you two walk out of the office doors into the parking lot. The chilly fall air infiltrates the thin shirt you're wearing, your breath evaporating in the air in a translucent white cloud.

"Sure, thank you." He says with a smile and the two of you climb into your car.

Spencer gives you directions to his apartment and you find out he only lives two blocks away from you. How you had never known this is a mystery. But had you have known you would've made the effort to offer him a ride more often. You park your car just outside of the building and look over at him, his hazel eyes illuminated beautifully by the amber glow of the streetlamp.

"I live just down the street." You break the silence as he unbuckles the seatbelt.

"And after all this time we've never seen each other outside of work." He points out and you smile,

"Well, this counts, right?" He lets out a small laugh and goes to open the door, but stops short of swinging it open. His lips open and close a few times, like he can't decide what he wants to say before he looks deep into your eyes once more, like he can see your mind through your pupils.

"You know, if it ever gets to be too much to deal with, you can tell me. I know how torturous thoughts can become." You're at a loss for words, but manage to nod your head. Spencer isn't known for openly extending empathy to very many people, in fact, you've only seen him do it twice so far. It's a break from the normal dynamic you two share and it throws you off for a second.

"Yeah, thank you." You say as he opens the door, leaving your passenger seat. He waves goodbye before he enters the building and you make sure he gets in before leaving for your own apartment, his words lingering in your head. What had happened to him to be able to understand such torment?

-----

A girl cries in front of you, her crimson tears flowing down her face and puddling on the floor. She's begging you to help her, to save her. Each time she's within reach, she slips right through your fingers and her agonizing screams ring inside your head.

Just like last night, and the night before that, and the night before that, you're awoken with a start. Panicked eyes stare down at your hands, expecting to see them coated in a thick layer of bright red blood, only to find that they've been scrubbed clean. In fact, they've been scrubbed so viciously that there are scratches from your nails evident on your knuckles.

Your head falls into your hands and you take in a shaky breath. The clock on your bedside table shows you that you've only managed to get two hours of sleep. But hey, it's more than last night so you guess you can't complain. Dragging yourself out of bed, you decide to get a shower, knowing that you're not going back to sleep.

As the scalding water trickles over your body, your mind is once again a chaotic mess. The girl's screams echo in your mind accompanied with questions about your effectiveness as an agent. If you were unable to save a girl within your reach, how good of an agent can you really be? How many more people will die as a result of your incompetence? Dwelling on that answer is almost enough to send you into an episode, but the hot water runs out and the cold shocks your system.

You step out and wrap yourself in a towel, but are unable to shake the thoughts away that easily. If you couldn't save that girl, how many do you expect to save? If you couldn't save her, then you won't be able to save others. And if that's the case, why are you still on the team? Your purpose is to protect and save people who are targeted by deranged killers, and if you can't fulfill that purpose, then what exactly are you doing? Wouldn't it just be better to give up your spot for someone who's more competent? Someone who can actually save people?

Your body moves as if it's been put on autopilot as you get ready for the day, hours earlier than what is necessary. Instead of holing up like a prisoner in your own home, you pull your shoes on and grab your keys, deciding to go for a walk and then head into work early.

It's still too early out for most people to be heading into work, so the streets are practically yours for now. A dense fog has settled across the roads and the crickets chirp all around. It's almost serene. Your feet begin wandering down streets with no real path or destination in mind, the coolness of the air helps keep you awake.

For about an hour you meander the streets until the clock on your phone shows that it's almost time to leave for work. When you reach your car, your gaze freezes on your passenger seat. Though you commute to work alone every day, the car feels empty now.

You don't drive yourself to work right away. Instead, you find yourself parked outside of Spencer's building, waiting for him to walk out so you can offer him a ride. It doesn't take long before he's walking towards your car, confusion clear on his face.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, opening the passenger door and getting in.

"I just figured you might enjoy a break from public transit." You smile softly at him before merging into traffic and taking the two of you to work.

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for the remainder of the trip and once you park in front of the office building, you stop him from getting out by reaching a hand over the middle console and resting it on his bicep.

"How did you know that I was having bad thoughts?" Your voice is raw and you're sure you look exhausted. You're sure if your superiors found out about these thoughts that your punishment would be extended, but you're far too curious. He sighs,

"Persistent intrusive thoughts about a traumatic event are common. In fact, these thoughts can lead to insomnia and a change in normal daily functions." He explains like he's reading the words straight from a textbook. But you know it's more than that, it has to be. The way he offered his help yesterday was more reminiscent of someone who's lived through something similar. Empathy cannot be learned from a book.

"Right. Do they ever go away?" You don't push him to give you any answers about his own trauma, but you desperately want to know that these thoughts will eventually go away. Spencer glances down at your hand gripping his jacket,

"Sometimes they leave for a while. But, they don't ever leave forever." His answer is not what you had hoped for, but you know he wouldn't lie to you. You release him from your grip and clear your throat, turning your car off and getting out.

You know if the roles were reversed that you would suggest he seek out professional help. It's only the most logical way to deal with this sort of thing, but you know that you can't face a doctor and tell them about how you relive that girl's death every night. They'd surely diagnose you with something and you'd be kicked off the team.

But maybe being dismissed from this job would be the best thing for you. If you're unable to move on from this incident, how can you expect to function like everything is fine? And if something like this happens again, what will happen? Will you crumble completely?

As you step into the elevator, you can't help but wonder if the loss is worth it. Not only the loss of victims, but the loss of yourself as well. You feel the change within you, like a piece of you is fractured beyond repair.

Spencer and you part ways and begin your workload for the day. The blank white paper still waits for you. ----- The rest of the team had made it to the next site and had called Spencer and Garcia for their help. Of course, you used this as an excuse to abandon the report on your desk, insisting that you can be of some help to them. They're both geniuses and you know there's nothing you can do that they can't, but they let you join them anyways.

"Look for white males, aged twenty to forty, who recently experienced a severe head trauma." Derek speaks through the speaker and you watch in amazement at how fast Garcia is able to filter through hospital records.

"I've got one. Sending it over now." She drags and drops the file into a message and sends it off to the team.

"What would I do without you, baby girl?" You can practically hear Morgan's smile through the phone. His playful ways with Garcia had landed everyone in a presentation about inappropriate work relationships last year and you can clearly see they disregarded every piece of information shared there.

The phone clicks and goes silent, leaving the three of us crammed into Garcia's office and you can't help but feel like you're inconveniencing her and Spencer. You stand from your seat and dismiss yourself, telling them you're going to work on a report and to holler if they need you. You know they won't, but at least you offered.

Sitting back down at your desk, you grab your pen and convince yourself that you're going to write at least one good sentence. You need to have this done by the time Hotch gets back and at this rate you won't even have it done by Christmas.

Taking a deep breath, you tap the pen against the desk before putting it to the paper. You hold it there for so long that an ink blob begins bleeding through the document, and so you start moving it across the paper.

At approximately 4:47 pm EST on October 16, 2023 the Behavioral Analysis Unit from Quantico, Virginia, responded to a hostage situation that resulted in two deaths.

You stare at the sentence you had managed to write and wonder if you can just leave the report as is. Technically it is what happened. But you know that you have to fill in the details. Perhaps that part of it can wait just a little longer.

Deciding you've put in all the effort you can manage for now without slipping into another downward spiral or gruesome memories, you decide to go waste some time in the break room.

There's not much to do, but you make it seem like organizing the coffee mugs in the cupboard is the most vital mission you've encountered to date. And thankfully it keeps your mind distracted from everything falling apart inside your mind.

-----

Garcia and Spencer don't call on you to help them for the rest of the day, much to your dismay. You were hoping they'd at least take pity on you and let you do something insignificant. But perhaps they don't even trust you with the most menial tasks.

You sit at your desk at the end of the day and see others leave the offices, bidding each other goodbye for the weekend. The rest of the team will be back on Monday and you still only have one sentence written in your report that's sure to exceed ten pages if you do it correctly.

"Hey, staying late again?" You hear Spencer ask as he returns from Garcia's office. Spinning around in your seat to face him, you nod your head.

"Yeah." You reply without much enthusiasm, glancing back at the paper. He must think you're completely inadequate at your job because you've been unable to complete a single report in two days. If he's been secretly tasked with keeping tabs on your progress for Hotch, surely there is no good news to report.

"Why don't you take it with you? Work on it over the weekend?" He suggests, and it's not a bad idea. It would surely beat sticking around an empty office all weekend. But truthfully, you're not sure an empty house will be much better.

"You're probably right." You pick up the file and get ready to leave the office with Spencer, who has his belongings in his arms. The two of you walk down to the parking lot and he starts heading towards the bus station.

"Hey, I can take you." You offer, stopping him in his tracks. He looks between you and your car, almost like he's not sure if he should take you up on your offer. But eventually, he walks over and takes a seat in the passenger seat.

"Thank you." He says, fastening his seatbelt. You back out of the parking spot and make your way towards his apartment. Thankfully he says nothing about the fact you took the longest route possible.

"Any fun weekend plans?" You ask him as you pull up to the curb, stalling to keep here as long as possible, so that you're not left alone with your mind. He rests back in the seat slightly and puffs out some air as he shakes his head.

"What's fun for me doesn't always fit other people's definition." There's a small smirk on his face and you know he's either about to devour an entire book series in two days or learn an entirely new skill. He's always looking for ways to expand his knowledge, and you admire that about him.

"Well, as long as you enjoy it then who cares?" You shoot back, watching as he gathers his bag up in his hands and opens the door.

"Apparently our coworkers. But thank you for the ride, see you Monday." He bids you goodbye and you watch as he walks into the building. You don't leave for your home right away, instead you lean your forehead against the steering wheel and become frustrated with yourself. Since when are you scared of being alone with your own thoughts?

-----

"Save me. Save me. Save me. SAVE ME!" The girl screams in your face, blood dripping out from her mouth and onto your body. Your hands desperately try to stop the bleeding, but it's no use and soon her chanting ceases and she crumples to the floor. Her dull eyes stare widely at the ceiling and you're left covered in her blood. You're acutely aware of how it's sinking into the crevices of your skin, drying in your hair, becoming part of you.

Just like every night for the past week you awake from the nightmare. A sheer layer of sweat covers your body and you can't take it anymore. These nightmares are driving you out of your mind. You haven't slept for more than three hours straight over the past week and you start feeling like you'd do anything to be released from your own thoughts.

You push yourself out of bed and into your bathroom where you splash cool water on your face. You're well aware that you're getting into a very bad headspace, and being alone is doing nothing to help the situation. If you keep heading down this path with no help, there's no saying how much of yourself you will lose. Or what your thoughts will drive you to do.

Bloodshot eyes stare back at you in the mirror and you hardly recognize yourself. The dark circles under your eyes make you look like a cheap halloween decoration, your cheeks are sullen. You look miserable. You are miserable. Tearing your gaze away from yourself, you put some decent clothes on and grab your keys off the dining room table.

The air outside is crisp, dew gently rests on the blades of grass and the moonlight illuminates the sidewalks. The nocturnal animals sing their songs, their tunes carrying throughout the night. You almost feel a part of them, the nighttime animals, as you just meander the streets for another night with no destination set.

You turn down an empty street and hear the thumping of music approaching from the main road. Probably teenagers enjoying their weekend night without parental supervision. The music gets closer and closer and you see their headlights start casting a shadow of yourself on the sidewalk.

"Catch!" You hear a boy yell from the car out of the window, and you turn to see what's going on.

Before you can process what's happening, you feel something collide with your chest and your skin becomes wet. Looking down you see that they had thrown a drink at you, some sort of syrupy mess but you're not concerned with what it is; just what it looks like. Dark red syrup covers your hands and your shirt and you can't stop yourself from starting to hyperventilate.

Your chest begins rapidly heaving, your hands start shaking and it feels like your knees are going to give out. It looks too real, and it's on your skin. It's seeping into your skin and it's on your clothes. And it's on your face and in your hair. It's everywhere.

"No, no, no no no no.." Your repeat to yourself, trying to rid your skin of the syrup, but all it does it smear and glide across your skin, spreading itself all over you. Your nails claw at your hands trying to get rid of it but it just won't leave. Panicked tears fall from your eyes and you look around, seeing that you're all alone in the middle of the street.

Without thinking, you start moving towards a familiar building. Your body is on autopilot and it feels as if you're practically flying down the street. It could've taken you twenty minutes to get there, but it felt like five seconds. Once you're on the doorstep your sticky, red-laden fist knocks on the door. You can hear your rattling breaths as if it's from a distance and your vision begins to contort, making you dizzy. You knock again, having enough knowledge that you need him to open the door before something worse happens.

"Hello?" You hear his voice as the door swings open, and the soft lighting from inside his apartment illuminates his figure as if he's an angel.

"Please." Is all you can say through your cries and he wastes no time before he's helping you inside of his apartment.

He takes the jacket off your shoulders and helps you step out of your shoes, a vivid look of worry plastered all over his face.

"What happened?" His voice is concerned as he places his hand on your back, leading you into the kitchen. He wets a cloth and gently starts to wipe the red from your trembling hands. With each pass of the cloth, your skin regains its natural color and you feel your breathing begin to level back out. It's leaving your skin, it's washing off.

"I was outside and someone threw something. And then I don't know what happened, it's like my brain just snapped and I couldn't control myself, all I knew is that I had to get here." You try to explain it to him the best way you can, still feeling an adrenaline buzz. You half expect him to give you some clinical diagnosis, but he remains quiet.

His warm hand envelopes one of yours as he wipes the remaining syrup from your arms. Your face starts to feel stiff from the drying tears, and your eyes move from your skin to Spencer's face, who is standing less than a foot away, tenderly cleansing your skin. Guilt washes over you as you realize that you've just interrupted his weekend, intruded on his free time.

As your senses start to clarify, the guilt intensifies and you pull your hand away from his grasp. You can't believe you actually ran all the way here because some teenage kid threw something at you. How juvenile. He takes a step back from you and scans over your body, sending a self-conscious pang down your spine.

"I um, I'm sorry Spencer. I shouldn't have come here and I'm sorry if I interrupted your weekend." You tumble over your own words and go to leave his apartment, already mentally kicking yourself for knocking on his door. His hand on your shoulder stops you from walking to the front door, and he gives you a certain look you've never seen on him before. His eyes are tender and soft.

"Don't be sorry, I'm glad you came. I told you I was here to help." His voice is kind and gentle, and you're grateful for him.

"I can go back home, I think I'll be okay." You can't help but feel as if you're still inconveniencing him and make one more move towards the door which gets stopped by him again. He shakes his head,

"No, it's okay. Go sit on the couch and I'll get you some clean clothes to change into. What kind of tea would you like?" Your heart swells at his tenderhearted words. Your feet shuffle against the hardwood floor and you position yourself at the edge of his leather couch, careful to not get any of the stickiness on it.

"Um, anything is fine, thank you." Your throat begins feeling scratchy, probably from how violently you sobbed the entire way over here. He nods before disappearing into his apartment and your eyes travel around his place. You've never been here before and you're curious as to what he's like, what his tastes are.

It's not far off from what you expected. The color scheme is simple, the walls an earthy green and the lamp in the corner emits a soft amber glow. In true Spencer fashion, there's also a multitude of books, both laying on a coffee table and adorning bookshelves. It's calming.

He walks back into the room and hands you a change of clothes, which feel warm, as if they just came from the dryer. Spencer shows you to the bathroom and tells you that he'll be in the kitchen while you get changed. You strip from your clothes and try to fold them as neatly as you can, not wanting to make more of a mess in his home. He had given you a simple sweatshirt and sweatpants, which you already know are going to be too long, but you're thankful nonetheless.

The sweatshirt easily falls over your head and it smells like fresh laundry and Spencer. You breathe in the smell and it makes you feel secure. And just like you thought, the pants are far too long, but you roll up the legs and make it work. Before you join him in the kitchen, you try to rinse out the red syrup from your hair, knowing that if you don't get it out now that it'll be ten times harder to wash when it dries.

Once you're satisfied, you open the door and quietly walk back down the hall to the kitchen, where Spencer is standing with two mugs in his hands. He looks over you once and offers you one of the drinks. Steam rises from the top and you smell the chamomile. The warmth of the drink soothes your throat, and you follow Spencer back into his living room, resuming your position on his couch. He sits at the other side and you look over at him, feeling an intense sense of gratitude.

"Thank you, Spencer." You whisper, not wanting to disturb the stillness. He places his mug on the coffee table beside an open book and his lips curl into a soft smile.

"Anytime. I know you'd do the same for me." He says and you nod, knowing he's right. You open and close your mouth a few times, trying to find just the right words.

"I don't think I'm okay. I don't feel safe being alone with my thoughts. I can't sleep without seeing her." You admit to him, no longer caring if he reports this to Hotch on Monday. You chew on your bottom lip with anxiety, feeling exhausted from suffering. Expecting to find him looking at you, analyzing you, you delay meeting his gaze only to see that he looks empathetic.

"I know what you mean. I barely slept for two weeks when mine started." His voice is raspy, yet gentle. Your head shakes as you take another sip of warm tea.

"How do you deal with it?" You're desperate for answers, knowing you can't keep functioning this way. He sighs,

"One day at a time. I put off confiding in someone for a long time, probably too long. But this isn't something to deal with alone." The two of you lock eyes, and for the first time since the incident, you almost feel at ease.

"Am I going to be kicked off the team?" There's worry evident in your voice, and you're scared of his answer.

"No. If they got rid of everyone who has dealt with trauma from the job there would be no behavioral analysis unit." He says with a small smile, trying to lighten the heavy mood. You take another sip of tea and allow yourself to relax into the leather of his couch. His presence alone is enough to make you feel safe.

"Are you going to tell the others?" You ask, looking down into the tea, watching it swirl gently around the ceramic. He readjusts on the couch.

"No." He says, much to your surprise, but you're thankful he's not reporting back to Hotch about how you've been doing.

The two of you let the conversation fall back into a silence, and you finish off the tea. Your body feels relaxed and warm, your eyelids begin to feel heavy. Leaning back into the comfortable cushions, your eyes close and you take a deep breath, thankful for the little moment of peace. You're not sure how much time passes, but you feel Spencer tapping you on the shoulder. Fluttering your eyes open you see him standing beside you.

"Follow me." He quietly instructs, gesturing for you to go with him down the hall. Without thinking of why, you blindly follow his orders. He leads you into a dark room, his hand on the small of your back to guide you through the shadows. Spencer sits you down on a bed and an uneasy feeling settles in your stomach, you can't let him do this for you.

"Stay here tonight, I'll be in the living room." His hand leaves your back but you reach out and grab his wrist before he can leave.

"No, Spencer, this is your home. I can't." You tell him and stand from his bed, which is admittedly very comfortable. He turns to face you fully and sits you back on the bed, his hands on your shoulders.

"Please?" He asks, and you're not sure why he's being so generous. He's already done more than enough for you tonight, and now he's giving you his bed. The man doesn't like to shake peoples' hands because of germ transfer, and here he is letting you stay in such an intimate place of his? You can't wrap your head around it.

Though you feel sleepy, there's an uneasy feeling in the back of your head and you know what will happen if you go to sleep; you'll see her again. You reach your hands to rest atop of his on your shoulders and look up at him through the darkness, just barely able to make out his features.

"Stay with me." You whisper and let his hands go so that he doesn't feel trapped. In the darkness you see his shoulders tense, and you wish you could take your words back. But to your surprise, he nods his head and makes his way around to the other side of the bed. He pulls the covers back and slowly gets in, and you lay down, keeping a respectable distance between the two of you.

Your heart pounds in your chest and you reach across the soft blankets for his hand, needing it to ground you, to remind you that you're not here alone. His larger hand engulfs yours and his thumb traces soft circles on the back of your hand. Your eyes close and before you understand what's happening, you fall asleep.

-----

Bright, almost blinding, sunlight breaking through curtains stirs you awake and you open your eyes to find that you're not in your own room. Your mind takes a moment to remember where you are and your muscles relax when you realize where you are. But the relaxation is short-lived as you realize that it's not a pillow in front of your face, that you're in fact resting your forehead against Spencer's chest, your hand still entwined with his.

A moment of pure fear strikes you and you try to untangle yourself from him without disturbing him. Surely if he woke up and saw this he'd be uncomfortable. Gently, you try to extract your hand from his, but instead of being able to separate, he squeezes your hand tighter. Your eyes trail up from your hands to his face, seeing that he's already opened his eyes.

"I'm sorry I don't, I didn't mean-" You try to manage the fallout of your actions, but he shushes you.

"It's okay. How did you sleep?" His voice is deliciously raspy, and it distracts you from answering the question for just a second longer than it should've.

"Um, good. I didn't see her." You admit and lean back so that you can more clearly see his face. His curly hair is disheveled and his eyes are still clouded with drowsiness. His soft, pink lips turn upwards into a smile.

"That's great." He says and closes his eyes once more, keeping your hand in his. Your tense body eases once more as you realize that he's not uncomfortable. You know him well enough by now to understand that if he were uncomfortable, he wouldn't still be here.

You rest your forehead against his chest again, savoring the warm and comforting smell of him. The two of you are entangled with one another under the cozy blankets, and you're perfectly content with staying just like this for as long as possible.

As you drift back off into a sleep, you feel Spencer move around and feel his soft lips press a delicate kiss to your forehead. Instinctually, you lean into him, nuzzling your nose into the space where his neck meets his shoulder.

-----

Sometime during the afternoon, the two of you decide to get out of bed. You're very aware that a rosy color adorns your face, feeling flustered from whatever transpired between you and Spencer. You had always been attracted to him, not just for his looks, but also his intelligence, but you never thought he'd reciprocate those feelings. But after last night and this morning, you can't help but wonder what's actually happening.

The two of you sit across from each other at the dining table, drinking coffee and eating mixed berries. You catch him stealing glances at you, and he catches you doing the same. You're too afraid to bring it up, scared that whatever is happening will be dismantled. So instead you're perfectly content just enjoying the moment.

After breakfast, you move into the living room where he picks up his book from last night and you pick one of them off his shelf. The synopsis sounds interesting, and so you curl up on his couch with it. Unlike last night, you no longer feel like you're intruding on his space, it almost feels natural to just coexist with one another on this Saturday morning.

He finishes the book in record time, and you had only reached page twenty of yours. You watch as he files the book away on his shelf, and instead of reaching for another, he trains his gaze on you. Your fingers close the front cover of the book, waiting for him to say something.

"You said you didn't see her last night, right?" He asks, breaking the silence. You nod your head,

"I didn't see her last night." You confirm and he smiles, joining you on the couch. He's sitting so close that your knees brush against each other and it sends a warm feeling up your spine.

"It's one of the harder parts of the job, I think. Nobody tells you about this side of it when you join. And nobody really talks about it either, everyone would just prefer to suffer in silence so as not to be perceived as weak. But without finding an outlet, it'll eat you alive." He speaks, resting his hand atop your knee. Your eyes stay glued to his hand as you add onto his statement.

"I considered leaving the team because I felt like I was going insane. I thought that if I couldn't save that girl, then what good am I to anyone else?" You reach out for his hand and he looks over to you, hazel eyes shining with an unfamiliar light in them.

"It's hard, but you can't focus on those you lose. You have to remind yourself of how many you save. To get yourself out of that darkness of guilt, you just have to remember the ones that are alive and well because of you. You've been on the team for two years now and you've already saved countless people, both directly and indirectly. Don't let the job strip you of your humanity." He tells you, looking deep into your eyes. You swallow, digesting his words and your eyes are unable to look away from him.

"It's so hard though. She was just a child." You say with exasperation. He squeezes his hand on your knee in reassurance.

"She was, but so many children get to live because you stopped him." His voice is sincere and your eyes water at his words. Your mind conjures images of children with families, alive and healthy.

Spencer raises a hand to the side of your face, and you lean into his touch. His thumb comes up and brushes a lone tear from the corner of your eye before gently stroking your cheek. You reach out and pull him into you, wrapping your arms around his neck as he circles his arms around your waist. He hold you tight, and you never want to let go. Spencer is warm, comforting, and you know that from this moment forward, you won't be able to survive without him.

Pulling away from the embrace, you rest your forehead against his, the two of you meeting each other's eyes with parted lips. Your hands find their way to the sides of his face, and you bring your lips to his. His hands hold your waist, keeping you in place as you move against each other in perfect harmony.

One of your hands finds its way to his curly hair and you rake your fingers through it, eliciting a soft moan from him. Heat ignites within you and you push your body closer to him, unable to get enough. His skin is soft under your touch and you try to memorize the way it feels, just in case this never happens again.

His hands move to map out the curve of your waist and your breathing gets heavier with desire. You move one of your legs across his lap, straddling him. He breaks the kiss first and holds you upright on his lap, looking over your body that's still concealed by his clothes. Deep in your soul, you know that this is more than just a random act of lust.

You lean in to kiss him again and you help his hands remove the sweatshirt from your body. The air is chilly against your skin and you shiver. Spencer kisses your lips and trails down to your neck, and you're unable to contain your breathy moan. Your body aches with desire to have him all over you.

His hands map out every inch of your body, taking the time to memorize the way you feel underneath him and how you respond to his tender touch. The two of you take your time to make each other feel good, to make each other feel loved and understood. There's no rush to your movements, and you're perfectly content taking as long as you want to touch him, to feel his warm skin on yours as you move in tandem, the two of you becoming one.

You treat each other as if you're both made of precious glass, appreciating the fragility of the moment. The two of you soak in every moan, every breath, every kiss from the other, and you've never felt more alive. With each movement you find a new way to appreciate his beauty. His beauty is in the tenderness of his touch, the colors of his eyes, the pinkness of his lips. Every inch of him is beautiful, and you know that nothing else on this Earth can ever begin to compare.

Spencer rests his forehead against yours, the two of you out of breath and sensitive. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead as he moves beside you, cradling you in his arms and placing delicate kisses to your warm skin. The two of you hold on to each other as if the other would cease to exist if you let go.

Without having to utter a single word, you know that the two of you will never have to face this life alone again.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #hozier #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #Spotify #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction

410 notes · View notes

starlightshadowsworld · 3 months ago

Text

So I’ve been getting really into mysteries and stuff and I’ve been thinking about reading some of the works mentioned in Bungou Stray Dogs.

As each character is named after an author and they and their abilities are based on the main character of the work the ability is named after.

To maybe get a deeper insight on them and any connections that may bring.

And so I’m reading “And then there were none” by Agatha Christie because oooh mysteries and because she as a character that is very much unknown.

But she and her organisation, The Order of the Clock Tower are important to the series. They’ve been mentioned in many of the light novels and Agatha was working with Fyodor and Fitzgerald.

Seen by how she was zoom calling them about the failure of the bounty.

And I’m not too far into this book and it is already strongly giving 55 minutes energy.

Like a bunch of folk invited to an island under false pretences and are accused of committing murder?

Sounds familiar.

And I’m not sure yet but I feel like that poem about the 10 soilders and how they all die till none are left might be something that could have meaning here.

Though there were only 9 people invited to Standard Island.

6 members of the Agency: Atsushi, Kunikida, Dazai, Yosano, Junichiro, Kenji.

2 members of the Port Mafia: Akutugawa and Higuchi.

And 1 suspected terrorist and the lynch pin to everything: HG Wells.

Maybe Ranpo could be the 10th because he shows up at the end? Maybe it could be Verne?

I dunno but I feel there’s something here with these comparisons.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd 55 minutes #agatha christie #bsd agatha #and then there were none

38 notes · View notes

insufferableprotagonistpoll · 2 months ago

Text

Insufferable Love Interests Poll Round 1

Propaganda why Riri is insufferable as a love interest:

"GOD i HATE this little yellow fuck. I freaking rage quitted the anime once they introduced Riri as Anzu's love interest UGH. Riri did nothing but force Anzu into situations she was uncomfortable with purely because Riri cant understand that SHES NOT INTERESTED IN ROMANCE. Just thinking about it pisses me off."

"Doesn't know what consent is"

"Annoying voice, took Anzu's cat away from her, is constantly pushing her to be in romantic relationships when she doesn't want to, constantly physically assaults her to make sure she ends up in dating sim scenarios, and when they finally do something that she actually would like, what happens? Not only are they initially taken away for dramatic effect, but they're then made to stick around as the potential canon love interest because they apparently fell in love with Anzu?! And Anzu claims Riri might be a potential canon option?! I'm kind of glad that Romantic Killer never got further in the manga because if Riri became the canon endgame partner I'd burn every copy of this manga within a 3000 mile radius."

Propaganda why Solas is insufferable as a love interest:

"Egg ass bitch"

"Arrogant, condescending asshole who’s currently trying to commit his third genocide. But everyone thinks he’s peak romance because he’s (allegedly) hot (???). If romanced he has a relationship with someone based on lies and then breaks up with her because the knowledge that she’s actually a real person gets in the way of his plans to murder everyone and he really wants to murder everyone. Also, kinda racist."

"An optional romance in the third game of the series, but a huge chunk of fandom acts like it’s the canon story and also the most important thing in the whole series. Some of the writers also seem to be under this impression. The romance is locked to female characters of a specific background (dalish elf, an oppressed ethnic group in game) and Solas spends the entire game belittling her culture. He actually disapproves of dalish player characters standing up for and being proud of their culture, and approves when they join in the dismissal and belittling. He tries to remove incredibly important cultural tattoos from the pc when romanced. He breaks up with the player character, and is then later revealed to have been the villain behind the inciting incident of the game, and also plans further villainy. For some reason the romance is still made central. In the next game the default worldstate is for the romance to have happened and for the cultural tattoos to have been removed, because isolation from your culture and family is oh so romantic. This default player character will wax lyrical about how much she loves Solas, who is actively trying to destroy the world and kill everyone in it, because he does not consider them to be real people. She has not spoken to him in over ten years and they were together for less than a year under false pretences. The “romantic” ending of the game has her throw her entire life away and imprison herself in a magical prison filled with deadly corruption to be with her ex from ten years ago forever, with no way out. This is presented as romantic. THIS IS PRESENTED AS ROMANTIC."

#riri #romantic killer #solas #dragon age #insufferable love interests #insufferable love interests poll #tournament poll

23 notes · View notes

hero-israel · 1 year ago

Text

During Nuremberg Trial testimony, the prosecutor pressed Einsatzgruppen commander Otto Ohlendorf: “You were going out to shoot down defenseless people. Now, didn’t the question of the morality of that enter your mind?” Ohlendorf referred to the Allied bombings of Germany as a context:

I am not in a position to isolate this occurrence from the occurrences of 1943, 1944, and 1945 where with my own hands I took children and women out of the burning asphalt myself, and with my own hands I took big blocks of stone from the stomachs of pregnant women; and with my own eyes I saw 60,000 people die within 24 hours.

A judge immediately pointed out that his own killing spree preceded those bombings. But this would become known as the “Dresden defense,” to which Ohlendorf resorted still another time, in this exchange:

Ohlendorf: I have seen very many children killed in this war through air attacks, for the security of other nations, and orders were carried out to bomb, no matter whether many children were killed or not. Q: Now, I think we are getting somewhere, Mr. Ohlendorf. You saw German children killed by Allied bombers and that is what you are referring to? Ohlendorf: Yes, I have seen it. Q: Do you attempt to draw a moral comparison between the bomber who drops bombs hoping that it will not kill children and yourself who shot children deliberately? Is that a fair moral comparison ? Ohlendorf: I cannot imagine that those planes which systematically covered a city that was a fortified city, square meter for square meter, with incendiaries and explosive bombs and again with phosphorus bombs, and this done from block to block, and then as I have seen it in Dresden likewise the squares where the civilian population had fled to—that these men could possibly hope not to kill any civilian population, and no children.

Ohlendorf thought this defense so powerful that he invoked it yet another time:

The fact that individual men killed civilians face to face is looked upon as terrible and is pictured as specially gruesome because the order was clearly given to kill these people; but I cannot morally evaluate a deed any better, a deed which makes it possible, by pushing a button, to kill a much larger number of civilians, men, women, and children.

(The chief prosecutor, an American, called this particular iteration “exactly what a fanatical pseudo-intellectual SS-man might well believe.”)

At Nuremberg, this sort of tu quoque defense (“I shouldn’t be punished because they did it too”) wasn’t admissible. Still, in the verdict of the Einsatzgruppen Trial, the judges chose to refute it. “It was submitted,” the judges wrote, “that the defendants must be exonerated from the charge of killing civilian populations since every Allied nation brought about the death of noncombatants through the instrumentality of bombing.” The judges would have none of it:

A city is bombed for tactical purposes… it inevitably happens that nonmilitary persons are killed. This is an incident, a grave incident to be sure, but an unavoidable corollary of battle action. The civilians are not individualized. The bomb falls, it is aimed at the railroad yards, houses along the tracks are hit and many of their occupants killed. But that is entirely different, both in fact and in law, from an armed force marching up to these same railroad tracks, entering those houses abutting thereon, dragging out the men, women and children and shooting them.

The tribunal sentenced Ohlendorf to death. He was hanged in June 1951.

“In the last analysis”

Nuremberg enforced a fundamental distinction. All civilian lives are equal, but not so all ways of taking them. The deliberate and purposeful killing of civilians is a crime; not so the taking of civilian lives that is undesired, unintended, but unavoidable. The errors made by a bomber squadron cannot be deducted from the murders committed by a death squad. It’s a difference compounded many times over when those civilian men, women, and children are subjected to torture, rape, and mutilation before their murder. To borrow Khalidi’s phrase, “in the last analysis,” this distinction is what separates modern civilization from its predecessors.

More disturbing is the thought that it separates the contemporary West from its peers. Otto Ohlendorf and the regime he served did all they could to conceal their deeds from Western eyes. Nazi Germany still operated in a West founded on Enlightenment values. So massive a violation of a shared patrimony needed to be hidden from view.

In contrast, Hamas initially sought to publicize its deeds, assuming they would win applause, admiration, or at least tacit acceptance in the Arab and Muslim worlds. Here they succeeded beyond their expectations. The many millions who don’t share the West’s patrimony, and who know next to nothing about the Holocaust or Nuremberg, do see things as Khalidi says they see them. (So, too, does a sliver of alienated opinion in the West, where such views are cultivated and celebrated.)

Finally, and still more disturbing, is the fact that Ohlendorf’s defense has been revived to frame the massacre of Jews.

#Hamas #Palestine #Nuremberg trials #Dresden defense #Israel #leftist antisemitism #jumblr #war crimes #genocide #crimes against humanity #martin kramer

184 notes · View notes

the-light-of-stars · 1 year ago

Text

just checked the site of Germany's biggest publically funded news network and saw this article:

"Why pro-palestinian posts are dominating"

And their arguments for why there are more pro-palestinian posts than pro-israeli posts - something they condemn as obfuscation of facts , false narratives and antisemitism btw - are absolutely baffling.

Not once do they consider that maybe people see Israel dropping hundreds of bombs a day, murdering thousands of people, dropping white phosphorus, starving an entire population, bombing hospitals and ambulances, killing members of international aid agencies, killing specifically journalists, cutting off electricity and cell service, causing the spread of typhus and cholera by restricting access to clean water and medical help, directly stating their genocidal intent again and again - all of which has been condemned by international organisations like Doctors without Borders and WHO, has been called a genocide by the UN and recently even has been called terrorism by the Pope himself - that people see this , see western politicians completely on the side of those committing the genocide and think this is untenable and try to do what they can to at least spread awareness.

No they did not consider that, not once, instead their arguments for "the dominance of pro-palestine sentiments online" are that "there are more muslims than jews worldwide" , "most people from the middle east are antisemitic", "hamas is spreading propaganda online" and "young people are foolish and easily lead astray by echo chambers" .

And they complain about there not being as many posts in the "pro-israel" and "free israel" tags , saying that it "shows an unprofessional antisemitic bias" and call for the EU to "do something" against all the pro-palestine posts, and to instead make social media sites push pro-israel stances harder. They treat pro-palestine stances as not objective and 'fake news' influenced by the narratives of 'terrorist idolisers' while pro-israel statements are treated as trustworthy, objective and morally good and necessary. They complain why there isn't the same outrage for the kidnapping victims as there is for the actual literal genocide happening, or rather they don't just complain why there isn't more outrage about the kidnapping victims, but about why there isn't more outrage for them than for the victims of the ongoing genocide.

"The user is in a so called "echo chamber" and gets a progressively one-sided view on the actually highly complicated theme complex, says Gust."

Because being angry about a genocide happening , with full funding and support of multiple western countries , means being "one sided" and being on the side of the victims instead of the side of the perpetrators (referring here of course to the israeli -and other - politicians and companies causing and supplying these attacks, not to hostages or civilians) means that you don't understand the "highly complex" theme complex of "a western ally is carpet bombing and starving a populace with the goal of ethnically cleansing the land they live on and multiple western countries fully support that" , surely all the people saying that genocide is bad and should stop have actually been brainwashed or are simply too stupid to try and see things from the angle of the politicians committing a genocide!

I might translate the whole article later but god german media is -ironically - so extremely one sided and biased it's insane.

#german stuff #palestine #free palestine #current events

163 notes · View notes

lemon-natalia · 8 months ago

Text

Nona the Ninth Reaction - Chapter 31

quick note first of all, would anyone be interested in me also doing a liveblog for 'The Unwanted Guest' as well as these remaining chapters?

and after three books we’re back on the Ninth where this all started. Kiriona’s putting on a bit of a show with the ‘Home sweet home’ thing, but it really can’t be pleasant returning to somewhere she spent an absolutely horrible childhood trying to escape, and without Harrow no less

this might genuinely be the first time there has ever been a dog on the Ninth, i don’t really see the cult of goth priests being big on pets

‘then again, i’m not sure of John period’ yeah me neither, quite frankly even after a book which spends half its page time detailing his backstory i’m still unsure about what exactly his plans and powers are

‘a string of fairy lights wouldn’t have gone amiss’ honestly given Harrow’s general penchant for interior bone design, i think she could be persuaded if the fairy lights were made out of actual bone somehow

ohh holy shit there was a good moment while reading that description of Gideon surrounded by corpses with blood on her sword that i fully thought that she’d come back to the Ninth on some weird revenge mission and just straight up murdered Crux

‘My lady, you have come home to us … at last’ why is this making me feel things for Crux of all people. like he has no idea about Nona, or that Harrow’s lost in the River, or anything she’s been through at all. all he knows is that she left for the First, became a Lyctor, and never communicated or came home again

oh great we’re returning to possibly the creepiest part of GtN with the weird ‘devil’ things. between the duel of the Third and Sixth and possession of Colum Asht, the second half of that book is suddenly becoming very relevant again. while Nona’s been living in a combination slice-of-life/war drama, Kiriona’s life seems to have taken a sharp turn into zombie apocalypse novel. fun!

i’m very intrigued about the little pieces of John and Gideon’s relationship that we get here, notably i think (if i remember correctly) that this is the first time she’s mentioned him as ‘Dad’, seemingly completely sincerely, unlike calling him ‘Pops’ at the end of HtN. and apparently he falsely reassured her that the devils were confined to Antioch, but Kiriona seems to have fully believed him and sounds genuinely upset that he apparently lied about it

wow Crux literally cannot stop hating on Gideon even when he’s actively fucking dying. on one level i can admire the commitment but dude, this level of beef with a literal teenager is ridiculous

‘there was a figure there - dark robes with a pale face’ okay i really can’t figure out what is with the weird stalker figure here. is it Nona having a hallucination of Harrow? just a strange description of one of the nuns?

Pyrrha apparently painted a mint green nursery here a long time ago, i assume for Anastasia’s kid, which would explain the weird remark about helping deliver a baby back in chapter 10. also this implies a version of the Ninth which was at one point not quite so dedicated to the doom-and-gloom-bones-and-death aesthetic, which feels inconceivable to me

well hello Aiglamene long time no see, this is a slightly more welcome return than Crux at least. ngl i really wasn’t expecting to see all these characters from the beginning of GtN again, but it’s interesting to catch up and see how little has really changed there despite all the events of the series

ohhh my god. this is not how i expected a reunion between Aiglamene and Gideon to go. Aiglamene seems so genuinely shaken by the fact that she’s dead, and the fact that she’s apparently very angry at Harrow on Gideon’s behalf, like !! she definitely seems to care about Gideon a lot more than she ever actually let on to her

‘Nona was deeply horrified to see actual walk-around skeletons’ i think Harrow would be mortally offended that anyone in her body could find skeletons horrifying

actually yknow what i take back what i said in GtN about Palamedes, Paul should absolutely not be a therapist with this bedside manner

‘You can’t take loved away’ uh, excuse me for a minute i need to sit in a corner and cry my heart out for a moment. this moment really feels like a summary of a lot of themes in the whole series

ok the final nail in the coffin for my emotional wellbeing at the end of this chapter is that Pyrrha did actually get a birthday present, one that she’ll never be able to give her. here i am completely distraught over cheap moustache rides what have you done to me Tamsyn Muir

istg at least some part of Nona needs to live on. like c’mon Gideon died at the end of the first book and she’s still kicking, Nona can do it too. once again it is nearly the end of a Locked Tomb book and i am in severe denial about probably permanent character death

#i am really really sorry about how long the liveblogs of these last few chapters are taking #i promise i am almost there!#tlt #the locked tomb #the locked tomb liveblog #nona the ninth #lemon natalia reads the locked tomb

53 notes · View notes

moxie-girl · 8 months ago

Text

DRDT EP 13 theories/predictions

figured I should collect all my thoughts in one place b4 the new episode drops…

Levi’s Secret

I don’t think Levi is the killer, especially not after the last episode. Given how he apologized for being unhelpful + derailing the trial, he knows what he’s confessed will cause a big stir but he’s confessing it to be helpful in some way, possibly one or more of the following:

1. He knows talk will turn to motive secrets soon with alibis exhausted, and wants to stop people from thinking whoever’s secret Arei had was the one to kill her before that discussion takes up too much time.

2. He wants to change the topic to motive secrets because he thinks one of the other unrevealed secrets relates to Arei’s murder.

3. The murder he committed is similar in some way to Arei’s death and he needs to confess his secret in order to share what he knows.

4. Or, because of the murder(s?) he committed, he knows more about bodies than Arturo and wants to share what he noticed (Levi autopsy guy from now on??)

While Levi’s almost definitely off the hook for Arei’s murder, I’m still a little worried for him though…

Ace’s (Almost) Murder

I’m really hoping we address this sooner rather than later, especially because I think it has to be relevant to Arei’s murder, since the common consensus is that they were both hung? I’m also a firm believer of the theory that someone else (coughcoughHu) tried to kill Ace and Nico walked in on it and saved him…

The Murder Method

I’m not going to go into a deep analysis of the evidence here, especially since other (smarter) people have already analyzed the crime to hell and back - I just figured I’ll put this here too with the rest of my thoughts. I believe that Arei’s murder was almost definitely done through a complex sort of Rube Goldberg machine, utilizing tools like the playground spinner (hence the tape) and heavy jugs full of water (hence the fish)… I don’t know who this implicates, but hopefully we’ll get more clues soon!

The Possible Culprits

I’m not listing off who I think it is based on who could have committed it and how or anything, rather, this is who I think is narratively the most suspicious right now, in no particular order:

Rose

I really don’t want it to be Rose!! But she’s been acting super super suspicious in the current trial and it’s hard to ignore:

- continuously pushing for people to vote/‘just want this trial to be over already’ (paraphrased)

- hasn’t fallen asleep once, I don’t think?

- keeps repeating ‘I was definitely asleep at that time’ when asked for alibis, instead of just saying no

However, there’s like no reason or motive for her to have murdered Arei, so maybe there’s another explanation…? (Accomplice!Rose??)

I’m convinced she was the one who tried to murder Ace, with good intentions, so it’s possible she switched targets to another bully? She’s definitely latched onto Nico as someone she needs to protect, whether or not they want her protection…

I know she has an alibi, but she brought it up a little out of the blue, possibly also to protect Nico, and Nico barely agreed with her (it’s also been shown that Nico will fake an alibi so as not to be suspected, which is technically fine since they weren’t the murderer so it just means they aren’t falsely suspected? But it also means they might just agree to Hu’s false alibi to get Ace + the class off their back, which Hu could be using to her own benefit?)

Overall, I’m still not sure about the possibility of this once since if Hu really did murder just to remove someone she saw as a problem, considering what we think her secret is, it seems more likely that she’d give up immediately, “sacrificing” herself for the “greater good”…

Whit

Honestly, I don’t really think it was Whit, but by GOD is he suspicious right now. But then again, he’s always suspicious, and it doesn’t feel like in a murder way? I almost don’t want to suspect him of being the mastermind… it feels more like a red herring (ba-dum-tss)

Other Misc. Thoughts

Secrets

I agree with the common theories on whose secrets are whose, especially since one of those theories has already been proven correct. I do wonder whether any of the other unrevealed secrets will prove to be related to the murder in any way, or if they’re just still unrevealed for personal reasons. Also, as much as I want David to reveal that his secret is surely actually Teruko’s, I think narratively he’ll probably hold on to that for another chapter or two (it’s not like anyone can disprove him…)

Ace

Given that Ace has been oddly quiet the last episode, plus I’m sure his reaction to Levi’s secret is gonna be… something, I think it’s leading up to one of two things:

1. Ace passes out from blood loss and talking putting too much strain on his throat.

2. Ace has a full-blown anxiety attack as the stress of the whole situation finally gets to him.

Teruko

I’m excited for Teruko to school us all on… something! Likely the murder method or the secrets… however, since this episode is the 13th episode, releasing on Friday the 13th, it also seems likely that something really unlucky is about to happen :(

☆ ☆ ☆

Anyway, that’s all! Actually wait hold on I should make a bingo card or something…

aaand here are some cards! totally didn't take me like an hour to figure out how to make or anything lol...

#this took 4ever i hope some of this is relevant lol #doing this keeps me from freaking out over what might happen next lol #drdt #danganronpa despair time #drdt theory #teruko tawaki #levi fontana #hu jing #rose lacroix #whit young #ace markey #nico hakobyan

42 notes · View notes

showerthoughtsofagoldengoose · 1 month ago

Text

eridan analysis i wrote at work today

Something thats been on my mind lately is Eridan’s relationship to genocide.

Something I find over looked is that Eridan wants to commit genocide sure but vriska is obsessed with the apocalypse, terezi kills ppl bc she likes roleplaying as a lawyer, and karkat and EVEN TAVROS have aspirations to get murder related careers. Suffice to say, all of the beta trolls want to do something murdery. This being said, yes, genocide is still more extreme but despite him planning to do it (only holding off because of Feferi) we can see he doesn’t want to kill ALL land dwellers (explicitly shown to seek approval from them and is even cordial towards kanaya and karkat, the latter whom he holds in a shockingly high regard) and even has some hesitations towards death.

It mentions in the comic that he didn’t really appreciate Vriska killing the other trolls in their FLARP games (which was really just their way of doing their work and getting to hang out and have fun during it) and we see that a major defining aspect of his character is an immense fear of death.

The quadrant bullshit is his way of trying to avoid getting culled, he refuses to go into the ocean likely due to his fear of feferi’s lusus, he recognizes he will outlive all of his friends, his choice to join Jack Noir is itself an act of self preservation, he kills the angels and feferi out of self defense and his entire personality and need to express superiority over others and live up to his name is, itself (depending on how you look at it) a self defense mechanism.

I think another thing worth noting about the genocide stuff is that he literally is in a role where he is trying to prevent the death of every living thing, yet his aspirations are to kill all trolls who live on land.

He defends these aspirations when they’re called into question, and is described to have some in depth plans on how he would bring these aspirations to life- which as I said he does not make a reality because of Feferi. Worth noting as well is that he never explains WHY he wants to commit genocide. He has just been told he needs to vehemently hate land dwellers in order to be taken seriously imo.

The doomsday devices he asks for from Vriska always end up breaking. Feferi is his excuse not to kill everyone and I think even if they did break up presgrub, he would still hold off on it for her sake and then let’s say she died, right? Would he hold off on it then? Depends on his arc in that scenario tbh but I’d say it’d take more to get him to do it than to not.

One reading I loathe for him is that his act of destroying the matriorb was a calculated effort. The reading I heard went like this: he learns that the matriorb will allow for the continuation of the species and knows right away that this is his chance to make his dreams of genocide a reality.

This makes no sense. Firstly, that would mean no more seadwelling trolls, and if he truly is a racist cunt, he would want those guys still alive. Secondly, at the introduction of the matriorb he actually seems hopeful, and Eridan is not the kind of manipulative person to try and orchestrate harm under false pretenses of hopefulness. No, he would orchestrate harm under no pretenses but an open, overt, honest display of hopeless bitterness and rage. He’s also impulsive as FUCK and always acting on his emotions as much as he might want you to think otherwise.

Take for example how he takes it personally that nobody visits him on his terrifying planet. His emotions overrule his ability to make sense of things. He thinks nobody wants to help and he doesn’t care that it’s because his planet is dangerous; he cares because people are avoiding him when he desperately needs help.

This is not a boy who sees the hope for his species, after convincing himself his title means he understands hope, and decides to kill everyone. No.

First lets examine his dialogue with Kanaya concerning the matriorb:

He’s like. Weirdly innocent. Like he’s a fucked up kid, but here we actually see him in a state of hopefulness. Kanaya helped him find a new purpose he actually enjoys- being a wizard- and is so jolly here he actually doesn’t even mind her insulting him, like he’s actually being gracious to her. He then tells her he’s taken the concept of hope upon himself as something he can assist with as he thinks he can embody it. His talksprite here might look angry but that’s his demeanor, he tries to be all tough but he isn’t. I mean come on he’s the one who said the famous “its hard and no one understands” line, which is a massive moment of vulnerability for him. Or look at his dialogue with Terezi, when he calls himself pathetic right in front of her. If that isn’t vulnerable I don’t know what is.

Anyway back to my topic about the matriorb, no. Eridan’s act of destroying the matriorb was not calculated, it is, like much of his choices, an impulsive explosion of emotions and hopelessness. He was breaking down and took it out on the hope for his entire species, and then killed Kanaya who he knew was planning to kill him- leaving her alive was not an option. It’s important to note that he LEFT SOLLUX ALIVE (though he blinded him) but after Feferi tries killing him, he snaps.

Speaking of blinding sollux… why does my stupid shipper brain draw parallels to vrisrezi here…

Anyway one more intrusive shipper thought. Roxy has the matriorb, Eridan destroyed it, and Eridan might be Roxy’s dream boy. I mean he’s a wizard and like her crush, Dirk, also a prince…. And they have matching scarves… and she’s a silly girl with pink color themeing…. And she uses guns just like him…. Like. Come on. Also theres something so complementary about a nihilist and a void player… obviously for this ship to work he'd be aged up lol

Part of why I love his character so much is this delicate interplay between his haughty and abrasive personality, his selfishness and his shockingly vulnerable core. It is worth noting he is not like Karkat, who despite acting in a similar manner out of the need to, and similarly holding self preservation instincts, has a surprisingly gentle heart. Eridan does not.

His relationships to others are purely transactional. Let’s take for example his relationship to Kanaya. Eridan sees Kanaya as a useful auspice, as someone who is willing to listen to him, and later as the provider of his wand. He seems to recognize she doesn’t like him, but thinks he needs her to be there for him anyway. With Karkat and Feferi, these are two people who view him as his friend, so he’s nice to them in return, or at least as nice as a troll, especially of his social standing, can be.

Anyway unrelated thought i want to point out. Eridan is a prince of hope. He destroys belief or destroys THROUGH belief, and doc Scratch alludes to him as a boy on the brink of nihilism when speaking to rose just prior to Seer: Descend. He isn’t someone who I would consider as truly believing in anything. Sure he talks all about hemospectrum but he isn’t nearly as obsessed with it as Equius, Vriska or even Feferi.

He never gives much of a reason why he believes in it besides the objective fact that being higher on it actually does make you better than others. Hemospectrum isn’t a social construct, but a matter of true and genuine superiority. Eridan is all about objective reality, see his refusal to believe in magic but rather science. Again to call back to Doc Scratch, prior to Seer: Descend, Doc Scratch calls the existence of magic into question with Rose. Magic could be seen as a weak explanation for the unexplainable, as there is always something behind the curtain. Eridan also dismisses Gamzee when the idea of miracles is brought up. He insistently doesn’t believe in these things.

(Now, a common misconception about princes is they don't have their aspect- but not believing in anything so insistently is still belief, like believing in science and not magic. He has his aspect and suffers from it and is just stupid.)

Essentially, he has no faith. He’s a violently pessimistic person who lives constantly in fear. “I need to fill my quadrants to live” “I need to act a specific way to be taken seriously” “i am literally killing people’s parental figures for the sake of our species’s entire survival” and so on.

The very nature of his existence almost justifies Eridan’s lack of ability to believe. Eridan’s life, and the world he lives in, just SUCK! To top it off he was only 13 years old when he was going through this. Of course his nihilism gets worse when his own friends abandon him to be alone in his terrible and dangerous planet because they’re too scared to help him. He doesn’t go to theirs outside of dueling sollux because hes expecting them to help him as a way of showing they care. They don’t help him, and he gets the impression that they don’t care.

Adding to this is their discomfort with his advances. He hits on everyone in some desperate attempt to find support of any kind, and this just bugs people. He cannot express himself properly and inevitably scares people off and this is actually pitiable when you realize he actually has a sense of fucking boundaries (unlike Cronus) and knows when to back off. He doesn’t continue flirting with Feferi after their break up and straight up says they can stay friends when the join Jack Noir, for example.

I know people cite Equius saying Eridan’s advances made him uncomfortable as evidence for Eridan being a rapey fuck, but 1. Equius also says he tries not to interact with Eridan due to the landweller/seadweller animosty thing and 2. What the fuck doesn’t make Equius uncomfortable. Bitch sweats at every other word anyone says. As for Nepeta calling him creepy… i mean he is lol. Jade also thinks he’s a creep because I mean yeah have you seen him?! He’s off. Sure he’s not off in a Cronus kind of way (Cronus is his own can of worms) but he’s still off… his grandiose persona and interest in disturbing shit like genocide and classism are the the things he uses to lift himself up, and these things ironically are exactly what push people away.

Now you could say ok but Equius is even more offputting than Eridan. Like he is actually racist on top of being classist, is an even bigger perv than Eridan is, and is just kind of gross… like Eridan doesn’t even feel genuine attraction to some of the people he hits on and isn’t as openly sexual like Equius. Like he never really mentions pailing in the comic and seems to only be interested in romance if anything. With Feferi and Sollux we see a genuine interest from him however so he isn’t incapable of feeling romantic love/hate. So why does she call Eridan creepy and not Equius? For one thing I think its worth noting that Equius genuinely cares for others (namely Nepeta) while Eridan is more one to only look out for himself. Secondly Equius tries to protect Nepeta while Eridan might seem more like a threat- who would blame her for seeing him this way? See my entire essay. Eridan is not a likeable or good person, but all at once he is a deeply traumatized little boy.

Now the question is: does he deserve sympathy?

I would say he does. I mean throughout my essay I’ve made it pretty clear that he has a lot of vulnerabilities and trauma. Writing him off as not deserving sympathy is just, needlessly cruel in my opinion. He’s genuinely suffering and has been for his whole life.

Why the fuck did I just tear up.

#Eridan ampora #homestuck #character analysis #eridan #hs eridan #Text post #long post #idk #that last part i might have fumbled lol whatever #I should probably clarify i mean that hemospectrum means genetic superiority #Lower caste trolls aren’t any less valuable but they don’t live as long and are physically weaker than higher caste trolls.#fumbled on his classpect ill do a diff post abt that later i think i get it more now

11 notes · View notes

dukeofdelirium · 2 months ago

Note

Is it okay if I rant about the LN sequel for a second?

Depending on which social media cesspool you go into, it’s looking like we’re back in 2019. While this time, the popularity and the pull isn’t looking like last time, there are sources that are picking it up. Not that long ago, I saw Daily Mail publish an article about Robson taking the estate to court. Now, I don’t know who’s going to tell them that they are tardy to the party, but I don’t think it matters to them. I’ve also seen articles saying that there is no new material, probably because they know they won’t be able to dupe us. Surely, this time will just be about how mean the fans are and how nobody believes them and how they’re still fighting the estate and whatnot. Do we need a reminder of how no rational fact finder would believe these guys because of how much they lie? I’m glad we’ve seen a rise in people who actually do the research and realize that these two guys are full of it but we also see people who are still stuck in the lies. These people don’t have proof and they never will. There’s nothing that the FBI, LAPD, CPS, etc don’t know that other people claim to know. Now, this next part might sound silly so ignore me if you want. Michael has had a history of being compared to other people who faced the justice system and call me crazy, but I think the next one he’ll be compared to is Casey Anthony. With her coming back to social media to tell “her side,” people are asking why she was exonerated despite there being clear evidence that she did that to her daughter. I can already hear the comments of others when we say things like “He was exonerated of 14 charges”, the response will be “Well so was OJ, and Casey Anthony, and this person, and that person.” We don’t win with people like that. We can boycott all we can, but there’s plenty out there who will be watching and believing every single word that comes out of their mouths. 2025 was supposed to be Michael’s year, with his biopic coming, we were waiting to see people learning how to respect him again, and yet, here we are, seeing the same circus all over again.

Friend, you can’t let idiots online ruin your own enjoyment and happiness. We shouldn’t waste time trying to argue with people online when said individuals have already made up their minds and are not entering a conversation with an intent to have an open and honest discussion over this topic.

People will always compare random high profile cases to one another, but the fact is that every case is different as is common sense. Every case has different evidence, different testimony, different charges, etc… so anyone that doesn’t comprehend this fact is just flat out an idiot. Idk what else to say on that topic, they’re just literally dumb and not worth the time because it’s not mine or anyone’s job to explain something this basic to another person as if they have the mental capacity of a toddler.

OJ Simpson and Casey Anthony have literally nothing to do with Michael Jackson or the legal litigation surrounding him. Their cases also could not be more different from his.

Their cases were murder trials….. and yes, while both were acquitted with (in my opinion) a lot of evidence suggesting guilt, that still doesn’t mean that Michael Jackson being acquitted for his charges was incorrect or a legal failure… if anything, his case and acquittal was for once, a victory.

Not only do these cases require different evidence and burden of proof, but there was no evidence in Jackson’s case to suggest guilt beyond reasonable doubt. The prosecution tampered with state evidence to falsify fingerprints and phone records to try and nail him with the conspiracy charge. The alleged victims were also found to have lied under oath. The accusing family were career criminals and had scammed a JCPenny store for false allegations of sexual assault prior to the whole MJ thing. They also committed welfare fraud. I could go on and on but you know the details I’m sure.

There were active accusers in Michael Jackson’s cases who provided testimony that can be scrutinized and judged to have 1) holes in them and 2) outright lies.

Casey Anthony didn’t have an accuser. Her daughter was dead and DNA evidence of her hair follicles were found in her car’s trunk that showed signs of decomposition, meaning her decomposing corpse must have at one point been in the trunk of Casey Anthony’s vehicle. She had journal entries alluding to having killed her child. She directly tampered with the police’s investigation and lied to them for over a month, stalling their search…. This is verifiable fact.

Michael Jackson never did any such thing. He withstood 3 separate surprise raids on his properties. Nothing ever found. He cooperated with the police even when being unfairly arrested. He literally went and turned himself in and didn’t even try to fight against the arrest when he could have. He even let the police photograph him naked to cooperate with their investigation.

These two cases could not be further apart. Anyone comparing it is fucking stupid and needs to log off and go eat some more crayons and leave important discussions to those of us with common sense and some brain cells and the ability to critically think.

As for Robson and Safechuck, I’m not concerned about them and haven’t been for years. They said their piece, they went to court and lost every time and will continue to LOSE FOREVER because this abuse never happened. They can try as long as they want but they will never win against the Jackson Estate and for very good reason. Let them make their dumb YouTube video, the world will keep turning and MJ will continue to have the biggest fanbase on earth because his legacy is too great to beat.

#you cannot defeat a bad bitch Michael rises above that so true #michael jackson #mjinnocent #mjjinnocent #anon

7 notes · View notes

steveezekiel · 3 months ago

Text

IF YOU HAVE ANYTHING AGAINST ANYONE, FORGIVE HIM 2

25 “And whenever you stand praying, if you have anything against anyone, forgive him, that your Father in heaven may also forgive you your trespasses. 26 But if you do not forgive, neither will your Father in heaven forgive your trespasses.”

Mark 11:25,26 (NKJV)

• Love is the New Testament law or commandment, If you did not live in love you are walking in the path of the enemy, the devil. You are proned to the attacks from the kingdom of darkness If you are walking outside love.

- One of the ways to express love is through forgiveness. Love gives, and love forgives, when it is offended. It does not have any record of Evil: "IT [love] IS NOT CONCEITED (arrogant and inflated with pride); IT IS NOT RUDE (unmannerly) AND DOES NOT ACT UNBECOMINGLY. LOVE (God’s love in us) DOES NOT INSIST ON ITS OWN RIGHTS OR ITS OWN WAY, FOR IT IS NOT SELF-SEEKING; IT IS NOT TOUCHY OR FRETFUL OR RESENTFUL; IT TAKES NO ACCOUNT OF THE EVIL DONE TO IT [it pays no attention to a suffered wrong]" (1 Corinthians 13:5 Amplified Bible, Classic Edition).

• Love is the fulfilment of the old testament Law:

9 FOR THE COMMANDMENTS, “You shall not commit adultery,” “You shall not murder,” “You shall not steal,” “You shall not bear false witness,” “You shall not covet,” and if there is any other commandment, ARE ALL SUMMED UP IN THIS SAYING, NAMELY, “YOU SHALL LOVE YOUR NEIGHBOUR AS YOURSELF.” 10 LOVE DOES NO HARM TO A NEIGHBOUR; THEREFORE LOVE IS THE FULFILLMENT OF THE LAW" (Romans 13:9,10 NKJV).

- In other words, If you love your neighbour, you would not commit adultery with the spouse, you would not think of murdering him or her, you would not steal what belongs to them, you would not bear false witness against them, and you would not covet what belongs to them.

- New testament Believers are not to strive in keeping the old testament Law, If they walked in love, they had fulfilled the whole law. Love is the law or commandment of the New Testament: "A NEW COMMANDMENT I GIVE TO YOU, THAT YOU LOVE ONE ANOTHER; AS I HAVE LOVED YOU, THAT YOU ALSO LOVE ONE ANOTHER" (John 13:34)

• Thus, If you had any ought, or owe or needed to pay off any debt, or moral obligation towards anyone; you had to make it good.

- If you are angry with Someone, wisdom demands that you heed the Admonition of the Bible:

26 “BE ANGRY, AND DO NOT SIN”: DO NOT LET THE SUN GO DOWN ON YOUR WRATH, 27 NOR GIVE PLACE TO THE DEVIL" (Ephesians 4:26,27 NKJV).

- Other translations say:

"AND DO NOT GIVE THE DEVIL AN OPPORTUNITY [to lead you into sin by holding a grudge, or nurturing anger, or harboring resentment, or cultivating bitterness]."

Ephesians 4:27 (Amps.)

"IF you are angry, be sure that it is not out of wounded pride or bad temper. NEVER GO TO BED ANGRY—DON'T GIVE THE DEVIL THAT SORT OF FOOTHOLD."

Ephesians 4:27 (PHILLIPS)

"DON'T GIVE THE DEVIL ANY OPPORTUNITY ⌞to work⌟."

Ephesians 4:27 (GOD'S WORD translation)

"FOR when you are angry, YOU GIVE A MIGHTY FOOTHOLD TO THE DEVIL."

Ephesians 4:27 (the Living Bible)

• Some, even professed Believers, are under demonic oppressions; Afflictions, sicknesses, and all manner of attacks, because of unforgivingness. They have given a foothold to the devil in their lives because of offences, bitternesses, harbouring of resentments, and whatever.

- If you are holding someone in your heart, and you refused to let go or forgive, you are indirectly holding yourself back also from receiving answers to your prayers.

- An embittered Heart would not receive anything from God. Let go of that your boss, your in-laws, friends, or whoever offended you. Forgive that you might receive God's goodness and favour:

14 “IF YOU FORGIVE THOSE WHO SIN AGAINST YOU, YOUR HEAVENLY FATHER WILL FORGIVE YOU. 15 BUT IF YOU REFUSE TO FORGIVE OTHERS, YOUR FATHER WILL NOT FORGIVE YOUR SINS" (Matthew 6:14,15 NLT).

* READ: Matthew 18:21-35

• You will not fail in Jesus' name.

- Should there be any ailment in your body, receive your healing now in Jesus' name.

- Hold of sicknesses is completely broken in your life in the mighty name of Jesus Christ.

Peace!

STEPS TO SALVATION

• Take notice of this:

IF you are yet to take the step of salvation, that is, yet to be born-again, do it now, tomorrow might be too late (2 Corinthians 6:1,2; Hebrews 3:7,8,15).

a. Acknowledge that you are a sinner and confess your Sins (1 John 1:9); And ask Jesus Christ to come into your life (Revelation 3:20).

b. Confess that you believe in your heart that Jesus Christ is Lord, and that you confess it with your mouth, Thus, you accept Him As your Lord and Saviour (Romans 10:9,10).

c. Ask that He will write your name in the Book of Life (Philippians 4:3; Revelation 3:8).

- If you took the steps As highlighted above, It means you are saved—born-again. Join a Word based church in your area and Town or city, and be part of whatever they are doing there. Peace!

#christianity #gospel #christian living #christian blog #jesus #the bible #devotion #faith #my writing #prayer

7 notes · View notes

angelfirstclass · 1 year ago

Text

X-men: WTF?

I am shocked, shocked at Episode 9 and mostly because I am confused and disgusted by the actions of the X-men. I wrote a post about hoping Magneto wasn't going too far beyond what he did, but felt that what he did was justified. Are the X-men and the world not going to recognize that Bastion and the Prime sentinels just committed mass murder on Genosha and attacked every mutant on the planet?

Now, because of their mission to be tolerant and X-men and blah blah blah there is no room to see Magnus' side? Where is the line? Where is the outrage? Magneto EMPed the entire planet, if he wanted to he could have done a lot worse. Yes, being in darkness sucks and I'm sure people have had to suffer, but generators and etc exist. Also, Magneto mostly did that act to shut off the Sentinels and didn't go further, he didn't bomb cities or anything. If the humans wanted to bargain or reason with Magneto to turn back the power they could have- Magneto might have listened to them.

Also, I really don't understand the X-men here in going after Magneto after all he declared he wanted was to leave Earth and go to Asteroid M. He didn't say he would genocide people, he was just not turning on the power. And couldn't this have been a conversation, not a bursting in battle? These people were just your friends and colleagues and simply because they didn't follow your beliefs you're going to angrily attack them? The Jubilee attack was gross as was what happened with Wolverine. Roberto stopped and apologized and it wasn't enough and Wolverine was so up Xavier's ass that he did what he did. Wolverine has a murky past with human kind and so I don't get him having no hesitation in understanding what Magneto is saying and believing especially under the circumstances.

I can understand and admire people who sue for peace especially when outside forces or the powers that be want war and it is not justified, but this cowardice disgusts me. This was not a fake or a false flag- Bastion and the Sentinels declared war on mutants and humans and the X-men want there to be zero recourse. Magneto didn't EMP the planet by choice or in anger- his actions saved the lives of thousands of mutants- hundreds of thousands or more perhaps.

This is not my first post on this episode, there will be more because I am very confused and need to work it out. I know there is a third episode, but still...really X-men? really?

#x men #x men 97 #magneto

23 notes · View notes

aquarterpastfour · 4 months ago

Text

the reprogramming of an expendable asset [3/7]

Crossposted: AO3, ff.net Fandom: Star Trek Voyager Event: Voyager Week, Day 3 Prompt: Allies and Enemies Summary: Seska goes undercover for Captain Janeway

Asset has no moral compunctions with killing or carrying out unorthodox survival strategies.

Enemies

The first person Seska killed on the mission was a Cardassian, and she made sure to do it with her hands. The man was young. Idealistic. Her brother’s age. His height. His weight. His gait. His idealistic demeanor.

She wasn't an idiot. It was a deliberate test of her loyalty. One of the many that the Obsidian Order built into their trainings and missions to measure the suitability of their agents. How would she handle murdering a Cardassian, even if that Cardassian that was committing treason by colluding with Maquis? How would she react to an overt warning that this would happen to her if she decided one day to step out of line?

Seska left the body where it fell on a guano covered cave floor. Her preference was to vaporize him, to leave no trace of this man’s crime or his disgrace behind, but orders were orders.

Obarit wanted the corpse to send a message to the Maquis, their sympathizers in the Empire, and to her:

There was no room for morality not already defined by the Cardassian state.

She committed the execution without hesitation. What did it matter that he was Cardassian? There was no room for ethical discourse or detours in her line of work — either of them.

Later, Seska led the others from the Val Jean to the body. The fools didn’t even suspect her. Why would they? Marva IV was a known hub of Maquis activity. Dozens of people were coming going on this festering rock of a planet daily.

Upon seeing the already cold body, Chakotay ground his teeth and began reassessing their mission. Their venerable leader concerned himself as he always did with measuring the likelihood of outside involvement. The poor idiot never looked inward, not even toward his own bed, when he clearly should.

Torres nudged the man’s — Polkar’s, like everything else, Seska would remember his name — rigid thigh with her boot and swore. The half-Klingon considered the only good Cardassian a dead Cardassian, but even she had wanted this one had lived at least a few more hours.

He’d promised them intel about Cardassian supply lines.

Seska could use all of this to her advantage: Chakotay's mounting worry and Torres' frustration.

“The only honest Cardassian is a dead one,” she muttered, her disgust an easy thing to repurpose.

“What’s to say the next one with a pulse won’t be lying to us," she declared more loudly, to force the others to consider the thought.

The seed caught and took root. Chakotay looked at her, internalized her words, and possibly evening agreed with them. If the Cardassian government could find and kill their own so easily, then surely they’d do their best to poison the well with false intelligence.

Seska knew she wouldn’t need to kill the next traitor.

Not when her new friends would do that for her.

Allies

Seska was tired of this sickbay and the way it continually forced her to participate in conversations — with the EMH, with Kes, and with the captain of this ship — that she’d kill to avoid . At least this time the Doctor allowed her to stay in her own clothes, instead of insisting she wear the gauzy medical garments that barely covered her thighs. She might have threatened to decompile him otherwise.

He hovered within ear shot as she gave the captain the debriefing the other woman so desperately wanted.

“I told you they’d get sloppy,” Seska drawled, flicking imaginary dirt off her collar. She’d changed into her civilian Cardassian garb the moment she’d come back, tired of the Kazon rags.

Low quality wool gave her rashes.

“It’s Jonas, you’re sure of it?”

“Oh, Captain, come on. If I was going to lie to you, I would have done it before you sent me to play nice with that dog.”

Janeway pursed her lips, and a muscle in her jaw ticked at the impertinence.

Seska, not wanting a lecture on the appropriate way to address a superior officer — as if she’d ever be Starfleet, what a joke — relented, “It’s Jonas. The idiot jumped at the opportunity to work with the Kazon — with me. I don’t know why, he practically danced on the corpse of a Cardassian at Marva IV.”

Seska shrugged, it didn’t matter to her one way or the other, and continue chattering, “Do we have to recall Paris from the Talaxians? I’m sure it’s been very peaceful without him here to open his mouth.”

That muscle ticked again, but Seska ignored it to toss a wink at the Doctor. He agreed with her, about Tom at least, even if the only crack in his stern poker face was the slightest twitch of his lips.

She should outwardly criticize the other woman for so blatantly not trusting her, but having Paris fake dissatisfaction and abandon ship had been a good idea. If Seska was really looking to double cross Voyager, she might have taken the bait. Jonas the-half-wit certainly had.

Janeway crossed her arms and sighed, clearly deciding not to chastise her, “Good work.”

“It always is.”

The next step would be for the captain and Tuvok to interrogate the man in their brig. Seska would leave sickbay, physically unharmed by her mission, and confront a crew who could never be convinced she was capable of working in their best interest. They'd continue to believe she'd meant to betray them to Maje Culluh. Capturing and beating Chakotay within an inch of his life hadn't helped that perception, but his genuine anger and torment had helped obfuscate the information she'd slipped him from the Kazon. Seska had been pleasantly surprised when he'd actually passed it along to the Captain, expecting him to disregard it as a trick, doubly so when Janeway used the cover of creating an alliance with the Kazon to retrieve her.

“One more thing,” Janeway halted her short march to the door, turning to look Seska up and down.

Seska played along gamely, crossing one leg over the other, lowering her voice, and raising a brow, “Yes?”

“The child…”

Her face contorted before she could control it, the disgust and contempt — those spectacular bedfellows — pulling her mouth down into a scowl, “There is no child.”

She flicked her gaze to the hologram, to make the point and the use of tense clear, “Right?”

The Doctor cleared his throat unnecessarily.

Seska had demanded they have this debriefing here, right after her medical exam, for a reason.

“There is no child,” he confirmed.

It only took a moment for Janeway to understand. The impact was immediate, and the captain's face sank like a lead balloon. She wasn’t upset about that, not really. Voyager was no place for children, no matter how much Samantha Wildman hoped it could be. No, the captain was probably castigating herself for an order she was now convincing herself she must have given. Starfleet surely looked down on commanding officers asking members of their crew to seduce the enemy.

“Stop looking at me like I killed your puppy. Your orders were for me to find and infiltrate the Kazon, not open my legs for them. That was my choice.”

If the Doctor were organic, he’d be blushing. Seska ignored his wide-eyed shock and sneered. She didn’t hate Janeway, not really. Despite stranding them in this backward quadrant, the woman was a competent commanding officer. More than that, she'd kept her word that she’d protect Seska from the Maquis. But oh, she was still so painfully naive when it came to the members of her crew who’d spurned Federation ideals for their own dreams of heroics and violence.

One in particular.

“Want to stick around? I can tell you all about how I knew it would work.”

Author's Note: Set pre-series and just after 2x12: Alliances. The Kazon arc is likely the one that would change the most dramatically in this AU. Seska would leave late Season 1 to infiltrate the Kazon, after acting like an even bigger jerk than she usually is, in order to try to dig out the mole in the crew. Literally everyone but Janeway assumes she was the mole anyway, so it was easy to keep the secret of her mission between Janeway, Seska, and Tuvok. Tom would leave the ship in the first couple episodes of Season 2 instead of during 2x20 in order to make the mole think there are more like him on the ship. In this retelling, she does NOT pretend the pregnancy is Chaktoay's, but still uses it to leverage Cullah until she can leave. Cullah would probably manage to wrangle a couple of other sects to join him in his attack on Voyager -- convincing them that Voyager plans to help the Trabe re-enslave them. The Finale of Season 2 would play out much the same way, just without Seska being a part of plot. I'm sure Culluh would keep her on the ship just to torment and kill her for her betrayal, but in the end would fail due to the efforts of the Doctor and Suder (RIP).

#star trek voyager #kathryn janeway #emergency medical hologram #seska #voyager week #Star Trek voyager fan fiction #The moment Kathryn Janeway realizes she needs to be very specific about her orders with Seska

3 notes · View notes

smilingoctopus · 2 months ago

Text

Umineko Chapter 5 thoughts

So the first of the answers arcs, definitely some spoilers below.

Okay so a really interesting one here after a little break between the questions and answers. I was thinking that this might be another mislead from Beatrice initially but was pleasantly surprised when it wasn't (I guess at least it wasn't so far).

So I'm actually going to jump straight to the discussion towards the end of the tea party with Dlanor regarding Beatrice wanting it to be solvable by Battler. This to me makes it sound like at this moment in time it's possible for us to figure out exactly what is going on on Rokkenjima. Indeed it sounds like Battler has done so and as such has become the Golden Sorcerer and Game Master, now I'm not sure what exactly that means for our remaining three chapters.

So in the spirit of everything being solvable I'll have another crack at things, though I believe both Erika and Battler's truths at the end of this chapter to be false.

Now we've had many more clues regarding the epitaph, certainly enough to solve it and I think it was solvable before though I'd gone for the red herring of the hidden mansion. I think the sweetfish river refers to the path between the mansion and the ocean. This also fits with Rosa's journey theory as it's a path directly between two points, the village could refer to either the docks or the mansion.

Kyrie, Battler etc. seemed quite certain on having characters and removing them from something, now it's possible this is in japanese and impossible but if we follow that train of thought to it's conclusion there is no answer so we'll ignore that possibility for now. It's possible that these are numbers as shown by the characters and this I think fits with my next thoughts. The stakes lining the path between the docks and the mansion are practically gifted to us as Erika mentions 'so that's what gouging means', with them in the background. This makes me think the stakes need to be interacted with to find the way to the golden land, possibly with the gouging of different parts referring to the location of the stakes on the path (I'm assuming the gouge the head and kill involves interacting with the highest stake). now this might be incorrect depending on the number of these stakes, but I believe this is how to reach a door requiring a code that is set out in the non-gouging lines.

So I'm not entirely certain on how to get the initial code unless that is the one Eva saw sprayed on the wall (I don't recall it and don't want to look it up for fear of spoilers). If that is the case it makes sense that you need to reach the door to the golden land and then worry about the key. Overall I'm not 100% certain on how exactly to solve this riddle but I feel we're getting closer. No one seemed to mention the underground passage this time so I think it's unlikely that is where the golden land is, though I'm fairly certain that is where Krauss was being held.

Then we've got the murder cases going on on the island. Previously with Eva solving it they appeared to stop and become Eva committing them but it's possible we were mislead. This time they didn't appear to stop following the epitaph being solved, which leads me to believe despite the murders following the epitaph they are technically unrelated. In the third game it's obvious what the supposed culprit of Eva would gain out of the murders happening but in the remaining games we have no survivors known of, though several people disappeared at the end of the games. From memory they're described as being torn apart by demons but the evidence suggesting their deaths is limited, a piece of jawbone here that may be them etc. So we have Kinzo (already dead), Maria, Jessica, George, Battler, and Eva being present at the end of at least one game. None of them survive to the end of every game, making a static culprit among our 18 unlikely, provided no deaths are faked as appears to be the case from some of the red truth's given.

Now I'd be tempted to say that the culprit is in fact almost the gold if not for a small detail, with each person who has found the gold being that chapter's murderer. However at the end of Chapter 4 we have Battler alone on the island, and Beatrice is there now and about to kill him. I doubt Battler's greed towards the gold would cause him to die, and we have Battler alone on the island. This leads to Beatrice being some non-human concept (more along the lines of poison rather than a witch). We can infer that Battler is also not the culprit in this chapter as it is stated that he is the detective up until chapter 5, and from Knox's 7th it's forbidden that the detective be the culprit.

So we have either an ever changing culprit, that at least up until chapter 5 was not Battler despite Battler being the last survivor, or we have an unknown person/entity committing these murders. Now the latter is unlikely, we've had the number of people narrowed down to specific numbers. There is one possibility though, that the red truth used to define the 'truth' is only a subject truth based on the speakers understanding, it may be that golden truth exists as an absolute truth separate from this. This could mean that we have more people on the island than initially though, particularly as Beatrice considers Shannon, Kanon, and Genji as furniture and not human.

I'm uncertain how this interacts with Battler being alone and Beatrice being there now and about to kill him however, especially as she did not define 'alone' in this instance. This could mean that there is no other 'human' on the island (would she consider herself a witch here to allow for a red truth), or simply that only Battler exists on the island in that moment. Overall I'm not certain we have a culprit among our 18 based on what we have for red truth so far. We know from Knox's 1st that our culprit needs to have been mentioned in the early part of the story which if we limit it to just the first chapter sounds like we're down to our 18 characters. However, there are a few others introduced if not directly, we have the boat captain that took them to the island, and the concept of Beatrice was at least introduced. My current thoughts are either we have a human Beatrice wondering around Rokkenjima, or the boat captain never left.

Now we've got some interesting things that came up during the actual events of the 5th game. The most notable of which to me is that the first twilight death's occurred and their bodies weren't moved after they went missing. Now I've got two interpretations of this, either they weren't dead, moved on their own and then died after they were reported dead, or the disappearance of their bodies was misreported. I don't recall how many characters went into the cousin room to check this so I'm uncertain on it. It could be that Battler is simply lying about them going missing, or their deaths were faked and then occurred later after being moved, the obvious place for this would be the hidden corridor they were held in during chapter 4. Now faking deaths with gashes in their necks feels like a difficult thing to do, they'd need some form of false bed and fake headless corpses, it seems like a difficult thing to do.

Then we have Hideoyoshi's death that occurred in the same closed room as his and Eva's in a previous game. This one I think is fairly easy to solve, Hideoyoshi exclaims surprise asking where someone came from, then dies. It's easy to pin this on Natsuhi as the only known character in there, however we know Natsuhi isn't the murderer. It's entirely possible someone emerged from somewhere such as under the bed, killed Hideoyoshi and then re-hid until Natsuhi has left the room. It seems clear this is unlikely to be one of the remaining characters as they're largely accounted for during this time. This leaves us with either person X, or one of our previous 'victims', we know they're dead at 24:00 on the second day but it's unknown if this is true before then.

I am still leaning towards Maria as playing a significant part in this, based on the black king motif in her crown, potential motive with the 'murder' of Sakutarou, though the means is a bit elusive, I'm doubtful that she alone could commit some of these murders such as overpowering Hideoyoshi, even if she had stabbed him in the back as there is audibly a struggle. I suspect this might be human Beatrice and Maria working in tandem, so Beatrice/Maria distracts him and the other stabs him in the back. Though for this to work she must have faked her own death in the part above.

I think some of these may have used hidden passages, Dlanor mentions they can't be used unless part of the theme. So far we have a hidden passage to the hidden mansion, and the hidden entryway to the gold so they seem reasonably thematic to appear up to twice potentially for murderous reasons. In fact outside of the game I'm sure Knox's 3rd is that no more than one hidden passageway may exist, we're allowed one maybe?

Now we've also had a bit of a hint in the vessels for the Chiester sisters, mentioning that their vessels may be the murder weapons used. This gives us potentially three separate murder weapons aside from the seven stakes of purgatory. This would seem unusual to me for a single murder to use so many different weapons, which leads me to think we do have multiple murderers on the island. We've not heard any gunshots early in the twilights so I don't believe they are guns. As they fire arrows it's possible one of the weapons is a bow but to get enough shots off at close range to murder 6/8 people in a room without being taken down seems unlikely, the same is true of a crossbow unless it's repeating. They may be a closer ranged weapon such as a dagger or mace, which might fit with the wounds suffered more accurately with the slices across the throat and half smashed faces.

So in the fragments we've got Battler becoming the game master, meaning he's solved the puzzle of Rokkenjima potentially? Does this mean he's remembered his sin? Beatrice keeps calling him a liar and the imagery of being lead to the top of Mount Purgatory by Beatrice seems to imply the game is almost created to lead Battler to Heaven or Hell with Beatrice as his guide. I don't think this is Battler committing the murders however his actions appear to have directly lead to them. I think it might be a failed promise to Maria based on some of what Beatrice has said this chapter and her reactions in chapter 4, it would explain why him forgetting it is also a part of the sin. It's even possible it was a simple as not showing up for 6 years after promising to play with Maria next year. This might've lead her to bump into a human Beatrice or invent Beatrice as someone to play with in her loneliness.

Anyway this is getting long, rambling and self contradictory. I think my theories likely contain some truth and some lies similar to Erika's, I don't think I've figured out a whole truth here yet. I'm still fully suspicious of Maria, despite her early death, and suspect there are more people on the island than we've been lead to believe. I think this all links back to a sin committed by Battler, likely against Maria, that's evolved into this game, which is likely why it is happening in his first year of returning to Rokkenjima after a six year absence. But we'll see, super interesting thus far!

#umineko spoilers #umineko when they cry #umineko #higurashi spoilers #umineko no naku koro ni

2 notes · View notes