#(at least until i explore further and figure out more about what he wants and what he's telling me.)

[rubysunnday]

but who could stay?

a/n: i'm erasing colin's 'lover boy' atttidue (or however you describe it) because it was the least colin thing i've seen imo. like, my man travels bc he doesn't want to be the ogling of the ton... anyways

summary: Every time Colin Bridgerton returned from travelling the world, there was always an urge inside him to run away again as soon as he could. There was only one woman who could make him stay. Y/N Barrett waited for Colin, but he never stayed long enough for her to tell him her feelings. Now she is engaged and about to enter a loveless marriage arranged by her parents. All she wants is for Colin to stay in London long enough to realise the truth of their relationship.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

masterlist | tip jar

Every year, after the debutantes had walked in front of the queen, there was a garden party. Open to everyone, it gave the debutantes an opportunity to further make their mark on the ton as well as allowing other attendees to catch up with friends after a few months away from London.

Colin had been away for longer than just a few months. As soon as Anthony had married Kate, he had been on the first ship over to France.

It wasn't that he didn't like London - he did. Nothing would ever compare to his home city - the gas lamps in the November fog, the bright blue skies after days of endless rain.

Yet, he never felt at peace in London. There was always an urge inside him to up and leave. To travel as far away as he could and not stop until he fell off the edge of the world.

Perhaps it was fear of comitting to a life in one place. Perhaps he was just trying to escape the future that had been planned out for him since he was born.

Perhaps, he had yet to find a reason to stay.

Now that he was back in town, the urge to leave had resurfaced once again. Everywhere he looked, women were staring at him, debutantes were waving and gaving him coy smiles.

Colin awkwardly smiled back and then promptly turned around. He always felt uncomfortable when the attention suddenly became solely on him. He wasn't entirely sure why - he liked women and he liked flirting - but when every woman in the ton came at him at once, it felt predatory.

He knew they were only interested in him for his money (or what he had left of it) and his name. None were interested in Colin the Explorer or Colin the Writer.

Except one.

"Colin!!" Y/N Barrett exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as he walked toward her. "You are back at last!" She reached up and wrapped her arms around Colin's neck, pulling him in for a tight but quick hug. "You could have told me!"

"Apologies," Colin said, smiling at her as she stepped back. "I only just made it back in time for Francesca's debut."

Y/N's gloved hand trailed down his arm. "I am glad you are back," she told him, squeezing his hand once more before letting go. "It has been dull without you."

"Anything exciting happen whilst I was gone?" Colin asked, offering his arm to Y/N - a silent invitation to promenade around the gardens.

"Well, Alice Carey got married to Lord Carlson and then promptly gave birth to a son about four months later." Y/N raised her eyebrows at him. "Easy math there."

"Indeed," Colin muttered. "Has anyone called her bluff yet?"

Y/N shook her head. "No, she has been 'unwell' the last few months and has yet to reappear amongst the ton." She tilted her head to Colin and lowered her voice, "but rumour says she is pregnant yet again... with another man's baby."

"Has Lady Whistledown written of these rumours?"

"You and I both know she will not," Y/N replied with a quick roll of her eyes. "Not only had she not been seen since last season, she has changed her column entirely and now writes exclusively in support of the debutantes! I do not understand how you can go from writting rumours and scandal and causing the public downfall of several well known figures to... well, promoting other women!"

"Perhaps she has had a change of heart," Colin suggested.

"Leopards rarely change their spots, mon ami," Y/N said softly. "Anyway, enough about scandal and rumour," she extracted her arm from his and turned to face him, "how are you?"

Colin stopped walking. He looked at her, her gentle smile, her bright eyes. "I am... okay."

"Just okay?" Y/N asked, her brow furrowing slightly.

"I want to leave again," Colin admitted quietly. "Already, women are staring at me and eyeing me up as if I am their dinner. It makes me incredibly uncomfortable, to be honest. I know that all they want is Colin Bridgerton and not just Colin."

Y/N gave him a sympathetic smile. "Does it help that I am only interested in Colin?"

Colin found his lips curving up into a smile. "It does," he told her, "more than I can say. Which reminds me."

He reached a hand into the pocket of his coat - a coat that Hyacinth had kindly nicknamed his 'pirate coat' - and pulled out a dark velvet bag pulled taught by a silver tassel. Colin held it out to Y/N and she took it with her lilac gloved hands.

"You bought me a present?" Y/N exclaimed, holding the bag as if it was glass.

"I did not want you to feel left out," Colin said, his smile widening as Y/N stared in awe at the bag.

"Colin, it's beautiful!"

"Oh, the bag isn't the gift," Colin said quickly. "The gift is inside the bag."

Y/N's cheeks burnt with embarrassment. "Oh, yes, of course."

She carefully pulled open the bag and turned it upside down, tipping whatever was inside into the palm of her hand. Out tumbled a pair of silver embroidery scissors, engraved to look like a bird.

"Oh, Colin, they're gorgeous," Y/N whispered. "Where did you find them?"

Colin's smile grew. "A shop in Spain. They had other types but... well, they were different."

He had to confess, he was utterly delighted at her reaction. He knew Y/N loved her embroidery - she had endless baskets of thread and material and often sat in the park working on her current project. For his birthday, Y/N had gifted him a hand embroidered waistcoat featuring different birds and flowers from across the globe. Colin had taken it with him on his travels, wearing it as often as he could.

So, when he had seen the little embroidery scissors in the store, he knew he head to buy them. He had carried them around for six months and now, finally, they were in her hands.

"I have needed new scissors for a while," Y/N told him, her eyes still focused on the scissors. She gently turned them over in her hand, the metal glinting in the sunlight. "Thank you, Colin."

A voice interrupted the moment, carrying across the garden. "Y/N, my love."

Y/N looked over her shoulder, giving the man who had called her name a smile.

"Who is that?" Colin asked, looking at the man - who was signifcantly older than Y/N.

Y/N sighed as she turned back to face him. "Mr Catesby. The man I am courting," she told him softly. "Mama set us up. I have been out for three years and she expected me to be married in year one and having a baby by year three."

She was trying to smile but Colin could see that it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Do you love him?"

"I do not think love is possible," Y/N told him, glancing over her shoulder again. She turned back to Colin. "Friendship, perhaps but never love."

Silence fell around them for a moment. All Colin wanted to do was reach out his hand and hold hers. But he knew he couldn't. This was how it would be from now on - always near his side but just out of reach.

"I should go," Y/N said softly. "Thank you, again, for these. I will cherish them, I promise."

Y/N turned around and, with one last glance over her shoulder at Colin, walked toward Catesby and her future with him.

Colin couldn't look away. He knew he should because, really, what was staring going to do.

Y/N didn't look happy or sad as she stood next to Catesby, putting her arm through his. Whilst she smiled and laughed, none of it reached her eyes. She was pretending and Colin was the only one who could tell.

"You have to look away at some point," Francesca said softly, appearing at his side.

Colin swallowed heavily. "I know."

Francesca reached down and held his hand gently. "Why won't you?"

"I don't know," he eventually replied, forcing himself to look away and at his younger sister. He forced himself to grin at her. "Come along, I'm hungry."

Days turned into weeks and soon Colin hadn't spoken to Y/N for over a fortnight. He had seen her across the room at parties and balls, always at the side of Catesby.

Even though she wasn't happy, she still looked beautiful. Her dresses shimmered in the candlelight and when she did laugh, Colin could just picture her smile along with it.

Ever since he had found out she was being courted, Colin had retreated into himself. He spent long hours in his study, writing and drawing and wondering about what could have been.

His heart broke that little bit more the night of his mother's ball when Catesby announced their engagement. Y/N had smiled, sparkling under the lights once more in a dark blue gown and matching silk gloves. But Colin knew better. He could see how tense she was, how loosely she held Catesby's hand in hers - the way her eyes kept straying over to him.

Benedict and Anthony flocked him as they approached to give their congratulations. They bowed together and Colin was grateful that his brother's did all of the talking - speaking loud enough and quick enough so that neither Catesby nor Y/N's parents noticed Colin's silence.

Y/N did, though. She held his gaze the entire time and there was so much sadness within it, so much regret, that Colin nearly ripped her from Catesby's grip and pulled her to his side, threatening the man with a duel if he dared come closer.

Instead, he maintained his silence, giving a brief bow when they were finally dismissed. Colin refused to look back, focusing his gaze on the table of lemonade and sweet treats jutting out from the far wall.

"Colin, are you alright?" Benedict asked, raising his eyebrows slightly at his silent brother.

"Yes, why would I not be?" Colin said, picking up a glass of lemonade from the table.

"You are being unusually sullen and silent," Benedict replied.

Colin turned around to face his brother. HIs gaze flittered past him and over to Y/N. "Nothing's the matter."

Benedict caught Colin's wayward gaze and turned his head. His own gaze softened a little as he turned back to his brother. "It isn't too late," he said quietly.

Colin laughed humourlessly. "Really? She is an engaged woman, Benedict."

"Were you even around last season?" Benedict raised his eyebrows. "Anthony almost married someone else entirely - he got as far as the altar, Colin."

"That was different?"

"How so?"

Colin let out a frustrated sigh. "Because it just was. Who is to say Y/N would even be interested in my hand?"

"Who's to say she wouldn't?" Benedict looked at his brother. "Answer me this. Every time you come home, you immediately have the urge to flee again. Do you still have that urge when you're with Y/N?"

The silence that followed answered Benedict's question perfectly, Colin knew that. He eyed his brother. "I cannot do that to her, Benedict. I cannot."

"Well," Benedict sighed, "you are a better man than me, brother." He squeezed Colin's shoulder and turned to go, leaving him alone by the refreshment table.

Colin looked over at Y/N again. She had moved and was now walking onto the dance floor, hand in Catesby's. It hurt him more than he was prepared to admit. Yet, it would be so easy to walk over to her and take her hand from his - to confess all his feelings in a flurry of words and doe-eyed expressions. But the scandal that would cause - the ramfication's that could have on Y/N... Colin couldn't do that to her.

It would also be easy to simply walk away, leave the country and pretend he had never met her. Colin knew that nothing he did would ever mean he could forget her. He thought about her everywhere he went, from the churches of Florence to the waters of Athens.

Colin groaned quietly. He tilted his head back and swallowed the rest of the lemonade in a big gulp, wincing at the bitter taste. He set the cup down on the table and stepped away from the wall.

Weaving through the crowds, he spotted his eldest brother standing by the open french doors, Kate by his side. Colin heistated for a second, not wanting to darken Anthony's door with his issues. But the last time he had struggled with issues of the heart, he had given him some startlingly clear advice and he needed that again.

"Colin!" Kate exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as he approached. She pulled her arm from Anthony's and hugged Colin tightly.

Colin squeezed her back as hard as he dared, knowing Anthony was watching his every move like an over-protective swan. "How are you?" He asked, reluctantly letting go.

Kate puffed out her cheeks, hand straying to her stomach. "Coping," she replied. "He, however," she nodded at Anthony, "is not."

"I am allowed to be stressed," Anthony muttered, hand resting against Kate's waist. "It is very overwhelming, but exciting," he added, noting his wife's worried look.

Colin instantly felt guilty. He knew Anthony was overwhelmed. Trying to run the household, keep an eye on Francesca and Eloise all whilst being concerned for his wife and unborn child was more than enough trouble.

"What's wrong?" Anthony asked, noting Colin's distant gaze.

"Oh, nothing," Colin told him with a shake of his head. "Sorry, I should -"

Kate reached out and grabbed his hand by the wrist, pulling him back to them. "Colin, stop." She gave him a gentle smile, cupping the side of his cheek with one hand. "Come, let's go for a walk."

Kate put her arm through Colin's and let him lead her out into the gardens of Bridgerton House. It was still daylight, though the sun had descended. A few couples stood around the grass and patio but it was otherwise quiet.

"I assume this is about Y/N," Kate said, pulling her purple silk shawl tighter around her arms.

Colin nodded, leaning against the stone balustrade. He crossed his arms, a heavy sigh escaping him. "I do not know what to do. I should have stayed, made my intentions clear but I did not and now... now I do not know."

Kate pushed herself up and onto the balustrade, sitting on top of it, her feet dangling down. "What is your heart telling you to do?"

"To steal her away from him and marry her tonight," Colin admitted. "But I cannot do that."

"Why not?"

"Because she is engaged. I cannot bring that scandal to her, Kate, I just..." Colin closed his eyes. "What if she does not return my feelings and I ruin her one chance at marriage?"

"But what if she does?" Kate said softly. "What if she does return those feelings and she spends the rest of her life with you rather than a man she does not love?"

Colin looked at her. "Can I take that risk?"

"Anthony and I were plagued by scandal last year," Kate said quietly, hand resting on her slightly swollen stomach. "Things should never have gone as far as they did but it did not stop us from finding our true happiness. If you want her, Colin, then go and get her. She is right there, waiting."

Five minutes later, Colin was back inside the house, searching everywhere for any sign of Y/N.

He still wasn't sure if he had the courage to tell Y/N the truth. Whilst he knew she wasn't happy, happiness was a minor issue when it came to marriage. The status and money Catesby would give her was more than Colin could ever hope to offer in a lifetime.

But he could give her happiness and he could give her love. Surely, that was worth something?

Yet, as he stood against the landing wall, watching Kate and Anthony waltz together, he knew what he had to do.

Y/N stood by herself, near the table laden with food. Colin spotted her as soon as he walked down the stairs. She wore a dark green gown, one that matched his jacket perfectly.

He tried to approach her first thing but his mother grabbed his arm and whisked him off in the opposite direction, gabbling at him about eligible women and debutantes and flowers.

Y/N had noticed Colin as soon as he'd walked in the room. His jacket matched her dress and all she wanted to do was approach him and ask him to take her far away from here.

She was overwhelmed with wedding preparations and plans for her to move to Catesby's estate in Dorset. Her mother had not allowed her a moment's peace. Sleep refused to come at night and Y/N lay awake, regret and panic growing inside her as the date of her wedding grew ever closer.

The engagement had been a shock. Y/N herself had not actually spoken the word 'yes' aloud, her mother had done that for her. She had blindly followed along, allowing Catesby to place the ring on her finger and brag to his friends that he would soon be a father.

A father. Never mind a husband or a man in love. Just a father.

Because, whilst he was not a bad man, all Catesby wanted was a son to continue his line. That was all Y/N was to him, all this relationship was to him - making an heir.

Y/N had known this marriage would never be one built on love. But a foolish part of her had hoped that, maybe, they would find love together. Seeing Catesby now, flirting with other women and bragging to his friends, she knew that there would never be love.

She plastered a smile to her face as yet another person approached her to congrulate her on her engagement. Exhaustion was beginning to pull at her body, the sleepless nights and endless trips to the modiste finally catching up with her.

"You could at least try and look happy," her mother muttered, suddenly appearing beside her.

Y/N sighed softly, blinking the pull of sleep away. "Sorry."

"Honestly, when was the last time you slept, you look dreadful."

Thank you, mother Y/N thought, trying not to roll her eyes.

"I need you to look beautiful for this wedding," her mother continued, "there is a lot riding on this marriage for this family. Do not mess it up. Ah, Lady Cowper!" Y/N's mother crowed, rushing over to greet her friend.

Y/N needed to leave. She glanced around the room, checking that everyone was preoccupied and then made a swift dart for the corridor running behind the stairs. The room had been warm when she'd walked in but it had only gotten hotter in the hours since. Her head was aching, her heart was pounding and her hands would not stop shaking.

She didn't know what had come over her. There was no reason for her to be acting like this - all she was doing was getting married. But there were so many things wrong with the marriage and with Catesby and with her mother's obsession of wanting a grandchild that Y/N could not go through with it.

The corridor was quiet and signifcantly cooler than the ballroom. Y/N leant her back against the wall and took a deep breath in, desperate to calm herself down and reinstate her happy facade.

"Y/N."

Of course, Y/N thought, turning her head and watching Colin Bridgerton approach her. Of course he appears now.

"Colin, I do not -"

"I have to talk to you," Colin said firmly, coming to an abrupt stop at her side. "Please."

Y/N closed her eyes. She felt sick. The pounding in her head was only getting worse and she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten anything.

"Please, Y/N, I beg -"

"Yes, alright!" Y/N exclaimed, silencing Colin. "Come with me."

She led him back up the stairs - not an abnormal sight since many guests had seeked solace in the front room of Bridgerton house - and down the corridor into an empty room.

"Colin, whatever you want to say to me, please make it quick," Y/N told him, pushing him into the room and pulling the door to. "I cannot disappear from my own engagement party for long."

"You do not love him."

Y/N frowned at Colin. "I told you this earlier -"

"Just... say it again."

"No, I do not love him," Y/N told him, her voice soft. "But that does not mean I can walk away from this marriage."

"What if you had someone else to walk to?" Colin asked, moving toward her.

Y/N stared at him. "Colin, what do you... why..."

"The reason I travel, Y/N, is because I have never felt at home anywhere," Colin said. He took a deep breath in, steeling his nerves and forcing himself to not back down. "Every time I came back, I would have the urge to run away again until I reached the edge of the world. But each time I came back and I saw you, I suddenly felt as if I finall had a reason to stay."

Y/N felt as if all her air had been stolen from her. She stared at Colin - that was all she could do. Here he was, confessing his heart to her and all she could think about was how angry her mother would be, how much scandal it would cause and also how much the room was beginning to spin.

"I could not let you go off into this marriage without giving you a choice," Colin continued, moving a step closer. "I love you, Y/N, I have done for a long time. I wish that I had not spent so long away because maybe things could have gone differently. Perhaps this would be our engagement ball instead. Perhaps it still can be.

"I know that this is asking a lot of you and I know that with this choice scandal will come. But I will stand by you through it all, Y/N. No matter what the ton say, no matter what they do, I will not leave your side. You deserve to be happy and you deserve the right for this to be your decision."

Y/N looked at Colin. Hope was clear as day in his eyes. She had wanted this confession from him for so long and here it was. The circumstances were awful and scandal was calling and her parents would hate her and the ton would give her the look they reserved only for the worse offenders and -

"Y/N? Are you alright?" Colin asked, concern replacing the hope in his eyes. Her skin had lost colour dramatically quick and she was beginning to sway.

Y/N swallowed, nausea growing. She blinked, looking past Colin and at the window. No, that too was spinning.

"Is the room spinning for you?" Y/N asked, her voice quiet.

Colin frowned. "No. Is it for you?"

"A little," Y/N admitted. "I think I might need a moment."

She took a step forward but the room tilted dramatically to the side and hazy black spots filled her vision. Y/N mentally braced herself to hit the carpeted floor and for her body to ache but hands wrapped around her waist, guiding down.

Colin knelt on the floor, resting Y/N's back against his chest. He was never great when it came to dealing with poorly people - his siblings could attest to that. He himself was a terrible patient, incapable of waiting until he was better and always pushing himself before he was ready.

But this was Y/N - his Y/N. Her skin was clammy and lacking colour and her hand was shaking as she tried to grip his. And he had no idea what to do.

They couldn't simply stay in here, someone else might walk in and then there would be a whole other scandal.

Then, an idea came into Colin's head. There was one place he knew no one would stray into. One place that would shield them for just a little longer.

"Come on," Colin whispered. "I've got you."

He put one arm around her shoulders and slipped his other under her legs, lifting her up into his arms. With one foot, he nudged open the door. The upstairs corridor was quiet. Colin snuck out, keeping his footfall as light as he possibly could.

His bedroom wasn't far away. In fact, it was only three doors down the corridor. As he pushed open the door, Colin thanked his past self for forgetting to close the door properly.

It was cooler inside than it was anywhere else in the house. His windows were open, the net curtains blowing gently in the summer breeze. A small fire crackled in the hearth, giving off enough light to chase away the darkness.

With as much care as he could, Colin lay Y/N down on his bed, laying her head on his pillow. He absently brushed his fingers along her cheek as he straightened and her eyes slowly opened, looking up at him.

"Has the room stopped spinning yet?" Colin asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hand resting against her leg.

Y/N hummed softly. "Partly," she told him. "I still feel awful."

"When was the last time you ate?"

"I do not remember," Y/n replied. At Colin's raised eyebrows, Y/N let out a tired sigh. "Mama has kept me so busy and I have hardly slept these last few weeks. Oh, Colin" she said, her head finallycatching up with what had just happened, "I can only apologise for -"

"Do not be silly," Colin told her, reaching up and taking her hand in his. "Our bodies can only handle so much."

"But fainting? That is just... mortifiying!"

Colin chuckled. "When I was in Spain, I fainted in the middle of dinner with a very important noble because I had spent too long in the sun and not looked after myself. My face was bright pink and sun burnt and I felt awful for days after." He shook his head, laughing softly. Colin squeezed her hand. "What I am saying is that we all forget to look after ourselves sometimes. You have a better reason than me, however."

Y/N pushed herself up, letting Colin pull her forward until she was sat cross legged on the bed. He kept a steady hand on her upper arm until she gave him a reassuring smile, confirming that she wasn't about to spontaneously collapse again.

"If this engagement is making you this unwell," Colin said quietly, "is it worth it?"

Y/N sighed softly. She rubbed the pad of her thumb back and forth across Colin's knuckles. "No, it is not."

"Then what is holding you back?" Colin asked. He leant his head forward, seeking her gaze. "Tell me."

"I am scared," Y/N admitted with a small shrug, looking down at the bed. "I am scared of the consequences that will come with calling off this engagement."

Colin gently tilted her chin up until she was looking at him. "What else? Because there is something else, I can tell."

Y/N swallowed heavily. She closed her eyes for a moment. "My mother is determined to make this work," she said softly, opening her eyes again. "She keeps reminding me about how much is riding on this marriage, the things it will do to our family. I am terrified of her reaction if I do not go through with it. What if my family disown me? That will be an even bigger scandal than calling off the engagement!"

"What if she does not?" Colin suggested. "What if everything falls into place?"

Y/N shook her head. Her eyes were glistening with tears as she looekd at Colin. "But what if it doesn't?" She asked quietly, her voice almost lost to the night air.

"Then I will stand by your side no matter what," Colin replied, taking both her hands in his. He held them as if they were the most precious things in the world - because they were. "No matter what happens, you will always have me and you will always have my family, I promise you."

Uncertainty still lingered in Y/N's eyes. Colin knew he was asking much of her but she deserved a happy, loving marriage with someone who loved her. She desered to have a choice.

"You deserve to be happy, Y/N," Colin said softly. "Do not ever think otherwise."

"You promise to stay?" Y/N asked, her voice quiet and small. She looked at him. "Because, every time I thought I was ready to tell you I loved you, you disappeared, Colin. Then, I wouldn't see you for months and... I cannot do this if you are going to leave me again the moment we are married."

Colin leant forward and pressed a kiss to her forehad, his right hand holding the back of her neck. "I promise," he whispered, leaning his forehead against hers, "to never leave you again. Together until the end of our days."

Y/N smiled at that, relaxing into Colin's hold. "Okay," she said, her voice certain for the first time all night. "Are you going to ask me, then?"

Colin released her and stood up from the bed. He moved over to his desk and pulled out a drawer, rumaging through it until he found what he was looking for.

"I picked it up in Florence," Colin said, coming back over to the bed. "Because I had decided that when I got back, I would take your hand as mine. I thought for a moment I would never get to do this but..."

He trailed off, looking up from the ring box. Y/N was still sat on his bed, her smile slowly growing. Colin clicked open the lid and knelt down on one knee, extending the box out to her.

"I know I left and for that I am deeply sorry," he said quietly. "It took me this long to realise that you were my reason to stay. So, Y/N Barrett, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"

Y/N nodded, her smile reaching her eyes and crinkling the corners. "Yes," she whispered, holding out her left hand, "of course I will."

Colin pulled the golden band out, the moonstone set in the centre catching the light of the fire. He slipped it onto her finger, pleasantly surprised to discover that it fit perfectly.

"Perfect fit," Y/N said, holding her hand up. She looked back at him. "It is as if it knew."

Colin grinned. He took her hand in his, thumb trailing over the ring. "Perhaps it did."

[ofyorkshire]

small open because bj should talk about things he likes more lol

          "He really gets me," BJ said, more to himself than to them, though, that could be the teenage-esque dreaminess in his voice. He was sprawled out on the couch, pillow cradled under his chin, and watching Labyrinth. Sarah, the film's heroine, had just met her questionable love interest and antagonist, Jareth the Goblin King. BJ, clearly, was more focused on the latter.

          "Look at him," he hummed. "The hair, the makeup... the way he carries himself. Bowie makes anything he wears look like it's wearing him, and this 'fit is tame for him." BJ pulled his knees up to his stomach to give them room to sit if they wanted, but spared them only a second of his attention away from the screen. "I wish I had that. Imagine being that fucking free."

          Of course, he knows it's not quite that simple. David Bowie was a rock star, and the crazy looks, the confidence, the eye-catching power was just part of the glam rock scene. He could wear a full-body chicken suit and the world would scream to him. BJ was just another weird guy on the street with no fame or talent, and society was rarely as kind to other civilians who didn't fit their conventional mold.

[pearl-nouveau]

A Woman's Purpose - Cregan Stark x Reader [chapter one]

summary: Your mother, Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, has always prepared you to marry and you have always resisted, terrified that you will only ever be seen as a wife. But your heart is torn when love catches you by surprise.

contains: mentions of self-harm, aged-up characters (Jace is ~19 idk)

a/n: wow i have not posted on this blog in YEARS but i lurk in tumblr reader insert oneshots like it's my part-time job, and i wrote this on AO3 so i decided to post here and hopefully get some love. i really love posting my writing even if it is not perfect, it's just a passion. let me know if i should post the second chapter and my asks are always open! xx - pearl🦪

Beauty is power, my mother used to tell me, stroking my silver hair as if it were made of golden thread. She loved my hair. Use your beauty to set yourself free. I had no idea if she meant for her words to bring some kind of comfort to me - they did not. 

Sometimes, I hated her for bringing me into the world altogether. While Jace and Luke envied my resemblance to our mother, I detested sharing her light hair and lilac eyes. It seemed to me a symbol of my imprisonment - it became clear to me, hearing all this talk of my beauty and nothing else, that I was never to be loved or seen for anything else.

In my youth, the abstract concept of my fertility and status made me a formidable form of currency within the royal family. Jacaerys, older by one year, made his way as heir by training in combat and dragonriding and studying the history of Westeros and Old Valeria - I, however, was confined to studying the family trees of the realm's powerful houses, to perform the perfect Velaryon princess and eventually be bred like a cow.

I hated my life. 

Many attempts were made to rebel against my predetermined future. At ten and two I sliced all the hair from my head, leaving a shaggy, uneven mess of shimmering half-bald patches that took years to grow back. I had never seen my mother so angry until at ten and four I began slicing patterns into my arms and legs to scar the perfect pale skin everyone complimented me on. Soon she required a chaperone with me at all times, which only made me more furious, and I began picking fights with my cuntish uncles and coming back from dragon rides inexplicably soaking or covered in soot. I waited for my mother to attempt to put together the puzzle I had laid out in front of her; to figure me out and decide that her daughter - the strong-willed, intelligent, adventurous one - matters more than the empty shell of a married woman that I will surely become. 

At the very least, my mother allowed me the power to turn away whomever I wished. It seemed she hoped I would find someone who struck my fancy. But as time passed and my antics worsened, her grip on me tightened, and I began to fear the wost: an impending betrothal. 

She frequently asked me to rack my brain and think of any previous men she had introduced me to who I may want to explore further. But I was stubborn. I maintained that no one had caught my eye, and I insisted that I would never marry. Whenever I said such things, my mother would frown at me in a way that hurt my heart. She was my greatest antagonist, but I loved her, and I knew that it saddened her to put me through such pain. 

Even if there was one man who never left an impression on me, whose memory kept me awake in the darkness of night, I would never tell my mother. It was too humiliating after so many years of fighting marriage to be seduced by love.

Every so often I allowed myself to think about him before I went to sleep, to be swept up in the beautiful dream of someone's arms around me. I could imagine him saying to me, I choose you. That was what I always dreamt of hearing. I choose you, as you are. Just you. 

Jacaerys tried to sympathize with me but he would never truly understand. He did allow me to partake in his own pastimes to grant me a change of scenery from the walls of King's Landing. 

"It infuriates me that she herself is allowed to break barriers as heir to the Iron Throne and I must remain shackled to tradition," I complained to Jace as we sparred in a remote corner of the keep. "She gets to be immortalized as the first of her name while subjecting me to a loveless marriage."

"She was in an arranged marriage with our father." Jace pointed out, sending a particularly hard offensive move my way. I easily thwarted it. 

"Well..." I trailed off. There was nothing to say, not in words, about our parents, or our parentage. It was an unspoken issue, even between Jacaerys and I who were nearly as close as twins. We supposed it would always be shrouded in mystery. We were prepared to always wonder. It seemed unthinkable to ask our mother any questions, nor our father, nor... 

Strong boys, they said. 

Perhaps Jace and I wouldn't speak of it because our difference in hair color had always been a sore subject. I was broken out of my thoughts by another offensive move, this one catching me by surprise. I stumbled back but recovered, moving around the side of my brother as he laughed at me in the way only an older brother would. 

"I'll get you back for that," I snapped at him, but grinned. He smiled back, shrugging cockily. Bring it on, his eyes told me. 

We sparred a bit more until our breaths were heavy in our throats and our swings became more jests than challenges. Eventually, he tossed his sword on the ground and fell upon a sack of grain. I sat next to him and for a moment we were not prince nor princess. We were just two siblings. I sighed, knowing it wouldn't last for long. 

Jace seemed to decide to bank on the moment as well because he looked to me and spoke. "Was there really never anyone who caught your eye? Not in all those years of meeting suitors?" He thought for a moment. "There were some good ones."

"Some good ones?" I scoffed. "Who, pray tell?" 

After a few moments of consideration, he began to chuckle and I rolled my eyes. The chuckle became a cackle and at this joke, I did not laugh along. We both knew that most of the options I had been presented with were vapid, shortsighted, insecure children, as were most men.

I was about to hit him to shut him up when he stopped suddenly and his face brightened with realization. 

"I know a good one," Jace said, "Cregan Stark."

A flush crossed my face at the name.

Usually, I only allowed that name to cross my mind in the darkness of night, but Jace had disrupted that routine. "What about him?" I tried to ask innocently. This time my brother was the one to roll his eyes at me. 

"Don't play the fool, sister," he teased, "when he came to visit those years ago everyone could see that you both took a liking to each other. Even you couldn't fight him." He nudged me playfully with his elbow. "He fights like a Northerner, and he wanted to fight for you."

"Oh, hush."

"Why did you ever turn him away anyways?"

His question silenced me. It was a painful memory. Cregan had come to treat with my grandsire and pledge his support as Warden of the North, and in those two moons he stayed at King's Landing we came to know each other well. Perhaps the reason why I had opened myself to getting to know him was because he had not come for the intention of courting me. In fact, I found him wonderfully ignorant about the social politics of the royal family, and he did not know of my existence upon his arrival. 

The day we met, I was in the Godswood with a book and a porcelain cup of candied almonds. A midnight blue veil covered my thigh-length silver hair. I hated my hair, and I hated that my mother would not let me cut it. I refused to have it braided and let it fall unbrushed and wild down my back.

He had come into the courtyard without noticing me tangled in the roots of the tree. He came closer to examine the trunk thoughtfully, allowing me a glimpse of his face through the branches. I had heard of his arrival and listened from behind closed doors at their meeting, intrigued by his deep voice and foreign accent. I listened intently as he spoke a prayer in a hushed tone. All of a sudden, his gaze shifted to meet mine between the leaves as if he had known I was there the whole time. 

"Apologies, my lady," he bowed his head slightly. "I did not know the Godswood was occupied."

"There is room enough for two," I said shyly. I was not accustomed to being pleasant towards men. I was known for being a beautiful devil, a menace with a sour tongue. It made me self-conscious to think that I was changing my behavior for a man. But I was merely matching his politeness; and he had no reason to falsify his kindness, since he had no idea who I was. 

Luckily for me, I had no reason to overthink my words because he went silent for a long while, lost in a wordless prayer. After a quarter of an hour had passed, he came closer to me, and gestured to the root beside me. 

"Do you mind if I sit?" He had asked.

I shook my head and he moved his thick cloak to drop down beside me. 

"Pardon my intrusion, my lady, I find myself feeling lonely when I come to the South. The Godswood calms me."

"I understand, Lord Stark."

His eyebrow quirked. "You know who I am?"

"I'm afraid I do." I smiled. I loved having the upper hand. I decided I wouldn't tell him who I was. 

"What is your role here in the castle, my lady?" 

"To please lords like you." I jested. Cregan leaned back slightly, taken aback. I quickly realized the suggestive wording of my joke. "Not like that," I quickly corrected, "I was just... I mean-"

"I know who you are, princess." He chuckled at me. I was glad to be rescued from the embarrassment of my failed joke. I gazed at him questioningly. He leaned forward and gently removed the veil from my head. "Unfortunately your appearance does not allow you anonymity." 

I blushed. "What have you heard about me?" 

"Nothing, I admit, until your grandsire told me about you today. He told me of your age, not many years my junior, and I supposed-"

"- That I might make a fine breeder for you?" I snapped. There went the illusion of politeness. This was where they usually ran, when I became a beast instead of a beauty. A piece of work not worth the effort. 

Instead, Cregan merely chuckled. "Actually, I sought a companion. A friend. Being here is lonely for me, and I thought you might show me what life in King's Landing is like. If I am to swear fealty to your family, I seek to know your customs. Your mother has told me that you are the most well-acquainted with the keep of her children." 

You smiled. Had your mother truly said that? It was true, since you spent so much time darting around the palace avoiding her orders. 

"Would you mind giving me a tour?" He asked. His tone was so gentle, so uncomplicated. It was like no man had ever spoken to me before. With respect, as if he were speaking to a friend. It was refreshing.

For the next few weeks, Cregan and I formed a friendship based on mutual respect. He informed me of Northern politics and asked for my opinions on complicated political matters through a Southern perspective. I introduced him to my dragon, Vermithor. Afternoons were spent in the Godswood picnicking for the purpose of introducing him to local cuisine, and evenings were spent in the library discussing literature. The relationship felt as easy as breathing to me, and I could tell he felt the same. After close to two moons, it had begun to frighten me how much I longed for his presence when we separated at the end of the day. 

There had always been a tangible tension between us that toed the line between friendship and romance. Lingering gazes, intentional touches, and meaningful words kept me up at night. He opened up to me about the unique grief of losing his wife in childbirth and having to leave his infant son at home so soon afterward. I showed him the scars littered across my body, and explained to him how I hated my beauty.

He had taken my head in his hands and looked through my soul with those gray eyes. 

"Your beauty... It is just a fraction of you. What is truly incredible is your kind heart, your wit, your intelligence, your soul..."

I had been unable in that moment to keep myself from kissing him, so I let my mind empty and I surged forward to connect our lips. He responded with fervor, bringing me close, the pads of his thumbs barely grazing the peach fuzz on my cheek. I could not even bring myself to feel ashamed about grabbing his tunic underneath his cloak, my fingers unknowing but desperate. He had taken my hands and pulled back, only to kiss my nose, then brow, then the corners of each eyes, and then my knuckles. 

Suddenly I came too. I saw in front of me the path that had been laid for me - a wife, be it to a good man or a bad one. I was still determined not to let that happen. 

As I often did, I had fled. I had avoided him until he went back to Winterfell. Two moons later, a raven came from him. I didn't dare open it, too afraid to face my actions. Even if I felt that I knew what the contents were, Cregan was not like other men I knew - thus I had always wondered what the letter said. I wondered if it was true that he truly cared for me and saw who I was inside. The thought made me realize that even I myself did not know what path may be laid in front of me. My feelings confused me, and I decided to shut the Lord of Winterfell out of my mind forever.

Except on some dark nights. 

And except for now, when Jacaerys prods my arm and awaits the answer to his question. I realized I must have been silent for a long time as his voice began to register in my head. 

"Lost in thought?" 

"Ha-ha," I shoved him back. "Sort of." 

Jace's face became serious. "I was only jesting, but perhaps I shouldn't have brought it up. I know you truly did care for him."

"How could you tell?" I asked, genuine curiosity lacing my tone. It was past the point where it was worth feeling awkward about the truth of my feelings. I was only human, after all. 

"He was kind to everybody, but especially to you." Jace pursed his lips in thought. "Although at the same time, he does not treat you like you're soft. It was like he loved hearing you speak. Like your word was God."

I smiled. 

Jace nudged me. "And... he looked at you like you hung the damn sun in the sky."

My heart skipped a beat hearing that. I knew it was true, but I was used to people looking at me in awe. As if I were a ball of light floating in front of them, ethereal, untouchable. Cregan was not afraid to see through me, to touch me. He made me feel held.

Emotion overcame me in that moment. I quickly scrambled up from the bag of grain Jace and I were lounging on, grasping my sword and tossing my hair over my shoulder. 

"Well, it's too late now," I quickly said, "He's in Winterfell and it does not matter if he cares for me or not, I do not want the life of a housewife."

Jace stood. "Who says that getting married means you'll become a housewife? You'll be a lady, you could do whatever you please." 

"It isn't just the marriage, it's the principle of it!" I cried, moving away from him towards the main training yard. "As soon as I take those vows, it means my purpose is only to bear children." As we entered the larger courtyard and grew closer to other people, he grasped my arm and spoke to me in a lowered voice. 

"I know you think I do not understand, but I am soon to be betrothed as well, likely to someone I will never love."

"Well, at the end of the line, you have a throne." I spit at him, spinning on my heel and leaving him staring helplessly after me. 

[iconsumedmygoldfish]

i do not trust whit young.

spoilers for drdt. like, all of it so far. as of ch2 ep16.

whit as a character just isn't adding up for me. his reactions to things have been wrong up until now, or at least not as prominent as other characters. not necessarily saying he's a mastermind, or evil, or a david-chiem-type character, but i don't think he's who we think he id

whit has been shown to struggle to hold in his laughter in the middle of a class trial about the murder of one of his classmates, which is definitely an inappropriate reaction, but the fact that he's holding back a laugh at an unintentional joke shows that he isn't forcing amusement in the complete wrong situation. charles seems used to it by now to be honest, but uhhh idk

he's also become a fan favourite, being paired alongside charles as a good ship dynamic. understandably, whit has become a lovable character, serving (slaying) as some form of comic relief. but his reactions seriously give me a weird feeling. even if he's masking his emotions, to do it to this level, in this situation, feels wrong to me. it might just be a personal feeling about him, i do think he's funny and i like whit, but cmon man that is THE MOST SUSPICIOUS MAN IVE EVER SEEN

for example:

whit appears nonchalant after the gruelling, emotional class trial that him and his classmates have sat through for hours? hours game time and real time, i believe. whit is so casual here, and it bothers me - he doesn't look tired at all, worn out, he doesn't even seem to CARE.

more of whit's apathy:

this is the most concern i remember whit showing until this point, and it's directed towards charles. and not their classmate who has just been shot and is, like, violently bleeding out.. it's a bit inappropriate? he doesn't express shock about levi's sacrifice, he just seems to be anxious for charles.

this makes me wonder if whit is maybe more detached than other characters? sure he acts as a comedic character, but is he doing this deliberately? it's not making the mood better, no matter how much he tries, he should've figured that out by now. how is he capable of just keeping a mostly straight face (or, well, happy face) throughout two whole class trials? and an execution (one one so far)

then, there's the first instance of something extreme from whit:

im not sure what to interpret this emotion as. i initially took it as whit being utterly shocked, taken aback, maybe he has claustrophobia? looking into it more i still don't know what to think. he might be hateful, or having some sort of flashback or whatever, but whatever it is it looks dangerous.

this is more emotion than he shows towards xander's death, min's execution, arei's death, levi's sacrifice. and it's towards a locked door. that's why he could have claustrophobia, maybe some that's trauma-related. this could be explored further in the upcoming chapters if we're lucky. :)

sorry if im going into too much detail!!! he's just sus to me at the moment!!! and i miss levi and i miss ace and i am a very very very sad person and i want them BACK!!!!!!!! anyway hope this was fun to read i guess idk maybe perhaps

[steddieasitgoes]

for a fortnight there, we were forever

Happy Birthday, @nostalgicbones !!!!

I hope you have the best day ever and enjoy this little fic about Steddie getting into Supernatural. Apologies in advance if I got the details wrong, everything I know about this show I learned from tumblr lmao.

wc: 2.1K+ | rated: T

Read on ao3

Steve’s tired. The kind of tired that sits deep in his bones. A once-in-a-lifetime trip to visit Robin in her year abroad interpreter fellowship has kept him busy the last two weeks. Adventuring all over Europe as Robin rambled in languages, Steve couldn’t even imagine learning himself. They saw art, explored kitschy tourist traps, ate so much delicious food, Steve’s pants sitting a little lighter around his middle, and managed to avoid an international incident except that one night in Italy when Robin had to translate their way out of an arrest.

It’s been some of the best two weeks of his life, but he’s ready to be home. All he wants now is to kiss Eddie hello, scrub the last six hours of travel from his body, and then curl up on the couch with lukewarm takeout and his boyfriend’s arm around him. In that exact order no matter how much protesting Eddie does. If Steve doesn’t get in the shower he’s going to start peeling his skin from his body.

He doesn’t expect Eddie to be waiting by the door for him like some devoted pet, but when he unlocks the front door and doesn’t hear footsteps, he’s slightly concerned.

This is the longest they have been apart in years and some part of him figured Eddie would be on him the minute the Uber dropped him off in the parking lot, especially after he denied Eddie’s offer to pick him up at the airport. It was a nice offer, but the last thing Steve needed after a day and a half of travel was to get into the car with a frustrated Eddie because airport traffic is the root of all evil — he learned his lesson after last fall’s teacher’s conference.

Instead, Steve toes off his shoes and pads down the hallway toward the glowing light coming from their living room. He passes the kitchen on the way in and has to stop himself from making a pitstop. Messy isn’t strong enough to describe the scene. It looks like Eddie threw a rager in the small confines of their kitchen — solo cups everywhere, dishes overflowing from the sink, a half-eaten pizza box open on the counter that surprisingly hasn’t been touched by their cat Shiloh.

Steve can feel his anxiety spiking as he takes it all in. Eddie may not be obsessively organized like he is, but he’s never been one to be this messy. What if something bad happened to him in the last day and a half he’s been traveling? It’s been hard to keep up with texts with the all-time differences and layovers. Surely someone would have called him if something bad happened — at the very least, their house would be surrounded in yellow tape by now since Dorien is a busybody who regularly sounds the alarm if they’re more than five minutes late putting out their trash cans on pick up day.

It’s comforting enough to propel Steve forward, further down the hallway, until it spills out into the living room. His eyes catch on the mess for a moment — more empty take-out boxes and half-drunken water bottles along with over two dozen balled-up pieces of paper — but then he relaxes when he spots Eddie amongst the mess.

His curls are pulled back in a messy bun, and his body is kinked in a weird position as he drapes himself over his acoustic to scribble something down in his notebook. The television is on, casting him in a cool blue-gray tone, but the volume is too low for Steve to hear what’s on.

“Eds,” Steve calls, keeping his voice soft and even so as not to startle Eddie. This isn’t the first time he’s found Eddie in a focused state like this. It’s better not to startle him out of him, a lesson Steve learned the hard way in the early days of their relationship after failing to heed Wayne’s advice. “I’m home.”

“Stevie!” Eddie leaps up from the couch, acoustic be damned as it clatters to the patterned rug. His arms are around Steve in an instant, pulling him flush with his chest and burying his face in his unusually greasy hair.

“Missed you,” Steve says, wrapping his own arms around Eddie’s warm middle. He pulls back just enough to connect their lips. It’s not exactly the welcome kiss Steve was expecting with Eddie’s unexpected stumble scratching his chin but it’s perfect all the same.

“Missed you too.” Eddie ducks his head, nuzzling into the crook of Steve’s neck for a second before pulling away. His nose scrunched up when he looks at him. “I love you, Stevie, but you smell.”

Steve chuckles, shaking his head as he slowly untangles his limps from Eddie. “Are you sure it’s me and not this place?” He gestures at the state of their living room and then looks up at Eddie. It’s the first time he’s gotten a chance to really take him in; too preoccupied with getting his much-deserved welcome kiss in. He looks tired, almost as bone tired as Steve does, which doesn’t make any sense since he’s been at home the last two weeks. Sure, managing the record store is a lot of work, but not enough for his eyes to look this red-rimmed and bloodshot as if he’s been smoking for days, which Steve knows isn’t the case because the house doesn’t smell. “What have you been up to?”

A grin tugs at the corner of Eddie’s lips, a smile taking over his entire face until his red-rimmed eyes are squinting and crinkling at the edges. “You know that show Erica is always talking about? Supernatural. I started watching it the day you left, and well… I finished it three hours ago.”

That explains the mess and Eddie’s exhausted state. If there’s one thing his boyfriend is known for, it’s losing all sense of time and human responsibilities for the sake of art — his own or someone else’s.

“How many seasons?”

Eddie yanks a strand of hair from his bun free to tug across his lips before dropping his head. He mumbles something, too low for Steve to register.

“Eds.”

This time Eddie sighs and picks his head up but continues to hide his sheepish smile behind the lock of hair. ��15.”

“Jesus, Eddie!” It’s nearly double the last show Eddie became obsessed with, not wanting to do anything but watch episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer until the final credits rolled for the last time. He went 36 hours without sleep before Steve practically held his eyelids shut. “Have you even slept?”

“It’s really hard to sleep without you.” Steve knows Eddie didn’t mean it like that, but he can’t help the pit of guilt that sinks to the base of his stomach. “And once I started, I couldn’t stop. Supernatural demanded to be watched.”

Okay, so maybe it’s not all Steve’s fault. It’s just Eddie’s compulsive need to finish things he starts — at least the things he cares about, their half-built patio furniture, on the other hand…

“I’m never leaving you unsupervised again.”

Eddie smiles at that and reaches for Steve’s hand again. “Good, because I have to catch you up on the show!”

“It’s that good you already want to watch it again?”

“It’s that good, Stevie. And I need to revisit some scenes so I can get this love song, right.”

“Wait,” Steve says, dropping Eddie’s hand. His arms cross on instinct, head tilting to the side as he studies his boyfriend. “Love song? I thought you only wrote love songs about me.”

“The Destiel men deserve an original love ballad for all they’ve been through.”

“Destiel? Men? The show is gay?"

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head with enough force that more unruly strands break free from the worn elastic. There’s mischief in his eyes and a crooked smile pulling on his face and no matter how much trouble that look has gotten them into before, Steve can’t help but love it.

“You have so much to learn, my pet. Go shower, wash that gross plane smell off of you, and I’ll order us food. If we start right when you’re done we can probably get through half of season one tonight.”

Steve crinkles his nose at the request. It’s not that he doesn’t want to watch TV with Eddie, that was part of his plan when he got home. But he did just spend two weeks away from him, and well, he did have a few other plans in store for them after he settled in for a bit.

“Seriously? I’ve been gone for two weeks, and you want to spend our first hours reunited rewatching a show you just finished?”

“Trust me, baby, you’ll understand once we start watching,” he says, kissing Steve’s temple before patting his ass to get him moving. “I’ll even let you take one of those long, steamy showers while I get everything ready. That should be enough time for the Amazon shipment of tissues to arrive.”

“Tissues? I’m going to cry watching a show about supernatural things?”

“Excuse me,” Eddie scoffs. “You sobbed through that one episode of Buffy so do not judge me right now.”

“Will you at least warn me when something bad is going to happen so I’m prepared?”

Eddie shakes his head and mimes, locking his lips before throwing the imaginary key behind his shoulder. “At least you’ll have a shoulder to cry on. Now go, shower or else we won’t get through enough episodes tonight.”

Steve rolls his eyes but compiles, not without stealing another kiss first.

____

Steve hates to admit it, but he’s hooked from episode one. If it was up to him, he’d probably pull the same move Eddie did and binge the entire show in two weeks since he has no other summer vacation plans, but Eddie made him promise not to watch any new episodes while he’s at work. Turns out being an owner doesn’t mean he can call out for an entire month just to watch a television show, a rant Steve listens to for fifteen minutes before Eddie finally shuts up when he presses play on the remote.

It becomes a daily part of their routine right up until episode 18 of the final season. Steve knows something terrible is about to happen the minute the episode begins because Eddie won’t let go of his hand, but he’s still not prepared for the catastrophic events.

“He can’t die like that!” Steve shouts, jumping up from the couch. Eddie’s quick with the remote, passing the credits before the autoplay feature kicks in and starts the next episode. “What the fuck!”

“I know,” Eddie says, patting Steve’s shoulder in the hopes of placating the anger he knows is boiling in his blood. “I scared Shiloh with my shouting when I first watched it.”

“I don’t even want to finish it now.” He’s pouting; he knows he’s pouting, but he can’t help it.

“Aw, come on, Stevie. You have to see it through.” Steve huffs beside him, clinging to one of their stupid throw pillows as Eddie reaches for his laptop on the table. How can he go on the internet at a time like this? Steve feels like he just watched a friend die in front of him! “Besides it’s just the end for them in the show. There are tons of alternate endings online.”

“They shot more than one ending and released it? That doesn’t seem right.”

“Not the creators, they’re idiots,” Eddie says, shaking his head. His fingers fly across the laptop keys, typing something into the search bar before turning the screen so Steve can see. “But the fans take care of each other. This is an entire page of fix-it fics.”

“Fix it what nows?”

Eddie blinks at Steve as if he’s just sprouted two heads. “How have we been dating for five years, and I’ve never shown you the wonders of fix-it fics? Get ready to have your mind blown, sweetheart. Some of them even have art attached!”

“Where do you even find stuff like this?” Steve studies the page Eddie has open. An art piece of Dean driving his beloved Impala, with an arm thrown over the back seat. It’s beautiful.

“Okay, that’s it. After we finish, I’m giving you an education in the world of ao3 and Tumblr. You will be a changed man when I’m done with you, Steve Harrington.”

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?’

“Never,” Eddie lies, not even trying to hide the mischievous smile on his face. “If you want to see Cas live, this is the way, baby.”

“Fine. But let’s finish the last two episodes first. It can’t get any worse.” Eddie bites his lip, ducking his head but he’s too slow for Steve’s quick eye. “It gets worse doesn’t it.”

“Fix it fics, Stevie. It’s all okay in the fix it fics.”

[l00rem]

Hz ep65 rambles

This is going to be a long post because as expected I am just so incredibly normal about this episode. As someone who has wanted a deeper look into liko and amethio’s dynamic since forever i’ve been fed well. When it was clear Amethio wouldn’t be in this arc much I hoped we could at least get an episode with him and liko somehow but i gave up on the possibility, only for the title of 65 to get leaked which made me unable to sleep that day lmao

I know a lot of people are annoyed it’s taken the series so long for them to have a meaningful interaction but tbh i don’t really mind. The pokemon anime seasons last around 150 eps, and with gen 10 looking further away than most next generations hz might be lasting closer to the dp animes length, which makes sense considering it feels more like a one-shot series that won’t carry over into the next gen. It also just makes sense to me that they haven’t had a chat like this until now because why would they? as amethio says, liko was just the girl with the terapagos to him, there was no reason for him to go out of this way to chat with her and she was running from him because he’s the enemy. This episodes made it clear that their dynamic matters with it being the title, so i’m sure they’ll get a lot more moments from here on out.

Anyway, I absolutely adored amethio’s characterisation in this episode. Going into it i’d hoped we’d get to see his softer side and did the writers deliver on that! I love how it’s amethio who makes the initiative easier to talk with liko, there’s no reason for him to do this and what he said only motivates her (his enemy!!) and yet he most likely sees himself in her and so wants to comfort her as there was never anyone there for him… what he said really reminded me of friede’s words at the end of ep45 as well. I wonder if he could potentially become more of a mentor figure to her later on now that he’s been fired, as friede and roy have always felt closer to me in terms of mentor-student bond so it would be nice if liko got that with someone too.

he’s also the one to reach out his hand, which btw is the first time he’s made any physical contact with someone which wasn’t him flying on corviknight. Of course his hands were gloved, i wonder if he’ll take them off at some point? something something gloved symbolic for vulnerability, taking them off shows his trust and comfort…

The timing of putting Amethio next to Grusha also feels very intentional. They’re both cold on the surface but have better intentions deep down. I wonder if the whole Grusha being happier when he was younger will be true for Ame as well?? I can’t help but think about that Charcadet back from ep57 , which seemed so happy and friendly… He even made sort of a smile in this ep?? I don’t think i counts as a proper one, but his eyes are filled with so much love and warmth that it certainly gives the illusion of one. So, of course, order had to be restored by immediately making amethio suffer right after he finally displays some level of happiness

I find it really interesting how Gibeon seems to be bringing up Amethio’s dad in repose to Amethio showing comradeship with the enemy.

I know a lot of people think Amethio was born into explorers, but my personal interpretation is that ame’s dad left after meeting ame’s mom and decided there was more to life then chasing his dad’s wishes. Perhaps she was also a target for one of his missions but he ended up falling in love with her … (i don’t ship ameliko btw, i think the parallel is more love in general than specifically romance). I also don’t think amethio’s dad is alive, amethio seems to cling to gibeon for some reason so my theory has always been that gibeon killed ame’s dad (perhaps he tried to take gibeon down, now we’ve seen what the eternal blessing can do he wouldn’t stand a chance) and then manipulated amethio under the illusion that he’d been abandoned. And now he’s been abandoned again… Gibeon clearly doesn’t give a shit about him, in ep54 he goes all ‘how long has it been since we met like this?’ which sounds warm, like seeing your grandparent in person after so long�� but then you realise that gibeon is literally just a long ass corridor away and could call amethio at any time. he chooses not to because he doesn’t care. ‘special regard’ my ass, it’s all manipulation to isolate amethio into thinking he could only belong to explorers. This also makes me wonder if gibeon didn’t actually fall for spinel’s plot as much as he seemed to, maybe he just knows amethio will get desperate in banishment and will try even harder to reclaim his honour (fucking pokezuko lmao) it’s a very evil scheme in that case, gibeon has been shown to hold a lot of intelligence so i hope it does turn out to be the case or else he looks kinda stupid imo

Another detail I loved in this scene was the others reactions, particularly Sango.

She looks genuinely shocked, I think from her pov amethio has always been this pampered prince whose been given everything on a silver platter, she didn’t realise how fragile his place in explorers actually was. I expected this from Onyx, but it shows a lot of nuance for Sango to feel this way too. Also, I’m a Hamber hater so i’m always gonna perceive his actions in a bad light- i don’t think he was showing genuine concern for amethio, it’s more that he knows amethio’s character better than gibeon and so would know that amethio would never betray gibeon. he saw the torture amethio put himself through in training, and said himself he was impressed by his resolve. Hamber’s concern comes from loosing a valuable asset to his master, not because he genuinely cares imo.

This does make me wonder how Ame and Liko will interact from here on out. I think he’ll blame Spinel mostly, but it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s colder to her next time to make a point to himself that he’s not soft on the enemy. But I hope Liko will notice this, perhaps realise he’s been banished and use this as an opportunity to get to understand him better. She showed him vulnerability this ep, so i hope the tables will turn next time.

I really liked this line too, especially considering liko is a character so centred around empathy. Allow me to speak in my girl who only thinks about umineko voice for a second, but it really reminded me of the core theme ‘without love it can’t be seen’. Liko’s learning that if she doesn’t try to see the perspective of even people who seem to have ill intent, she’ll never understand them. A good lesson for a girl who wants to understand the hearts of others!

Now, as for amethio’s future… Considering his own advice to liko he’s definitely not going to give up like that. He’ll probably continue to train so he can seize terapagos, but in the process will potentially get closer and closer with liko and the rvt. This depends a lot on his situation now he’s been fired- like will he have money? will zir and conia follow him? i get the sense that the writers want to isolate him from them to make it easier to focus on his development (as much as i miss them as a trio) it’d be interesting if they got given to spinel temporality but i’d fear for their safety…

It seems that he’ll be important next arc, i hope now that he’s not in explorers it’ll be much easier to make him show up in a casual setting. I’ve always hoped he’d be relevant in getting Kleavor, mainly bc both Kleavor and Cerueldge have weapon hands so a battle between the two would be cool, especially if he teams up with liko!

Perhaps this is a reach but i’ve been humouring the idea that he might actually form a bond with Carmine.

He is next to her on the poster, which might not actually mean anything… but amethio’s always given me Keiran vibes, i’d love it if she saw keiran in him (especially if he’s going through his emo era) and so wanted to reach out to him as perhaps a way to work out how to approach her brother. It would be really sweet for amethio to get a familial figure who genuinely cares about him, now that he’s in his homeless arc maybe she could take him in for this arc like the sad sopping wet kitten whose been left in a card box in the rain that he is.

So yeah, those are most of my intelligible thoughts that aren’t just me screaming and jumping on the spot. Inevitably this is already my favourite hz episode we’ve gotten so far, and i’m so excited to see where amethio goes from here on out! Please, just let him smile and be happy, he’s suffered enough :,)

[kaesaaurelia]

3rd Life Space Colonist AU Concepts

So I'm very new to MCYT fandom, in the process of watching everything in the Life Series, but while I was watching 3rd Life I could not get the idea of this group having been sent to colonize an alien planet and it going very wrong.

But before things go wrong, they would have had specific roles and reasons they were picked, so I thought a bit about that, and once I had roles figured out I went and played around in Hero Forge to design the characters.

(Also, obviously there would be more than 14 people on an expedition like this and there's certain types of personnel they'd want more than one of, or who are conspicuously missing from this cast list.

You can make of that what you will.)

So, without further ado: some of the personnel aboard a ship heading to the furthest reaches of the galaxy, sent by totally not evil Mars-based corporation Farlands Planetary Systems:

SPACESHIP FLIGHT & MAINTENANCE

At this point in the future, there are machines that can do incredible things, but none of them can quite replicate whatever's going on in Scar's head human decision-making, and on longer journeys where the ship is required to make multiple FTL jumps in quick succession, human intuition and ingenuity are necessary for survival. To that end, pilots are directly plugged into their ships and to some extent, on longer journeys, become the ship. They need to be willing and able to do terrifying things without hesitation or consultation with others. Scar is great at this. He's also an absolute menace everywhere else, but in all fairness it's very hard for him to remember how gravity works on planets when he's used to using it to slingshot himself around in space.

Etho and BDubs aren't JUST there to maintain the ship mechanically -- they'll be rebuilding humanity's technological achievements from the ground up once they get to the planet -- but they're also vital to maintaining the ship across its long journey. BDubs is especially skilled at working in and navigating through zero gravity environments, and he's very used to doing floating repairs. This should have no lasting consequences for him once they get to a planet.

Tango is... an odd one. He's primarily a computer guy, and he's no slouch there, but he's never been on one of these expeditions himself -- see, his family's owned Farlands Planetary Systems for centuries, since before the Martian atmosphere had been been tamed and the planet's population was only a couple thousand. From his comfortable climate controlled office on Mars, he's looked over proposals, decided which ones were most likely to be successful, and signed off on countless exploration missions. He's watched them leave and mostly come back, and he's never encountered a high-risk high-reward situation he couldn't at least break even on. He's about to.

MEDICAL CARE

There's an extensive medical staff onboard, of course -- or there should be, anyway. I'm sure the others are fine!

Martyn is a generalist, good at figuring out what the hell is going wrong and how to stabilize someone's condition in the field with minimal resources. He's good at making difficult decisions quickly and making the sacrifices necessary for long-term survival.

Grian, meanwhile, is a specialist in neurology, and while he's meant to be looking after the whole crew, he's very important on this expedition because he is specifically a specialist in the connection between pilot and ship, and his task is primarily to keep the pilot alive at all costs.

Grian's also very excited about the pioneering medical procedure he's convinced Farlands to give all the personnel on this expedition, which will allow them to completely regenerate after dying -- at least twice! This has technically been possible for a while, but it's never been this fast, and they haven't been able to allow the subjects to retain their memories and personalities until now. It's still experimental but given the high risk nature and high cost of this particular expedition, he feels it's worth the risk, and most people jumped at having not only a second chance at life, but a third!

EXPLORATION & TERRAFORMING

Once they get to the planet, of course, they're going to need to figure out what's already there, and to transform it into a liveable place! So there are various experts who will explore the planet, conduct a full survey of its resources, and work to make it easier for humans to live there. Here we have experts in population biology, minerology, environmental chemistry, xenobotany, and agronomy.

Joel works for Farlands, usually traveling with his wife Lizzie, (an ethnopharmacologist). BigB tends to work on a contract -- there's a lot of call for minerologists in the outer solar system -- but if this expedition is successful, he'll never have to work again, and he won't have to go through the cycle of spending six lonely months in the Kuiper Belt, returning to Earth, then going back out again. Both of them think they know what they're getting into.

Cleo and Scott haven't worked for Farlands before, and are very surprised to be asked, as they have a shared checkered past. Cleo, in her younger days, was convicted of burning down the Martian Prime Minister's house. In fairness, a. he deserved it, and b. it was extremely flammable, because he destroyed a bunch of oxygen farms to build it, out of wood, and was not much of a believer in fire safety regulations. He was not home at the time, so he was fine, but about a year later he was assassinated. No one has ever been formally charged with the crime, but Scott, being one of Cleo's close friends, was the primary suspect. Both of their careers have suffered because of this -- Cleo can't get tenure anywhere, and Scott actually went into hiding for a time -- and while they don't trust Farlands even a little bit, they do like the idea of going somewhere that has no extradition treaties with Mars.

Like BigB, Jimmy's ready to cash out and settle down on a strange planet. He's going to be making sure people have enough edible food on this new planet, since there's no guarantee it will have edible plants or animals.

EXPERTS IN ALIEN LIFE

There's definitely not intelligent life on this new planet. It would be illegal for Farlands to settle a planet that was already occupied! They would never do anything illegal.

But maybe there used to be intelligent life there. Maybe the preliminary probes were inconclusive? Hmm. Anyway. Skizz is a xenoarchaeologist. He's also the only survivor of an expedition that went out in the early 22nd century; they encountered a strange and apparently hostile aliens. His memories are fuzzy and he doesn't remember much except for a strange floating city in a dark void. He made it back to Earth in a stolen alien ship, but while he was gone several hundred years had passed and now everyone he knows is dead. He's anxious to get back into the field, to a planet that is definitely a different one from the one he was sent to where all his friends died, and there's definitely no living intelligent life.

Impulse has been studying that ship Skizz brought back and he's pretty sure these aliens have figured out a method of stable, instant travel between any two distant points, which needless to say the company wants badly. This world seems to have traces of these

Impulse is a xenotechnologist who's pretty sure he's close to wrapping his brain around a method of stable two-way faster-than-light travel that seems to be in use by a distant alien civilization who may have left traces of themselves on this new planet. The company line is that he's also there just to study any remnants of high-tech alien civilizations, but he doesn't have a very good poker face and everyone suspects he knows something he's not letting on.

ALSO... REN

Ren is not a scientist. Ren is Martyn's husband. He is a relatively successful fantasy author whose first two books have sold well, but now he has to finish the trilogy and it's just. not. happening. Martyn had been planning not to go on this expedition -- has in fact been planning to stop going on lengthy expeditions in general, because he'd like to spend more time at home -- but Ren's so tired of his manuscript at this point that he is willing to pack up and move to another planet to avoid writing. He is anxious that people like him and think well of him and also anxious that they never ask him about the book. Please don't ask him what happens in the book. He thought he knew, but he doesn't.

The great thing about this expedition is that that's going to be the least of his problems very, very soon. (Also, he'll be blessedly relieved of the memory of the book, because, like the rest of the surviving crew, all of them will have very few solid memories of anything by the time they get to the planet. But, gotta look on the bright side, right?)

[writer-in-theory]

The Devil Is A Gentleman — part one.

18+ ONLY - SoftDom!Eddie, Sub!Steve, Slight Feminization (Eddie calls Steve 'princess'), First Time BDSM, Aftercare, Kink Discovery/Exploration

this part is based off of this absolutely amazing art by @dreaminginpencil ✨

EDIT: read on ao3

--

"I want to try it."

Eddie's just walking through the door after the first summer session of Hellfire when Steve says it. Steve is stood in the middle of the main room, arms outstretched a little like he's forgotten what to do with them. He looks nervous, hazel eyes looking just to the left of Eddie and teeth gently biting into his lower lip.

"What're we trying, exactly?" Eddie asks, eyebrows raised as the question makes Steve shift on his feet. "Steve?"

"Your bandana," Steve gasps out, hand stretching out to gesture at Eddie's waist. "I want to try it."

"You want to try..." If anything could short circuit Eddie's brain, it was hearing Steve Harrington say that. "Stevie, what do you think you're asking to do?"

That only makes Steve blush. His cheeks are a brilliant red now, so much that Eddie might've mistaken it for a sunburn if he didn't watch the color bloom there with his own eyes.

"I—Eddie," Steve actually goddamn whines, and Eddie's just glad this was Steve's idea because that alone gives him about a dozen ideas.

"C'mon, princess, I gotta hear you say it," Eddie presses, smirking as Steve continues to shuffle on his feet.

"Robin told me what it means," Steve tells the ceiling, chin tipped up so he can focus on the crack where the Upside Down portal used to be. "Told me about the...um..."

Eddie doesn't speak, let's Steve figure this one out for himself. If they're going to be doing anything, Steve needs to at least be able to say the words. Still, Eddie can't help but feel like this is a dream, and he'll wake up any second to a Steve Harrington who couldn't possibly know what his bandana means, much less want to try it.

"She told me about the bondage, okay?" Steve shouts, panicked with hands that wave about as he explains. "And the, the pain and the dom/sub and why you have handcuffs and I want it. I want it."

"Are you sure?" Eddie presses again, taking a few steps further into the trailer until he can reach out for Steve's hands. "You don't have to do anything you're not sure about. I'm perfectly happy with what we've got going on now."

If the blush and tiny sigh are anything to go by, Steve is too.

"I'm sure," Steve answers, more resolutely than any of his other sentences have been all night. "I'm sure. I want you to dominate me, Eddie."

"Shit, Stevie," Eddie breaths out, eyes wide as he takes in what he just heard. His body has an immediate reaction, chest heating up and waves of arousal coursing through him. "You have no idea what you do to me, do you?"

"Maybe a little," Steve says with a smirk, some of his usual confidence starting to return. "So you'll do it?"

He wants to start yesterday. "Of course, Steve," Eddie begins, tugging on Steve's hands to lead him into the bedroom. Eddie sits down on the bed, patting the spot next to him for Steve to sit too. "But with something like this, we gotta lay out some rules, okay? And you have to promise me you'll listen and follow them. There's no being a hero here, you understand?"

Brief nightmares of Steve ignoring safewords to seem strong ran unbidden through Eddie's mind, making him shake his head a little as if to physically dislodge them.

"Rules. I can do rules," Steve answers. "Like what? That I gotta stay naked around you, can't look you in the eyes? Call you Sir?"

The words force out a startled laugh from Eddie, who immediately has to shift in his seat at the image of Steve kneeling prettily in the bedroom waiting for him to come home. "Easy, baby," Eddie manages to get out, "We can't rush these things. We'll start off easy."

"Easy," Steve repeats, as though he were testing out the word on his mouth.

"You have to tell me if you like or don't like something," Eddie tells him, reaching out with thumb and forefinger to hold onto Steve's chin. He sees the reaction immediately—Steve's pupils widen as a sharp little exhale sounds from his parted lips. "I don't want to keep doing anything you're not enjoying, got it?"

Steve nods. "I need words, Steve. That's rule number one, if you can't answer me, I'm stopping."

"Tell you if I don't like something. Answer you when you ask me something. Got it."

"You're already doing so good, Stevie," Eddie coos, smirking at the shaky breath Steve lets out at that. "This is all about communication, okay? We'll have to talk more later about the details, but for now if you want to dip your toes in..."

"Yes, yes please," Steve rushes to say, nodding as well as he can with Eddie's grip on his chin. "Please, Eddie."

"Okay, okay, sweet boy," Eddie says, chuckling at his enthusiasm, "I've got you."

Normally when they kiss, there's a little fight for dominance. Now, when Eddie kisses Steve he lets him, moaning as Eddie playfully nips his lower lip. It's only when Steve reaches out for Eddie's waist that he stops, keeping that firm hold on Steve's chin and pulling back enough to look him in the eyes.

"Who said you could touch me, Stevie?" Eddie asks, his voice a little harder than before, rougher.

"I—" Steve licks over his reddened lips, letting out a little keening noise that goes straight to Eddie's dick. "Eddie, please. Wanna touch you."

"Nuh uh, Stevie," Eddie laughs with just the right amount of condescension to make Steve pout. "Who's in charge tonight?"

"You are," Steve says, eyes looking down enough to conceal them from Eddie.

"Let's try that again, princess," Eddie says, tapping Steve's chin until he gets the man's full focus again. How had Eddie gone this long without seeing Steve like this, already nearly ready to melt with pleasure before they'd really done anything? "You can be a good boy for me, right, Stevie? I know you can, so focus real hard for me. Who's in charge tonight?"

Steve's eyes never waver from his own, his voice strong as he answers, "You're in charge, Eddie. I'm yours."

"Yes you are." Eddie grins, reaching out to swipe his hand through Steve's hair. Steve leans into the contact, a little noise falling from his lips that Eddie tucks away for later. "You're all mine tonight, Stevie. So why don't you keep being good and take your shirt off, come keep my lap warm."

Steve, for all his credit, moves quickly. He practically rips off his t-shirt, tossing it somewhere into the chaos of their bedroom. He's slower to climb into Eddie's lap, barely hovering until Eddie grabs his hips and rolls him forward until their clothes cocks brush. Steve's unable to stop the groan that he lets out, head tipping back a little from the sensation.

"Good boy, Stevie," Eddie tells him, reaching up with one hand to idly brush his fingers over one of Steve's nipples. When Steve starts to squirm in his lap, Eddie lightly pinches it until Steve keens, bucking his hips into Eddie's. "Here's what we're going to do. Paying attention?"

"Yes, Eddie." Steve is gorgeous like this, already looking fucked out, hazel eyes staring at Eddie like they're the only people who exist in the world.

"Doing okay?"

"Yes, Eddie."

"Alright. We're going to play a little game. You were a varsity athlete, you love games, don't you, princess," Eddie teases, unable to help the urge to pinch Steve's nipple again just to hear that whine again.

"Eddie," Steve groans, hands starting to grab at Eddie's arms but hovering in the air when he realizes he can't touch.

"Oh, what a good boy you are," Eddie croons, reaching out for Steve's hands. He pulls them behind Steve's bare back, crisscrossing them just at the butt of his jeans. He holds on just tight enough that Steve couldn't easily escape his hold, an improved version of cuffs. "Just for that I'll make it a little easier on you."

"I want to make you feel good, Stevie," Eddie tells him, smirking at the excited nod Steve gives in response. "Not so fast, sweet boy. You have to tell me when you think you're getting close to cumming, okay? Think you can do that for me?"

Steve nods again.

"Words, baby," Eddie reminds him.

"Yes, fuck, yes please Eddie just," Steve tries to get out, practically moaning the words out. "Please."

Eddie can't wait anymore. He starts to rock them at their hips, pulling with their hands so their cocks slide together through their jeans. It's immediate shockwaves of pleasure, and normally Eddie would pick up the pace but he wants to tease Steve a little, see how worked up he can make him. So for now, he keeps them at an even, casual rhythm.

"Eddie," Steve moans out, hands tugging at Eddie's hold on them before his head tips all the way back, exposing his neck to Eddie.

"You're doing so good for me, princess," Eddie tells him, letting out his own groan of arousal. It still feels like a dream, getting to see Steve fall apart under his hands. He's the only one who gets to see Steve Harrington like this—blissed out and doe eyes swimming with tears from the pleasure. "Are you close, Stevie? How're you feeling?"

"Good, so good, Eddie," Steve moans out, tilting his head forward so their foreheads nearly brush when Eddie rocks them. "Please, I'm gonna, I need to—"

"I know, baby, I know," Eddie tells him gently while gripping Steve's hands tighter, pulling them just a littler further apart as if to restrain him more, "I've got you, Stevie, you're doing so good for me."

"Eddie," Steve cries out, hips stuttering a little as he tries to speed up the pace, tries to dig in a little harder to get more stimulation. "Please! You're teasing me."

"That's kind of the idea, sweetheart," Eddie chuckles, though obliges him and presses their hips together harder. "C'mon, Stevie. Cum for me, I know you can do it. Be my good boy."

Steve lets out a little cry at that, rolling his hips. His head leans forward, their foreheads pressed together. Under any other circumstances, Eddie might've teased him for the sweat matting down his hair, but now the thought only pushes Eddie closer to the edge.

Eddie feels the moment Steve tips over the edge himself, his soft panting turning into the hottest fucking wail Eddie's ever heard as his hips stutter, pressing against Eddie. "Fuck, Eddie," he gasps out, head lowering so he can hide it in Eddie's neck, "Fuck."

The moment Steve's body relaxes against him, Eddie releases Steve's hands. He reaches up, one arm wrapped around Steve's back and the other coming up to brush through his hair. The best goddamn hair Eddie's ever seen, though he'd never admit it to the man.

"You did so good for me, baby," Eddie tells him, "You're so good. My good boy, Stevie. Why don't we get you out of those jeans, okay?"

"Wait," Steve gasps, leaning back with wild eyes, like he'd suddenly forgotten something. "You didn't—"

"Don't need to, Stevie, seeing you like this is good enough for me tonight," Eddie promises, cradling the side of Steve's face with his hand. He's sure he could coo with how sweetly Steve leans into the touch, the other man's eyes fluttering closed and a small smile pulling his lips. "Just wanna take care of you tonight, I promise."

And he does. He carries Steve to the little bathroom, holding him up in the shower so they can clean up. Steve doesn't say much, but Eddie does. He keeps talking to him, telling him how good Steve had done and how happy tonight had made him. It's only until they're wrapped up in comfy clothes cuddling in bed that Steve talks again. Eddie's body is pressed close to Steve's back, arms wrapped tightly around him in a close hug. Eddie's sure neither of them have ever felt so safe.

"Did you really like it?" Steve whispers, fingers drawing little patterns into Eddie's arm. Sometimes he likes to trace Eddie's tattoos, fascinated with the ink sunken deep in his skin.

"Did I really like it," Eddie repeats with a playful scoff. "Steve, you amaze me every day and this was no exception. That was incredible."

"Okay, good," Steve breaths out, as though that could ever be a real worry. "I liked it too. Can you tie up my hands next time?"

"Fuck, Stevie," Eddie nearly groans, shaking his head against the picture that sends to his mind. "Absolutely, always. We'll talk about it tomorrow, lay out some more ground rules. There's more I have to tell you about all this, but yes, fuck yes."

Eddie falls asleep that night wondering how he got quite so lucky to have found someone as incredible as Steve. And Steve, well, he's wondering the same thing about his own luck.

--

TAGLIST: @alessiamargaux @minispice-1 @shadetea @emily19990 @alexxavicry @raven2008 @whoringrove @strangerleaves @blackpanzy @goodproofingwater @greetings-and-salutations @doralovesit @kerlypride @singmeyoursimpsong @im-sam-fucking-winchester @itch-my-b0nez @largechaos

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[wateroflifefrommountains]

Oh No, Grappling Hooks!!

I've figured it out, Cassandra Cain's kryptonite. What item was used to incapacitate her during the 1st few issues of Batgirls? It was a grappling hook, she got tied up in it. Bruce probably looked into the fight and learned that despite Cassandra's ability to read body language and, in turn, dodge bullets, she CANNOT dodge grappling hooks. That's why when he decided to take her out he didn't hesitate in using it against her.

Do you want proof? It worked, didn't it?

LOL. Seriously, I dislike it when that happens but after I vent, and I vent like a MADMAN, mind you, I try to recall Stan Lee's discussion about who would win in a superhero fight. "There's one answer to all of that; it's so simple. Anyone should know this! The person who'd win in a fight is the person that the scriptwriter wants to win!"

We all knew it was going to happen. It was predictable and disappointing. It was predictably disappointing, but we were able to brace ourselves for it so the blow was not as hard.

This makes me feel a little bit better until the cringe gets to me and I start rambling again. We can demand better stories and more consistent characterizations. This is a given; however, the writers are gods of their stories and who wins is decided by the narrative they wish to tell. Gotham Wars is a conflict between Bruce and Selina as well as the stress and psychological damage the mantle places on Bruce. Hurting his kids, going too far, becoming the thing he wished to defeat, that's what the story wants to show us.

Now for the theory crafting and storytelling practice, what if they didn't turn on Batman? What if we are looking at this like an epic War Story but it's actually just Family drama? It was clear that Dick and the rest wanted to talk to Bruce before escalating any further. They are not on Selina's side per se; rather, they just do not want a war.

Here is the Thesis for Batkids [aside from Jason]. They are uncertain about what to do, but they don't want Bruce to go too far. Jason on the other hand wants to escalate things and is fully on Selina's side. [It still upsets me that Cassandra and Duke's thoughts on this were never shown]

Jason being Jason confronts Bruce and tries to beat his message into his father's skull. Bruce reacts not only by fighting back but by insinuating Jason's death. This is when things got out of hand. This is the point when his kids decide to stop Bruce, but they are not questioning the mission by stopping him here. He uttered a threat to his kid's life. That's something Bruce/Batman wouldn't do and his family knows this. So when they realize that it needs to stop, they tell him to back off and stand down.

Now that I've reread it, this could explain the battle. Bruce is not holding back and is treating his kids as criminal threats; on the other hand, his kids still treat him with care and want him to stop hitting Jason and take a damn mental health break.

The way they all get bodied is silly and uncharacteristic [rage-inducing even] but that may be intentional as they are shown as the centrists in all of this. There is a twist in the middle there though and that may lead to other things. I can't believe I am writing this, but Gotham Wars might get better. It might explore the other Batkids and if this is copium talking, then I saw potential where there was none and fabricated a good story in my head at least.

[jadedxhearts]

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

You have an… interesting dream while sleeping with Law, and you end up waking him up.

originally posted on May 5, 2023

Please note that this is an old work and isn't representative of my current writing skills!

He’s got you spread out for him, firmly holding you in his lap as his fingers work away at you, relentlessly pushing you further and further into pleasure. 

Law was being particularly cruel and daring tonight, taking you up to the deck of the Polar Tang as it idly sits on a shoreline overnight. You’re docked at an island that needed to be looked into for whatever reason, having spent nearly all day exploring and making a map with the help of Bepo. 

But now, late into the evening hours, the entire crew is asleep, and Law simply couldn’t keep his hands off of you. You aren’t even sure what set him off so badly, but you aren’t mad about it. In fact, it’s rather welcome.

You’re completely naked, exposed to the entire world as the moonlight kisses your skin, body illuminated by the stars above you in the night sky. Law has you sat in his lap, using his legs to keep yours forced apart so he can mercilessly play with your pussy.

One tattooed hand is groping at your left breast, squeezing the soft tender skin between his fingers as he occasionally pinches and pulls at your hardened, sensitive nipples.

The other hand is between your open legs, palm rubbing furiously against your sopping wet cunt. With every stroke down and up, your clit is greeted with stimulation and you swear you’re seeing stars from the feeling- and not the ones in the sky above.

Law switches between that and plunging his fingers into you, creating the most lewd and wet squelching sounds, ones that are so loud they nearly drown out your moans and cries. Your head is laid back against his neck, mouth wide open as you pant and try to catch your breath between whines. 

“Don’t forget the crew could come up here at any second, y/n-ya. You’d better quiet down,” Law teases you with a low chuckle.

“B-but- I- so… wet,” you gasp out, barely able to form words anymore. Law figures you mean the sounds your cunt is making, and he simply laughs again. “I’m sure they’ll hear your cries before they hear that.”

But despite his warning, you continue to cry and squirm in his lap, feeling incredibly close to cumming for what felt like the hundredth time. There was a pool of your juices between your legs from the many previous rounds of torture on your pussy. As you let your head fall down to take in the view again, you let out the loudest moan yet. The sight of his fingers disappearing within you all while spilling more and more wetness out of you causes you to be sent over the edge, nearly screaming from pleasure.

Law removes his hand from the gummy walls of your cunt and instead begins rubbing his palm against you again, and with the motion you start squirting, juices pouring out and spilling all over yourself. The mess you're making was starting to reach underneath you, getting to Law’s jeans and staining them. As you start to become overstimulated again, you raise your hips into his touch and begin bucking up, always wanting more.

—

It’s early. Early enough that not even Law has gotten up and out of bed yet, and honestly, with the busy day he’d just had, he would have continued sleeping for hours, if not for you waking him up.

You’d been cuddled up on top of him, head laying under his chin and you slept peacefully- up until now, at least. Now, you’d began twitching and muttering incoherent words that Law couldn’t make out through his sleepy state. But it was enough to wake him. 

At first, he thought maybe it was a nightmare, and he was going to try and wake you up to end it, when you moaned. 

The sound was sweetly high-pitched, but muffled by his chest. Law froze as he laid underneath you, his hand on your back tensing up as he listened to see if he’d really heard what he thought he did; and his ears hadn’t failed him, it wasn’t some sleep induced delusion his mind produced. Your hips began rocking against his thigh, and you let out another whine. 

Law could feel even through his sweatpants that you were very wet, that you’d completely soaked through the panties you’d worn to bed. Your moans became more frequent as you humped your messy cunt onto his thigh, the friction creating pleasure that even Law felt; his cock beginning to grow hard as he felt your puffy cunt slide against him. 

And yet, you’d been asleep the entire time. You had to have been having a wet dream, one good enough that you were essentially pleasuring your actual self through it. Your hand that had been laid against Law’s tattooed chest began clenching, trying to grab onto him. Your breath grew heavier against him, and you were practically drooling onto his skin as you moaned against him.

Your hips began shaking as you rubbed against him, and soon enough, Law felt you freeze in spot as you came on his thigh. One last whine left your lips, but it faintly died as your eyes fluttered open, and you let out more of a groggy-sleepy whine from being woken up.

Gaining consciousness, you moved your head up to look at Law who’d been staring at you the whole time. His flushed face and wide eyes alarmed you, and you soon realized your cunt was soaked, that you were sitting in a pool of your lewd essence. 

“Sweet dream?” Law managed to chuckle out, but he sounded quite flustered.

“Wh- I… What happened?” You asked, eyes widening as you lifted yourself off of his chest and stared down at the wet spot on his sweatpants. 

“You started moaning and grinding against me in your sleep,” Law answered bluntly. “And then you came on my thigh.”

Your face turned a deep shade of red, and your hands flew up to cover it. “I-I’m sorry,” you cried, “it was the dream, I guess… I didn’t mean to-“

“Shh. Don’t worry about it, y/n. What you need to worry about now is the fact that you’ve created a problem for me.”

Confused, you peeked out from between your fingers, not understanding what Law meant. But you did soon enough, as he took one hand away from your face and placed it against his hardened cock. “You see now?”

[animeyanderelover]

Could you write an NSFW yandere headcanon for Midorima?

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional thoughts, Nsfw

Nsfw Hc’s

⭐️In a relationship he's most likely the type who waits a while until he even brings up the topic of any sexual interaction at all. Midorima wants to make his darling comfortable in the relationship and wants to settle certain things, establish some stuff, within the relationship before he takes the next step. Honestly, I don't see him as someone who likes to rush things and chances are that he himself is a bit uncomfortable with the thought of having sex very soon. As good as his grades were in school and as good as he is in basketball, he has no further ideas how to please his lover in bed and he's low-key a bit embarrassed about it. He has high expectations on himself when it comes to being your boyfriend so he probably can't rest easy before he has at least some good inspiration. So he launches himself into the ruthless world of the internet in search for tips and help and he leaves as a changed man. He's seen and read stuff he wish he could unsee after his research but it's now forever stuck in his mind.

⭐️He's reserved and usually likes to act like he's above stuff, in reality though he's a tiny bit of a closet pervert and his adventures on the internet and in some magazines, Aomine offered him even some of his, did nothing to cure him. There are certain gestures or just certain moments where he's prone to feel riled up but he doesn't want to admit that. Sometimes when you simply stretch yourself and your clothes lift to reveal simply some bare skin of yours can his mind dip into the wrong direction but Shintarō does his best to ignore it or at least to just hide the fact from you that such seemingly innocent acts are at times enough to have him rethink how much of a gentleman, self-proclaimed that is, he really is. Sometimes he just finds his green eyes roaming over your body even when he does his best to tear his gaze away from you, a pink blush covering his ears as his mind really starts rolling and he's about ready to die out of shame and embarrassment when you catch him in his acts.

⭐️By sheer accident you figure out that he finds it very attractive when you stand behind him, whisper lowly into his ears and touch his shoulders softly, fingers occasionally digging into his muscles to give him a massage. What originally just was an innocent attempt of yours to help him relax after a long and stressful day was quickly taken to the bedroom. There's just something very alluring about feeling your hot breath fawning over the shell of his ear and neck and your low voice tickling his ears which causes him to pause whatever he’s doing and just listen to whatever you have to say. After that day though, you often try to tease him about it and use it against him whenever you want to see a man as stoic and composed as Midorima break again. The man himself is torn apart between enjoying it and just being plainly embarassed about losing his composure as easily as he does every time.

⭐️Expect a lot of body worship with this guy who appreciates everything about his darling. If they have any insecurities about their physique, he makes it his personal job to show that part of their body frequent adoration to help them to get over it. Really, he's disapleased with himself if he can't at least help to make you feel better about yourself and your body. Foreplay is really drawn out and he might just like it more than the actual thing because it allows him to properly explore your body. He loves pressing kisses all over your body and take his sweet time breaking you down by using his tongue and his fingers, doesn't matter what his s/o has down there. I feel like he's especially talented with his hands and fingers and considering that he's probably already the type to give his s/o a good massage if they're normally stressed and stiff, I don't see any reason why he wouldn't do it during sex by helping them to loosen their muscles.

⭐️Shintarō starts as a pretty vanilla guy but he picks up some stuff along the way and his main thing is going to be at one point shibari. He teaches himself how to make knots and how to tie the ropes, goes out of his way to buy bonds made out of silky material to not hurt you with them. All of them are in the colour green because you can bet that this is his favorite colour and he puts in a lot of effort and time to tie you up that by the end you feel like a gift wrapped up but he still gives you enough space to move a bit around and always asks you if it hurts. He really, really doesn't want to hurt his s/o during sex so he even comes up with a safeword or gesture in case you're uncomfortable or he's hurting you in any way. Sometimes he even plays classic music whilst going down on you, only if you aren't awkward with it though. I see him as someone who takes really good care of his hands so obviously he loves using them a lot. He has an adoration to hold one of your hands as often as he can during the entire time. It's weirdly reassuring feeling the warmth of your hand in his, fingers intertwined.

⭐️Midorima has a lot of stamina so he can go for hours, his s/o might not though and he considers that. He's doing his best to not let out any embarrassing sounds so besides his faster panting and low groans you oftentimes don't hear much else. He has a certain sensitive spot on his neck though, one which you once again accidentally discovered whilst pressing wet and sucking kisses on the skin there, earning you a surprised moan which ended in Midorima's face turning a few shades redder out of embarrassment. A true irony if thinking about the fact that he wants to hear your sounds a lot, a reassurance that he's doing everything right to please you. Shintarō's aftercare is fantastic as he makes a small fuss as soon as both of you had some minutes to collect your scrambled brains. He brings you something to drink, he draws you a warm bath, he even changes the sheets so both of you can sleep and cuddle in a clean set of bedsheets.

[destiny-in-the-universe]

The Nine Realms: 1/? [RC9GN Brainrot]

well, here we go again lol-

i did allude to this a while back and was originally not going to do this until later because i'm struggling to make sense of what is basically just fanon interpretation, but the brainrot is killing me all over again- hence why this chaotic post now exists. rc9gn was an amazing show with so much potential which means i want to explore a lot with what happened post-season two because oh my god why, but to spare irrelevant rambling, i figured we could talk about the nine realms and my thoughts of what we might've been able to get in further seasons (this show better come back, istg)

fair warning: this post is a bit informal and fairly long, so if you don't want to sit around and deal with my brainrot rambles- well, i guess this isn't for you? and so we commence!

first of all, the nine realms are meant to get harder and harder for the ninja as the seasons progress- we know about the land of shadows which apparently isn't even the worst out there; the way i see it- the land of shadows is dealing with threat and fear, more so conditioned terror than anything truly dangerous. well, the sorcerer could've been a bigger threat if the show had been allowed to be a little more unhinged- (he did wipe out an entire clan meant to stop him, and they had to be at least a little op, so- i'm sure his power in rc9gn could've been stronger)

the land of shadows is tied to monsters- creatures that seem almost primal in comparison to other dangers; personally, i do believe that it's mostly just an open realm where these monsters, which are more like hounds you could say, exist but at the end of the day they can easily be defeated because as i said- land of shadows is about fear and likely primal feelings but of course, there are other realms

which brings us to the second realm- i genuinely would like to believe it's tied to one of the "core elements", or in simpler terms: fire, earth, wind, and water. i'm still trying to decide which element (though at the same time, i have an idea but that deserves its own separate post-) and that now the ninja would likely have to face a completely different set of trials- but i'm getting ahead of myself: i did a bit of digging into japanese folklore and myths, and decided the yokai should become a more prominent theme in rc9gn

i feel that in the case of the shadow warrior, while he probably didn't originate from this second realm- that he still will become a potential major antagonist (alongside with the idea that the sorceress could come back-), but the second realm deals with oni- now to briefly explain, oni are essentially demons in japanese myths; they're creatures that would be a far greater foe than a mere stanking, but let me get right to the point

i don't know why i'm struggling to articulate my thoughts so much, but the second realm is also a place where unrest happens- the creatures there are hungry and if they're released, well, i can't say that would be good for anyone huh? but to put this into more perspective, the realms have specific adversaries that get tied to a lesson the ninja has to complete (which will not get breached yet-)

i will say that my thought that each realm correlates back to the norisu 9 will continue happening, but let's back to just the second realm-

the second realm is not as seemingly empty as the land of shadows appeared to be; oh no, this is now home to monsters which will come after you on a second's notice- it's an ominous threat where things are watching your every move and almost like something is tailing you and will bite if you get too close; it leaves you on guard, and this realm is whispering into your ear but the only way out is to take on these threats head on and not find yourself looking in the wrong direction

the shadow warrior would be a smaller adversary in comparison to the danger randy would face in the final arc but i like to imagine that the shadow warrior was a source of dark magic that, while it had the potential for good- it still had just as much of a capability of being used as a source of wrong. of evil, to say the least but again, we'll talk about that more later

second realm is all about keeping your eyes set for danger, and the oni are not something to be reckoned but would randy be able to take them head on?

i swear, creating original lore can be a little painful but once this becomes a little more coherent- well, i'll send a new post where i can talk about this in better detail. until next time!

[astrorabby]

I beat Pikmin 4 with no upgrades

Over the past couple weeks or so I've been playing Pikmin 4 again. First a normal playthrough, which reminded me of how much Oatchi invalidates what the game throws at you.

So I figured, what if I didn't upgrade Oatchi at all? Then I took it a step further and decided not to upgrade my explorer, whomst I named Terri, either. [I DID have to buy the scorch guards to enter Frozen Inferno but I unequipped it right after I entered] I hardly bought any items, just a few bombs for some concrete walls, and, admittedly i had bombs to kill the Empress Bulblax in the Cavern for a King. I can't kill her properly even WITH an fully powered dog, I'll admit.

The results were disappointing. I knew the early game wouldn't be much different, but later wasn't much harder either. The only treasure past a pup tunnel is early on and only has a weight of 3, Oatchi's default strength. I was legitimately looking forward to, say, spending twenty minutes rushing into a 4 weight treasure over and over again to push it off a ledge, but alas no such obstacle occured.

The only parts to give me trouble were later dandori chllanges, the later night missions, and the Ancient Sirehound.

The dandori challenges were interesting, the early ones were easy sure, I platinumed the first one at least. Some, like Hefty Haulway proved quite difficult; not being able to use Oatchi to pick up some slack on that crimson banquet makes it hard to even get a bronze. Cliff-Hanger's Hold requires a lot of Oatchi's abilities to smoothly take on the upper level. Even a midly upgraded Oatchi comes in handy in Oasis of Order to immediately move the love nugget behind the start to get some extra whites, or to get the poison bulborb and/or the foolish fruit across that small creek, freeing up the wingeds to get the materials ASAP.

Speaking of whites, I actually used White Pikmin in more than one spot. I typically buy the poison armor for Oatchi ASAP, making whites very redundant, and with the onion confined to a special challenge unlocked after beating another special challenge, I often don't want to risk my white min. Since I never got the poison armor, I had no choice but to use the whities liberally; I was still very careful with them. Often restarting a whole floor upon losing just one.

The Night Missions weren't too kind. The early ones were fine and really no different, but the two in the Primordial Thicket were tough. Particularly the very final one, Autumnal Gully. Oatchi cannot glowmob, and with no upgrades, his rush doesn't stun. And you can't leave Oatchi alone for long, he will still autoattack, and with no armor or HP upgrades he dies near instantly upon a lumiknoll attack. Plus, one of the progg eggs seems to be inaccessible so I'd have to take on that progg no matter what. I resolved to collecting as many pellets as I could, getting to about 70 glow pikmin, leaving Oatchi on the blue lumiknoll and Terri on the orange. Terri being on the orange was imperitive to stun the baldy long-legs that approaches it. With plenty of spicy-spray it turned out not so bad, but it took way more concious planning than any night mission did with upgrades.

Then came the Ancient Sirehound. As I always do, I abused glow pikmin for this fight; glowies for the hazards, purps for the tail. The ice phase always give me trouble, trying to run to his tail with those snowballs rolling is a pain. But the breath wasn't a problem, until now. Get rolled into the breath and your pikmin are frozen, Oatchi is frozen, you're…not frozen. It does enough damage to kill an unupgraded explorer in one hit. Oatchi just barely survives.

The electric phase is a lot tougher, you can't just mosey on through the beams, you gotta dodge and jump them while making sure your glow pikmin go where you want, which with targeting isn't usually a problem until it randomly auto-targets the Sirehound, but many people have [rightfully] griped about the auto-target in this game so I'll spare you.

Fire phase was pretty normal. Even with the scorch guard i'd instinctively jump over the waves of fire…only this time it matters if I miss. But that didn't happen much.

Progg phase is always frustrating. The lack of HP and armor upgrades doesn't make a difference, sure you die in fewer hits but touching that stuff always kills so many pikmin its basically always a reset, anyway.

I didn't platinum the dandori challenges. I may attempt to but it may not be possible for some. Oatchi throating the banquet in Hefty Haulway seemed imperative for that one when I platinumed it, for instance. I didn't do the Sage Leaf because it's impossible to avoid Moss upgrades in the shipwreck tale, though I may do it for the sake of it. Who knows, maybe I'll find a way to do the shipwreck tale without even discovering Moss.

[pochapal]

Umineko Liveblog: Thoughts/Theories [Episode 1 Chapter 11 Edition]

Umineko chapter 11 served, primarily, as a space to breathe after the high-intensity horror of chapter 10. Nobody died. Nothing drastic went down. It was a quiet chapter, built to encourage you to contemplate on everything that has happened and everything that is still to come.

That does not mean that nothing happened within chapter 11. Despite its toned-down vibe and pacing, plenty unfolded within this chapter to think on. New character developments, new mysteries, and new clues pointing towards the shape of the bigger overall picture.

So, today’s writeup will explore the following topics: Beatrice’s witch narrative as a conscious performance with a conscious audience, Genji’s suspicious proximity to everything that has happened thus far, Kinzo’s vanishing act, how horror and mystery relate to the Detective/Romantic dichotomy, the Ushiromiya hierarchy being the biggest obstacle to the truth, the magic circle and the elephant in the room, the salient conundrum brought up by the existence of a gun, and the relationship between common sense and magic.

Let’s go and rotate Rokkenjima in our minds for a little while and see what we can’t figure out.

1-11 is a bigger chapter with more components than you’d expect going in. The first thing I want to talk about, and the major element that overshadows most of this chapter (as is to be expected), is the witch narrative. For what is likely a whole bunch of reasons, someone is invested in inserting the shed murders, and every unpleasant thing that has gone down on Rokkenjima thus far, into the myth of Beatrice the Golden Witch.

For the purposes of this discussion, whether or not an actual Golden Witch is truly present during this sequence of events is irrelevant. What matters is that the suspicious parties on the island are fixedly returning everyone’s line of thought back to the occult as often as they can, generating a supernatural air through language and gestures rather than hard evidence. In other words, the Golden Witch is, at this stage at least, a complete and total performance.

Hideyoshi, our suspicious man of the hour, continues to very insistently call everything unsettling he sees “demonic”. He does not think about the clues, nor does he permit anybody else to think about the clues. The blood in the dining room is foul and scary and unexplainable, therefore everybody should leave before the demonic foulness follows them. This is, of course, despite the fact that up until the deaths started happening he firmly did not believe in the story of Beatrice one iota.

Not only this, but whenever there is information that cannot be easily verified, Hideyoshi affirms it as truth. Nobody except for Genji and Kanon have checked the phonelines and the radio. Hideyoshi states unquestioningly that they are all therefore stranded with no way of contacting the outside world until the typhoon passes. You could merely argue that Hideyoshi is foolishly trusting even where it’s unwise to do so, but there is an inherent and immediate contradiction in his behaviour: he is fully in on Eva’s schemes and subterfuge, and has worked with her to try and get one up on Krauss.

Why am I bringing Hideyoshi up specifically? One of his major character traits we’re introduced to right at the start of the story is that when he is engaging with the business world, Hideyoshi affects a Kansai accent. In other words, Hideyoshi constructs a performance to conjure the illusion of a man that “exists” in order to get what he wants through what he says and how he says it.

How much difference is there, really, between Hideyoshi’s pretend accent in business meetings, and Hideyoshi’s frantic panicking about witches and demons during crime scene investigations? It’s all performative. It’s all scripted. As always, Beatrice “exists”.

This can be seen further when you examine Maria’s actions during this chapter. She spends the bulk of it pointedly ignoring everyone in favour of watching cartoons on television. The performative fictional story on her screen interests her more than the legitimate tragedy unfolding around her. This is likely not some newly-seen quirk of Maria’s; she is actually normally rather astute and present in situations that are disturbing and upsetting. She engaged with Kumasawa’s tale of omens on the boat. She is aware of the dread that comes with her rose vanishing. She is present for her mother’s beating of her. These are all very real things with very real impacts on Maria. And yet, she doesn’t bat an eye at the very real and very grim tragedy until she gets to infodump about magic circles.

I do not necessarily think this is all conscious on Maria’s part, and is more a thematic point being expressed through Maria’s character than anything else. I think the salient connection between Hideyoshi’s business affect and his sudden insistence on the witch narrative and Maria treating the tragedy with the same level of interest as she would a cartoon all point towards the same thing: the occult witch side of things is an augmented fiction brought to life, a method-acting stageplay that must be acted out for a variety of reasons both known and unknown. Maria, the child who only likes what she likes, is bored by the theatrics right up until she gets to play her role. The rest is just set dressing. Noise to make you believe.

Of course, it’s worth pointing out that the people we see inviting the witch narrative into “existence” are actors in this fiction, rather than the director. Hideyoshi is acting on direction. Maria is not acting on direction, but she is responding to carefully selected stimuli. If we only stick with them, we will likely not get any closer to figuring out what’s actually going on with all this. What we need is to find out who is the author of the witch narrative. Who is the one writing Beatrice into “existence”?

There are possibilities, but nothing concrete yet. However, merely by positing the existence of a conscious author of this fiction, this also forces you to consider the other half of this equation: a fiction needs an audience. Somebody needs to be witnessing this piece of theatre. There is somebody that this writer wants to tell their story to. The author is obscured. The why is obscured. But perhaps the audience is not.

Of all the people on Rokkenjima, there is one who sticks out the most obviously: Battler. He has been removed from this family for over half a decade. He is only barely starting to reconnect with his relatives, most of whom he has a distant and inaccurate impression of based on a resentful memory. To an outsider who is not privy to the way Battler thinks, it would be the most natural thing in the world to assume he still harbours resentment or indifference towards the rest of the Ushiromiya family. In other words, of all the people on Rokkenjima, he is the least likely to be seriously affected by the murders going by this logic.

If you were crafting a supernatural murder mystery tinged with so much tragedy, wouldn’t someone like Battler be an ideal candidate on paper? If you’re making a detective story, you need a Detective to go along with it, or it’s all for nothing.

However, the above statement relies on assumptions that aren’t water-tight. We do not know if the orchestrator of the witch narrative is consciously crafting a mystery, or if it’s just a by-product of the supernatural horror. We also do not know what the narrator wants from their audience, exactly. How much of what Battler is doing is what the culprit intends for Battler to do? How on-track is the witch narrative?

To answer this, we need to consider perspective and genre, and the all-important Detective/Romantic dichotomy.

Luckily for us, there is a scene in this chapter that directly talks about this stuff. When Battler is on the brink of starting to buy into the witch narrative, he has a kind of psychic heart-to-heart with brain ghosts of Rudolf and Kyrie that motivate him to continue to deny the existence of a witch. Rudolf discusses the horror genre, landing on the conclusion that horror exists to fabricate sensations for humans to experience in order to liven up their dull lives. Kyrie discusses chessboard thinking again, highlighting that the deeper you go into a game, the easier it gets to read the opponent as the number of potential moves shrinks to its absolute minimum.

In combination, these two epiphanies bring Battler into a Detective’s mindset where he is more willing than ever to both solve the mystery and deny that the witch exists. Given that Battler has this moment of introspection as a result of the stimuli provided by the witch narrative, it makes it easy to argue in favour of the witch narrative constructing a Detective story.

If that were the case, then everything is being laid out in-universe like a solvable mystery, just as it is to an external reader of Umineko. Somebody on Rokkenjima is expected to examine this mystery with a clear head and solve it. Battler, if Battler is the intended audience, is expected to be the Detective, to cut through the illusions by design.

Where this theory falls apart, though, is that it contradicts the nature of every person capable of perpetuating the Beatrice myth and the witch narrative. Would Kanon, in his determined desperation, want to get caught out and have his chances at escaping his circumstances ruined? Would Kumasawa spend so much time setting the stage at the start, reinforcing the existence of Beatrice in Maria’s mind, for the explicit purpose of having Battler tear it to shreds? Would the letter and graffiti be produced in such excruciating detail just to be denied? Would Eva and Hideyoshi ever consent to acting in a way that makes their crimes not only noticeable, but completely discoverable?

The witch narrative as a Detective story theory fails to marry up with the human element. The horror is not a conscious construction designed for humans to revel in its falsehood to feel better about themselves, because the stakes are too high for anybody to produce a performance that contradictory.

So instead, let’s consider the counter-fact: the witch narrative as a Romantic story. Returning to Rudolf’s horror metaphor, he misses out the crucial aspect of the genre, which is the way that the existence, or “existence”, of the monsters happens when the human audience is exposed to enough narrative material that they themselves conjure their own version of the monster in their minds. The true horror of the genre comes when something sticks with you even after you finish the story, something you cannot rationally deny no matter how much logic you throw at it.

To fit the witch narrative through this Romantic-horror lens, the express purpose of creating the illusion is to get the audience to fully believe in the existence of the witch. No matter what logic, no matter what reasoning, even if you don’t like it, you still can’t doubt your way out of acknowledging it. Through an overloading assault of occult tropes, at least something is bound to stick.

And indeed, Battler wavers for just a moment. It is only after his moment that he flips the script, and would from now on be acting against the way that the originator of the witch narrative likely intended him to. If you’re making a Romantic story, you need your reader to approach it from a Romantic’s perspective. If your reader is set on hard-denying you Detective style, then that’s an irreparable wrench in your plans. Perhaps this is the case. Perhaps the author misjudged Battler’s character, and their scheme is going to come crashing down around them.

That said, what if that’s not entirely the case? What if Battler, no matter how much he leans into his mystery-solving logic, is still acting from the place of the Romantic? After all, he is not coldly and methodically approaching this mystery. Everything he does comes from a deeply emotive place, from an untold sympathy and compassion for his murdered family members. He is not approaching this entirely clear-headed and objective. He is furious that his loved ones have been taken from him. Love is the ruling emotion of the day, not curiosity.

Further than that, the nature of Battler’s epiphany contradicts its own conclusions. He reaches his new perspective by going into his mind and conjuring versions of Rudolf and Kyrie that impart on him the emotional truths he needs to feel validated in continuing to doubt. He does not rely on his own reasoning, on facts and logic, but the memories of his loved ones that are real enough to change his outlook. What is the difference between brain ghost Kyrie telling Battler to remember that the act of cornering is a mutual one so the truth is easier than ever to grasp, and “Beatrice” announcing her impeding and impossible revival through letters and graffiti and the terrified behaviour of deeply compromised individuals?

The emotional truths hinge around words issued by people that “exist”. Everybody involved is invested in having their story uncritically believed. The culprit needs the illusion of the witch to get away with their crimes unscathed. The story of Beatrice is a powerful obfuscation of the material truth, something so overpowering and scary that you can’t fully deny it no matter what you do. Through and through, the witch narrative is Romantic.

So, if Battler is a Romantic masquerading as a Detective, what will happen when he runs against something he can’t deny completely and unequivocally? One major crux of the witch narrative is that it allows a convenient excuse for you to put all the suspicion and doubt on somebody who isn’t a member of the Ushiromiya family. Believing in Beatrice is to uphold the innocence of every human being on Rokkenjima. For Battler, who deeply cares about his family despite having every means to not do so, at what point would the allure of the abdication of blame become too strong to resist?

In his own words, Rokkenjima entered a “different world” the minute the letter was read out. How much would you really want to leave that world when the deeper you go into it, the more painful it will be to leave? Six people are dead. If a witch didn’t do it, somebody Battler knows and cares about killed other people he knows and cares about.

If you follow this through, Battler’s “role” in the narrative is to question right up until it becomes too painful to do so. What value is a truth that can only harm you? If Battler was a Detective, he may be inclined to seek it out anyway. But Battler isn’t really a Detective, so would he really seek to tear down the illusion even knowing what it would cost? Either way, if someone assuming the role of Detective gives up, that solidifies the illusion and removes room for doubt stronger than anything any singular occult symbol could ever do.

Both the Detective and Romantic reads of the witch narrative are plausible and have basis in reality. Both have their gaping flaw, all of which hinge around understanding of the people involved in this story. If you take the Detective’s read, you must have therefore misunderstood the motive of every person linked to the crime. If you take the Romantic’s, you must have therefore misunderstood Battler.

Either way, the common theme is that there is somebody not being understood in this whole performance. The two easiest to reach interpretations condemn the actors and the audience, respectively. Neither scenario, however, touches on the role of the writer, the orchestrator in the shadows.

Who is this person, deciding to produce the witch narrative? What do they want? Why do they want it?

If you could, even a little, fill in the obfuscating negative space surrounding the person behind Beatrice, that might be the thing to set you on the path to uncovering the real truth. Neither Detective nor Romantic, but a secret third thing.

Of course, this line of thinking asks you to consider something outside of the common sense frameworks being built up by Umineko all around you. That the story’s internal logic can only get you so far, and that there’s something additional you need to perceive, or at least perceive the outline of, in order to make more headway.

I am talking about the deeper mysteries of the text of course, but I am also talking about magic.

There’ve been several explanations of the way magic functions within Umineko thus far: it’s a convenient lie to pave over an uncomfortable truth (if a witch made the gold appear with magic, then Kinzo did not acquire it in any kind of evil way), an expression of dreams and desire (to Maria, magic is the one thing that brings her joy), an obfuscating wedge that influences reality against everyone’s wishes (the letter inspires murder even though nobody actively believes in “Beatrice”, so is that not in itself an act of magic?). Above all else, magic is a creative force that can shape the material world from an immaterial stance.

In other words, magic by nature denies and defies common sense and the common sense systems inhabited by most people. Battler struggles with this frequently in this chapter; the witch narrative is neatly set up for him to buy into, but he keeps hesitating because every single part of it goes against common sense. In the physical world, witches cannot exist to instigate a violent summoning ritual. People can’t be killed in impossible and occult ways. Everything must have a mundane explanation. You can think your way out of any problem.

And yet. Battler said it himself. The minute that letter was read out, Rokkenjima entered into another world. Nothing has changed, yet everything has changed. Maria’s rose was there, and yet it was not. Beatrice “exists”.

In every case, the same thing happens. The imaginative rule of thought overrides critical logic. Magic happens when you cannot doubt. Like a good fiction, the illusion only works if you can suspend your disbelief enough to let it manifest. If you read a story with a pedantic frame of mind, picking apart at the very structural seams of the thing until meaning itself unravels, you destroy the magic root and stem.

For instance, I can destroy the illusion of Umineko myself right now. I am merely spending time looking at a collection of png images overlaid atop each other, accompanied by text and audio files. There is not a temporal continuity in this story; each “scene” is a disconnected fragment of information with no actual connective tissue between it and the next. The onus is on me to “believe” that the space between chapter 1 and chapter 2 proves the world of Rokkenjima to be “real”, even though in reality I am shown two disjointed moments – one where Battler (Battler himself being a collection of symbols I am choosing to buy into until it resembles a person in my consciousness) is screaming inside a plane (a loud voice recording plays alongside a drawing of a plane’s interior), and then another where Battler is in the airport on the other side.

The plane journey never existed in narrative, and yet it “exists” in my perception of the story. It becomes more real when the other characters discuss how Battler behaved on this flight. It becomes impossible to deny the plane journey illusion.

If I wanted to, I could still hold fast to the objective truth that the flight never took place, but I ultimately choose to buy into it anyway, because I want to believe in the structural integrity of Umineko. I want to read and engage with Umineko, so Umineko becomes real and engaging enough for me to do that. If you call this nebulous imaginative process “magic”, then magic therefore unequivocally exists, because without imagination/magic, there is no meaning-construction to be done.

Like fiction, like magic, the contradiction lies in the fact that in order to engage with a world, you must therefore suspend your common sense in order to grant it the fullest “existence” that you can. This is a very pedantic ontological point, I’m aware, but is not magic itself also a pedantic ontological point?

The important takeaway remains that too much “common sense”, too much reliance on logic, too much Detective, kills the magic dead. And unless you consciously choose to conjure it up again (such is the case when the reader of a story deconstructs it to language then reconstructs it to narrative) it will stay dead no matter how much the author/witch tries otherwise. Therefore, it’s in the best interest of the author/witch to keep their audience from denying their narrative. It would be bad for business if everyone became a skeptic.

Which is why it is very curious but also completely unsurprising that the narrative of Umineko itself is insistent on maintaining the illusion. Whenever Battler is not telling the story, we are constantly treated to passages and phrases that are all permutations of “it was impossible to figure out, so everybody stopped thinking”. Given that the reader’s instinct is to distrust a first-person narrator as unreliable, and Battler is the element of the story dedicated to denying the witch narrative, it is surely a little suspicious that the more “reliable” third-person narration likes to make a point of passively encouraging acceptance of the witch narrative in this way.

The most compelling evidence for the witch narrative only comes through the third person narration when Battler isn’t there to question or deny it. Battler doesn’t get to see the magic circle on the storehouse door. Battler doesn’t get to see the butterfly that haunted Shannon in her final moments. The only thing Battler gets to see is the letter being read out by Maria, the significance of which is impossible to deny even for him, even if he claims a witch had nothing to do with it. Everything that most strongly affirms the illusion of Beatrice is shown outside of Battler.

A cynical read would be to claim that this is proof the magic is bogus, because under Battler’s scrutiny it would all fall apart as the sham it really is. But as outlined earlier, magic is inexorably tied to the human capacity for imaginatively sequencing reality. If magic didn’t exist, then a whole bunch of other crucial things would also by definition not exist.

So the takeaway is that we are supposed to treat the signs of the witch narrative with gravitas and seriousness. The opening summary for episode one states that our goal here is to not think too hard about what happens and accept all that we see. This directive is not given to Battler or anybody else on Rokkenjima. This directive is given to us before we even start reading the story.

It is important that, at least for now, we accept the witch narrative as something to genuinely engage with, and not as an inconsistency to be torn apart. Destroying the illusion without gaining any understanding would defeat the purpose of whatever the narration is really trying to do – like I’ve discussed before, it is highly likely that the narrator of Umineko has a specific purpose and agenda in presenting this story the way it is presented. There is some kind of truth that needs to be reached, but that can only be reached by entertaining the witch narrative as being real.

Whatever the truth of Umineko is, it cannot be reached through common sense. It cannot be reached by outright denying magic. Even if the truth itself is not magic, a rejection of magic will keep you from it. We would be failing as readers if we were to, like Battler, automatically assume the magic is meaningless without a second thought. Just as within the story “Beatrice” needs the Ushiromiya family not to deny the witch narrative, so too does the narrator need the external audience outside of the story not to deny the witch narrative. We all need to remain at least partially convinced, because doubt is the death of a story, and too much doubt would not only tear apart the witch, but also Umineko itself. The illusion is important for everything to function as it should.

So let’s now turn our attention to one of the cornerstones of this generated narrative illusion: the magic circle. This piece of graffiti becomes a talking point as Hideyoshi and Nanjo bring it up to the rest of the family, in tandem with Battler puzzling over the purpose of using it to advertise the location of the bodies.

Once brought up, Hideyoshi and Nanjo describe the appearance of the magic circle to Maria, who confirms it as a legitimate occult symbol. Based only off their uncertain descriptions, Maria still manages to draw a perfect replica of what they saw, and then goes on to define its meaning: a sacrificial symbol to grant freedom from inescapable bonds.

Through this exchange, some facts about this magic circle can be established. Regardless of whatever was physically painted on the shutter door, the conceptual idea of the symbol is authentic and verifiable. Somebody has deliberately introduced the notion of this sacrificial circle, and made sure that legitimate information would be conveyed to Maria, who would then in turn grant it a sense of truth that nobody else could. It is a simple and powerful way of strengthening the witch narrative: after all, who would go to the lengths to produce such a perfect symbol if it didn’t have meaning?

What is worth pointing out, however, is that the message and purpose of this magic circle in no way fit with the other actions and motives of the “Beatrice” narrative. The letter and the actual killings indicate that the intended pattern is for everything to line up with the ritual established in the epitaph – these are the six chosen by the key to set the ball rolling on the Golden Witch’s resurrection. The magic circle should be irrelevant; by all measures, the six bodies themselves are where the power comes from. The first twilight makes no mention of a sigil, or that anything has to be done beyond the sacrifice of the six.

The magic circle is theatre, then. Its purpose is not truly occult, but instead to heighten a sense of belief in the occult. To somebody unfamiliar with the epitaph and its implications (which is almost certainly pretty much everybody there), the appearance of six mutilated bodies on their own would not induce any kind of supernatural paranoia. It would be a grisly and terrifying scene, but without the over-the-top iconography, the witch narrative would not manifest.

Like Battler surmises, the culprit wanted the circle to be seen. He lands on it being a flashy way to advertise the location of the corpses, which is true enough, but is likely only one part of the reason why. The purpose of the circle is to catch the attention of the oblivious, so that they are forced to acknowledge what is going on. This includes both the murders, and the narrative of the witch. Both these things need to happen in order for events to progress, for whatever reason. Battler considers that the circle may be a message intended for Kinzo’s eyes, but the opposite is most likely true. This circle was drawn for the benefit of everybody except for Kinzo.

And of course, if the circle is to be treated as a narrative entity, then it’s important to examine the storytellers. The ones who fill everybody in on the details of the circle are Nanjo and Hideyoshi. Hideyoshi at this point is pretty evidently entrenched in upholding the witch narrative, but it is also curious that Nanjo is one of the originators of information about the magic circle as well.

Throughout the story so far, I’ve kept flip-flopping on whether or not Nanjo is to be suspected, or if he is unfortunate enough to be incompetent at the worst possible time. What’s worth considering about Nanjo is that while he has performed suspect activities (confirming the details of the magic circle, encouraging everybody to stop looking at the crime scenes), he is not outright perpetuating the witch narrative in the way Hideyoshi has been. Nanjo never describes anything as demonic, as inexplicable. He just describes it in a matter of fact, albeit disturbed, manner.

Hideyoshi being in on the witch narrative makes sense. He is almost certainly embroiled in whatever went down when the six were actually killed. Nanjo occupies a weirder space. He very conveniently presents things in a way that would benefit the witch narrative without ever being an outright suspect himself. He has no connection to the inheritance dispute. He is not trapped in the desperate cycles of torment that the other servants are. He has not been seen to interact with any suspicious element in the story. He is just there. And yet. And yet.

That said, there is one suspicious thing Nanjo does do in this chapter, even if it is suspicious in a way that isn’t directly related to either the murders or the witch narrative. When the possible meanings of the magic circle are brought up, everybody’s attention turns to the iron cross situated front and centre. Nanjo is the one that brings up that the symbol is best known for its usage by an ancient religious order, which leads the others to latch onto that theory until Maria outlines the actual occult meaning of it.

What’s interesting here is that the other meaning associated with the iron cross goes unremarked upon. I don’t believe this is because that meaning is irrelevant in Umineko – in the previous chapter, the iron cross was distinctly described as looking “European” – so it is worth considering why this meaning is never brought up. Nanjo knows enough about the history of the iron cross to discuss its ancient religious meaning, but he doesn’t talk about its usage as a fascist icon?

Assuming Nanjo is aware of that meaning, and is not saying it, this would not be the first time that he has spoken over what should otherwise be an elephant in the room. Right at the start of the story, when discussing a will with Kinzo, Nanjo very overtly hinted towards Kinzo using a will as a means of confessing some kind of sin, being as explicit as he could be without directly stating whatever said sin is. Kinzo denied that he had any such skeletons in his closet, before pivoting to talking about his one regret being that he never saw Beatrice’s smile again. Nanjo, however, still firmly made it clear that he believed in the existence of some great sin in Kinzo’s past that needs absolution, something that Nanjo never directly says out loud.

How likely is it, then, that Kinzo’s sin and the deliberately unspoken-on western fascist iconography are linked? Nanjo has known Kinzo for years, enough that he is one of the very few people that the man actually trusts. Could it be that, whatever this sin of Kinzo’s is, that Nanjo is in some way complicit? That he can’t talk about it, because talking about it himself is to admit an involvement he would rather not have anyone know about? Nanjo is very good at being an unremarkable, inoffensive presence. Perhaps it is a practised front, a means of self-preservation in the face of whatever murky thing lies in the past.

As the magic circle hints at, everybody on Rokkenjima is confined by an inescapable obligation. What obligation holds Nanjo there? Unlike the family members and the servants, Nanjo is simply a physician. Nothing about him is personally bound to the Ushiromiya family. And yet he’s here, stuck same as the rest of them. What does Nanjo know? There has to be something, because of all the possible magic circles drawn, the one with this specific image was chosen. Somebody used this symbol to evoke that grim secret. Try as he likes to bury his head in the sand, I feel like sooner or later, this thing will come to light, either via confession or via the culprit forcing it out into the open.

I’ve already spoken on who I think is the best candidate to have produced this magic circle, and so far nothing has contradicted that theory. It still needs to be a person who has access to the occult knowledge who isn’t Kinzo, who had the means and opportunity to produce the circle. That still leaves the same two culprits as last time. Kanon by now is an established suspect, and there’s not much more I can say on him that I haven’t already said.

Instead, let’s turn our attention to the next most suspicious servant, who has a knack for being at the centre of a lot of bizarre and convenience coincidences. Let’s think about just how sus Genji really is.

I’ve already outlined in an earlier writeup how Genji makes the most sense to be an accomplice to Kanon if Kanon is the culprit. This time I’d like to examine how Genji’s actions in this chapter paint him as even more suspect.

The obvious thing to mention here is how easily Genji could get away with lying. In this chapter, Genji confirms to everybody that the phones and radio are down, leaving them with no way to contact the outside world. This claim is bolstered by Hideyoshi immediately reacting with utmost belief. Nobody else has any room or reason to doubt what Genji is saying. Genji says something, a person parroting the witch narrative reinforces it, and it becomes hard fact.

Meanwhile, not once have the phones and radio been inspected by anyone other than Genji. In this way, his claims are even flimsier than narrative evidence located in non-Battler POV segments. Whereas with those, we the reader get to see something, even if that something is not true, here we get nothing except for Genji’s word. Genji, who is the closest ally of Kinzo, and would know him and his quirks enough to justifiably have a passing understanding of occult concepts. Genji, who knows Beatrice. Genji, who is strong and competent despite his advanced age.

Genji, who is at the centre of a lot of convenient coincidences. The phones and radio are broken? Who is in the best position to sabotage these things. Krauss’s personal boat is out for repairs and thus unavailable on the exact date of the conference? Who is best positioned to arrange such a set of circumstances. The bodies are found in a location only a servant with a key could access? Well, I sure do wonder who fits best there. In chapter 10, it was said that searching for fingerprints on the storehouse door would be useless because Kanon and Genji’s prints would already be on there from opening it up. Genji is present for both the magic circle in the garden and the bloodstains outside Natsuhi’s room. Genji is the one that greets Eva and Hideyoshi at midnight after they return to the guesthouse. It is always Genji, always present.

When you give it even a moment of scrutiny, Genji is right at the heart of the witch narrative, moreso than even Kanon. It would be impossible to deny Genji’s involvement at this point no matter which way you slice it. There are too many instances of this happening to dismiss it as coincidence.

The only issue with trying to pin anything on Genji is that the question of why remains totally opaque. Genji has the means and opportunity to be a likely culprit, but why would he do that? All my other major suspects have a clear motive. Eva and Hideyoshi are either trying to save their own skin (if you want to be charitable) or gunning for the gold and the headship (if you want to be uncharitable). Kanon deeply loathes the Ushiromiya family and the way they’ve treated both him and Shannon and is acting from a place of desperation. Genji, however? Genji is in good standing with Kinzo. Genji has given no indication that he is either resentful of his position as a servant or interested in the gold. So what reason would Genji have for involving himself?

I’ve sketched it out before, but the only thing I can even vaguely think of is based on the way that Genji will say “I faithfully serve the master of the household”. This phrasing is interesting, because it can be taken to mean that Genji’s utmost loyalty is to whoever the head of the Ushiromiya household is, and not Kinzo specifically. Would this mean, then, that in a situation where Kinzo were to no longer act as the Ushiromiya head, Genji would switch allegiance to whoever took his place? If, say, Kanon were to find the discarded ring in the courtyard and use it to seal some letters, would that be enough for Kanon to become the new “master”?

If so, why would Genji act like this? He is one of three servants on Rokkenjima to refer to themselves as furniture, but unlike Shannon and Kanon, we are not ever shown any specific facet of abuse inflicted on Genji beyond the standard abuse inherent to being part of the servant class. Genji is the senior servant. He is Kinzo’s good friend. Natsuhi and Krauss distrust him, but they aren’t outright hostile to him. Nobody berates him. Nobody disrespects him. So why would this kind of blind servitude be a core part of his character?

The only thing I can think of to explain this in a way beyond “Genji is just like that”, is that Kinzo has indicated that the murders and the revival of the witch are only one half of his desired outcomes on the demon’s roulette. Kinzo’s understanding of magic is founded on the idea of getting a result with astronomically low odds in the face of infinitely more likely occurrences. With the epitaph, there are two outcomes: either thirteen people die and the witch is resurrected, or somebody solves the epitaph, finds the gold, and succeeds the headship. Both of these outcomes would be acceptable in Kinzo’s eyes.

Kinzo’s insurance for the murder part of the epitaph is well-outlined; he holes himself up in his study and waits for everyone else in his family to die so that he can meet Beatrice again at the end of it. What is less clear is his insurance for the succession part. It’s abundantly clear that he does not want his own relatives to solve the epitaph and claim the rewards (and there may be some contract word trickery where the fortune is safe if not in the hands of someone who is part of the Ushiromiya lineage) and has not so subtly pushed Kanon to think about solving the epitaph for himself.

I think my earlier theory that Kinzo is grooming the two young furniture servants to play specific roles in the epitaph ritual holds strongest here. Kanon solves the epitaph and becomes the new Ushiromiya head, thereby preserving Kinzo’s fortune in a way that keeps it out of the hands of his loathed offspring. Shannon, meanwhile, becomes a vessel for the Golden Witch’s spirit once the murders have finished. In Kinzo’s dream scenario, having Shannon and Kanon survive to the end would allow him to have his cake and eat it. Beatrice revives, and the fortune is preserved. Kanon and Shannon become the new Ushiromiya head and the new Golden Witch. The cycle repeats.

Of course, giving the headship to Kanon would be a risky bet. If even a single member of the Ushiromiya family survives, there is absolutely no way that Kanon would get a shred of anything. So the only way for this plan to work would be for either every single Ushiromiya to die, or for there to be some means of protecting Kanon’s status.

Genji deeply and fondly cares about Kinzo, enough that he can bring out a softer side to the man. If Kinzo were to frame this as a final request to an old friend, would Genji be likely to follow through with it? He cares about Kinzo, and he has a soft spot for Shannon and Kanon. I think it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine he’d be willing to protect these kids on his master’s say. Genji has nothing to gain, but also nothing to lose. He is prime suspect material without even trying.

And better than that, Genji’s suspicious position continues to fulfil his duty of upholding the Ushiromiya hierarchy. Both Battler and Eva say it themselves; the easiest conclusion for anybody to reach is that the murders are the work of a servant with a grudge against the family. When the typhoon ends and the survivors leave, this is almost assuredly the story that will reach the police’s ears, because it’s easier than having to examine the rotten foundation present in the Ushiromiya family members themselves.

The unspoken element of this whole murder mystery setup is the class dynamic at play. The two groups of people on the island consist of the extremely wealthy family members, and the put-upon and abused servants. Almost immediately the most suspicious members of the family leverage this class discrepancy to plant seeds of paranoia towards the servants, relying on the fact that it’ll be easier to condemn them than their own relatives.

When Eva discusses with Battler that the most likely culprit is a servant (even if the evidence does indicate that) she is setting in motion that dilemma. Who can Battler distrust more easily? His beloved aunt, or a servant? Who would he rather send to prison by pointing the finger come the morning?

Of course, Battler tries to shoot Eva down through chessboard logic, claiming that pinning it on a servant is too easy and too obvious, that it’s the expected move to make when taking on a family of paranoid rich people. The truth would naturally be more complex than that, so Battler tries to puzzle out what that more complex truth might be. However, the evidence still paints the picture that only a servant could have given Maria the letter, that only a servant could have set up the storehouse scenario. When those facts become impossible to deny, what happens then?

The petty “servants seeking revenge” narrative is just as much a brute-force obfuscation as the witch narrative. In the face of such atrocities, it is easier to hand all responsibility over to a witch, or to the lesser servants, than it is to consider that your own relatives are complicit. Without the witch narrative in place, the servant narrative would easily win out. The Ushiromiya family would close ranks. They would convince themselves only a servant could have done it, and they would all as one state that a servant did do it. No thinking needed. All you’d need is the reliance on your place in the class hierarchy. Any suspect family members are protected by everybody taking the easy road.

By all accounts, this series of murders should do nothing to disrupt the cycles of abuse and violence in the Ushiromiya family. The wealth and class violence should ensure that no matter what, they will get away consequence-free. So what could actually manage to put an end to this rotten cycle, then?

This is where the witch narrative would shine. You cannot believe in both the witch narrative and the servant narrative. Believing in the witch also means ceasing to suspect the servants by virtue of its very construction. And more than that, if you consider that the witch narrative is using the murders to force everyone to consider a deeper truth than tricks and culprits, a successful witch narrative may very well destroy the Ushiromiya structure once and for all.

If the magic circle’s alternative symbolism has weight, if the implicit meaning is true, then the witch narrative will drag to light the Ushiromiya family’s dirty secrets. Here, it does not matter if the individuals in the family believe or not. What matters is that the witch narrative is painting a picture of the fascist core at the heart of Rokkenjima. In that case, what happens when, after the murders, word gets out that the Ushiromiya family is brimming with rotten politics? What does it mean for the world to know that this successful family is sitting atop a pile of illegal, possibly fascist, gold? It would be a PR disaster for every company associated with the family, worse even than money troubles. The very structures upholding this family would be used against them and they would be powerless to stop it.

Given how intrinsically woven the witch narrative is into the fabric of the murders, there is no way they could even attempt to cover it up without it also looking like they’re trying to cover up the murders of their family members. If they tried to bury the second truth to the killings, it would only serve to paint them as the culprits. In a roundabout way, this is a more material manifestation of the believe the witch/deny the witch dilemma. If Eva denies the witch narrative, she is suspected as a culprit. If she attempts to cover up the occult presentation of the crimes, she becomes suspected as a culprit. It’s the same thing on two different levels. A top-down conundrum that forces the Ushiromiya family to play along with the story for their own good.

And here, at the intersection of Ushiromiya hierarchy and unsolvable mysteries, we get the latest problem to solve: Kinzo’s disappearance.

After returning from the storehouse terrified and traumatised, Eva and Natsuhi take it on themselves to make sure that Kinzo, the only person still unaccounted for, is alive and well. Natsuhi out of a sense of fear and duty, Eva out of a sense of wanting to be proven right. Some time later, they return to the parlour with the grim news that the Ushiromiya family head has disappeared.

This is immediately an intriguing problem. The last time we saw Kinzo was in the morning, shortly before the discovery of the bodies. He was in his study, present enough to have his bizarre heart-to-heart with Natsuhi. Beyond this change in character (that is not without precedent), there was nothing up with Kinzo in this scene that would even imply something like this would happen.

Natsuhi met with Kinzo in the study at around 08:00. Chapter 11 starts at 08:45. Assuming some wriggle room, this gives a window of maybe one hour tops within which Kinzo can vanish. Drilling further, you can assume the time that Kinzo disappeared was most likely when everybody was finding the bodies, leaving the mansion empty save for Maria and maybe Kumasawa. That window would likely be shorter, perhaps no longer than thirty minutes.

So. Somehow, Kinzo manages to disappear without a trace, unassisted, in a span of half an hour. A timespan that also just so happens to coincide with the discovery of the six corpses. It’s a very weird and very convoluted setup.

The first questions to ask are: where did Kinzo go? And is he still alive?

In terms of location, this can be narrowed down considerably. Kinzo obviously was not in the garden or storehouse because this is where everybody was during the timeframe of his disappearance. Natsuhi and the servants later performed a sweep of the entire mansion, confirming that he was not there either. His study remains empty, so he is not there, either. That is pretty much every known place on Rokkenjima ruled out.

Except for one: the Golden Land. Or the vault. Or wherever it is the ten tons of gold ingots are hidden. If Kinzo is anywhere, it is likely he is here. It’s an impossible place that nobody will think to look for until it’s too late, requiring an engagement with the witch narrative to even stand a chance of locating him. Why would he go here, when it’s been established that his study is the safest place to be during a series of murders?

If he left of his own volition, which seems likely given that nobody could have feasibly helped or forced him, we need to consider his last actions before disappearing: his conversation with Natsuhi. Could something about that interaction have prompted him to move? Perhaps the fact that Natsuhi, a marked sacrifice, survived the night shook his confidence. If something that small can go awry, perhaps the demon’s roulette isn’t as guaranteed as he’d like it to be. So by heading to the “Golden Land” ahead of time, it means that he cannot be “sent” there as part of the ritual. Also, unlike his study which can be opened from the outside by a key, the only way to even find the hiding place of the gold, let alone access it, is to solve a nigh-impossible riddle that nobody has any interest in.

Except if you think about it, even that is rife with contradiction. In order to reach the gold, you likely need to complete all the steps of the epitaph riddle. Doing so would likely render the riddle unsolvable for anybody else thinking of trying their hand at it, defeating the purpose of the demon’s roulette. For Kinzo’s magic to manifest, he needs two equally viable extreme outcomes to pit themselves against each other. Why would he eliminate the resisting force that would guarantee his miracle? Something doesn’t add up.

And more than that. When discussing his disappearance, it is made abundantly clear to the reader that this is an extremely weird thing for Kinzo to do no matter what. His updated character status all but states outright that him ever leaving his study is completely and wildly out of character for him. Natsuhi and the servants make it very clear that, for some reason, it should be “impossible” for Kinzo to leave his study. And yet he is gone regardless.

Why would it be impossible for Kinzo to leave? He is not physically sealed inside the study; there is a locking mechanism from the inside that he can use to come and go if he so wanted to. All his needs are in theory met inside the study, so it’s not likely he would want to go out and interact with his family, but impossible? That’s a strong word. How and why would Kinzo be trapped in his study, in a way that makes it apparent to those who know him best that he would never leave?

It gets weirder, though. In the flow of this same conversation, after highlighting how impossible it would be for Kinzo to leave the study, Natsuhi offers an alternative explanation: Kinzo, on a fickle whim, likely decided to go out for a walk. Ignoring how ridiculous that is as an excuse, there is the more pressing issue here. How can it be impossible for Kinzo to leave his study, and yet also equally likely that he would simply wander around oblivious to the ongoing crisis?

How can Kinzo be both trapped in his study, and also capable of roaming around the mansion? Why would Natsuhi say such a thing?

Really, when everybody is acting like this, it’s no surprise that Eva is this confident in her conspiracy theory. Speaking of which, let’s address the second question related to Kinzo: is he still alive as of his disappearance?

I am not sure. I think that, either way, we won’t see Kinzo again until we discover his corpse, but as to when that will happen is a mystery. Logic dictates that he can’t be dead yet, because nothing about him fits the criteria for the next twilight. One old man dying on his own does not constitute “the two who are close” in any possible way.

He could fit the criteria for any twilight after the second, but if he’s an intended sacrifice, why take him ahead of time? If you kill somebody for, say, the fourth twilight before the second has even happened, doesn’t that invalidate the sequence of the ritual and prevent Beatrice’s resurrection?

This might make sense if Kinzo was abducted by somebody with a vested interest in stopping the ritual (but again, nobody was around to take him), except that raises another contradiction. If the culprit didn’t want the ritual, why ensure the killings match the first twilight, and why go to all these lengths to fabricate the witch narrative? If something sticks out like this, the whole thing will unravel, and as we’ve already established, the culprit needs the witch narrative to succeed for any of this to work.

So if all that is the case, why did Kinzo disappear? What for?

If he was taken to be killed, who took him? Where is he? If you assume my earlier theory of Kinzo being in the room with the gold, the culprit keeping him there to kill him once again contradicts the witch narrative: if the epitaph gets solved, the murders stop. If a body is found in a place where you need to solve the epitaph to access, it completely shreds every drop of legitimacy that a witch could be present.

How, then, can you reconcile Kinzo’s disappearance with the witch narrative? There is one thing I can think of, but a lot of it relies on baseless conjecture inspired by one singular detail.

After searching the mansion for Kinzo, Natsuhi returns carrying a gun. She claims to have taken it from Kinzo’s personal collection as a precautionary measure. The existence of this rifle immediately solves one mystery, and creates one more.

The bodies in the storehouse had their faces mutilated in a way that wasn’t clear. There was no tool found that could have done that to them. A rifle like the one Kinzo has would very conveniently blast a hole in someone’s face, tearing it up in a way that matches what Battler saw. This strongly indicates that the culprit, or the person who set up the first twilight anyhow, has access to a gun.

If you assume this as truth, another problem immediately arises. The gun was kept in Kinzo’s personal collection. The location of this collection is not specified, but based on everything we know, this gun was almost assuredly kept inside Kinzo’s study. This means that, in order to create the first twilight, the culprit had to take the gun from Kinzo’s study and use it.

(As an aside, even if you figure that there is more than one gun at play, all guns are likely stored in the same place, so the issue is not with the number of guns, but the location of Kinzo’s collection).

The list of people who could have taken the gun from the study that night is incredibly small – only Genji has a key to the study, and only he and Kanon would stand a chance of being granted entry. Luckily, it is very likely that Genji and Kanon are involved in the crime, so this fact holds water.

What doesn’t hold water is what this implies. There is no way for anybody to enter Kinzo’s study without Kinzo knowing. If Genji and/or Kanon took the gun to mutilate the bodies, Kinzo would also therefore be aware about the first twilight at around midnight. How likely is it that Kinzo would let them take the gun without at least asking questions? A spiteful old man like him would almost certainly want to know who died, if only to make sure it adheres to the pattern of the epitaph if nothing else.

So in this scenario, the servants take the gun, mutilate the bodies, and then either return it to the study or keep it for themselves depending on if there’s more than one gun. Either way, this means Kinzo has full knowledge of what has gone down. One could even argue that this makes him an accomplice to some extent.

Under this scenario, it might make sense for Kinzo to disappear from the study. Since Kanon and Genji were preoccupied with the bodies, the only way for Kinzo to vanish is to leave the study himself. Except the most likely culprits chosen by the demon’s roulette are all people who wouldn’t dare harm Kinzo (Genji is honour-bound, Eva killing Kinzo would contradict her ambitions to be recognised by him), so it is not like he would need to flee the study for somewhere safer. Nobody suspicious would actively target Kinzo, with maybe the exception of Kanon. But Kanon almost certainly cannot act on his own, so that’s a moot point.

And more than that, would a Kinzo who is fully aware of what has gone down act the way he acted towards Natsuhi in their conversation? He adamantly refuses to leave his study, telling Natsuhi that he does not want to hear even a single word of the other siblings discussing the inheritance. Would he act like this if he knew every single sibling except for Eva was dead? The night before, Kinzo had given himself fully to Beatrice and the demon’s roulette, ceasing to care about trivialities like the inheritance and the conference. Why would he suddenly care about this again? Odds are that even if he doesn’t know who’s dead, he should know that even one murder would stop the inheritance talk dead in its tracks. So why would he say this?

If Kinzo knows anything, his conversation with Natsuhi makes no sense. He would not say that. Not if he knew people were dead. Not if his gun had been taken. Even if he didn’t clue Natsuhi in on any of this, he would have received evidence that the ritual is happening, so he should have been even more off the “ohhhh Beatriceeee” deep end than normal. Instead he acts as if none of this Beatrice murder stuff is happening at all.

The two scenarios are not compatible. Either Kinzo does not know about the murders, or there’s something up with his talk with Natsuhi.

If Kinzo knows nothing, how was his gun used in the first twilight? If he knows something, why did he act like he did towards Natsuhi? Both cannot be true. And yet they seemingly are.

We have to assume the gun was used to mutilate the bodies, because there is nothing else shown to us that makes sense. For the gun to be used, that means somebody was in Kinzo’s study past midnight in order to obtain said gun. We also have to assume that fact to be true.

This places the contradiction squarely within his conversation with Natsuhi, then. Luckily, there’s already a basis for something weird going on in this scene even without the tangled psychic knot of his disappearance to contend with. Halfway through the conversation, for no reason, Kinzo’s entire personality pulls a complete 180, going from bitter and hateful to reassuring and praising Natsuhi as a worthy member of the family.

Kinzo’s actions in the latter half of the conversation are discussed by the narrative as if he’d become a “different person”. More specifically, it’s as if Kinzo transformed into the exact person Natsuhi needed him to be at that exact time. He says exactly what Natsuhi needs to hear in order to have the strength to face the rest of the family. This runs counter to the established loathing and abuse of Natsuhi we have been told about by Kumasawa. One explanation would be that he now respects Natsuhi for surviving the first twilight, but this is incompatible with the notion that Kinzo knows nothing about what went down outside of his study. This again goes back into the incompatibility between the gun being used and Natsuhi being reassured.

How can you explain this away?

I have one way, but it’s an insane reach that I’m not confident in, and relies on a very specific reading of Umineko to work.

Previously, I’ve discussed the way that scenes Battler isn’t present for are more interested in conveying the Romantic’s emotional truth than the Detective’s logical truth. My prior example was how the occult symbols aren’t seen by Battler, so their importance lies more in the way that the people who do see them react. I also argued that this makes the physical details of those things hard to concretely pin down, to the point where whether or not they physically exist does not matter. I also argued something similar in chapter 9, with regards to the very weird and disconnected framing of Shannon’s scenes, that some truth was either being hidden from us or being fabricated in the presentation of that chapter.

I never wanted to outright say it, because I think it’s a leap, but for this to work I’m going to argue that non-Battler scenes are fully capable of outright lying to us about everything seen within them. This would mean that we can trust nothing that happens outside of Battler’s vision except for the feelings and emotions inspired by what supposedly happens.

Let’s re-examine Natsuhi’s conversation only focusing on the emotional trajectory. Natsuhi is stressed and dejected, overcome with insecurity. Throughout the scene she goes from this, to nervous, to despairing, to reassured, to confident. Natsuhi’s emotional journey is valid, because this lines up with the version of Natsuhi that takes charge that Battler gets to see. What I am instead arguing is that the means of Natsuhi reaching this emotional state are a total fabrication.

In plainer terms, this means her conversation with Kinzo did not actually happen. Perhaps she still conjured a version of Kinzo in her mind to reassure her, but this would be no different from Battler relying on the memories of Rudolf and Kyrie to reassure him. If you assume that the scene was Natsuhi performing some kind of self-soothing via brain ghost Kinzo, this opens up another opportunity: Kinzo has not been in his study since midnight.

Natsuhi is the only person to claim to have seen Kinzo since the previous night. Her claims cannot be verified. If you distrust Natsuhi, then you can expand the timeframe for Kinzo’s disappearance from half an hour to eight. The last time we saw Kinzo was in his study at the strike of midnight. The time before that was around 20:00 the previous night, when Shannon and Kanon tell Kinzo about Maria reading the letter. If you take that as the last “confirmed” sighting of Kinzo, then that extends the window even further to twelve hours. In that case, Kinzo could have been gone long before anybody came to take the gun the first time.

The problem with this, other than the fact it’s completely insane, is that by this logic, a good fifty percent of the story needs to be treated as a potential outright fabrication. If Kinzo wasn’t in the study when we were shown that he was there with Natsuhi, then that means that we can’t rely on the argument between the siblings as being what we think it is, on George and Shannon’s proposal not having happened totally differently from what was shown. Nothing that Battler didn’t see can be trusted if you accept even this one thing as possible.

So, if so much of the story can be explained away as a fabrication: why? Why have half the scenes outright lie to the reader? What does this tell us about the narrator? If the emotional truth is the only valid thing in a sea of lies, and we are expected to take these lies as genuine in order to parse the emotional truth, is that itself not a form of magic?

In the study in chapter 10, Ushiromiya Kinzo “exists”. George and Shannon’s romance “exists”. Natsuhi’s crisis of confidence “exists”. Beatrice “exists”. It’s all there, and all valid if we choose to believe it, but only if we choose to believe it. Tear at the seams of the illusion, and it all comes down. Doubt is the only thing that can kill a witch. Doubt is the only thing that can kill a story.

Umineko is a work of fiction, deliberately constructed and narrated by somebody for a specific purpose. Whatever it is, the narrator needs the reader to have utmost faith in the illusion of the fiction. So what if half the scenes are made up? Can’t the same be said about every part of Umineko? It’s all made up. It’s all a story. Why draw an arbitrary line at what kinds of fantasy-conjuring are acceptable? Battler’s POV is language and images same as the other narration. What gives his viewpoint more authenticity?

Like the earlier plane scene example, meaning is constructed by the reader. The audience of a story receives symbols, and uses those symbols to create a being that “exists” convincingly enough that they can step into another world. To put it another way, the goal of the witch narrative is to get a human to perform magic, and if you are performing magic this way, are you too not also a witch?

What is the point of fiction without meaning? Of emotion without belief? Even if he’s not physically present, does the brain ghost Kinzo not have as much of a valid impact on the world of the story as the absent flesh-and-blood man? Kinzo has not been present for the family conference at all, and yet his figure has been a guiding force dominating the psychology of everybody there. What is the difference between the argument in the parlour and Natsuhi’s moment in the study, save for the fact that one scene has a visualisation of Kinzo and the other doesn’t?

This is a story about magic and witches. The nature of magic is to create something that feels real enough to change the material world. Money, witches, fictions, ghosts. These are all things that everybody has bought into and produced in this story. Following this through, it means that everybody on Rokkenjima has the capacity to perform magic. Past the mystery, perhaps this is the purpose of the story, a Romantic’s truth that exposes how everybody has the capacity to change reality through changing its meaning. This does not answer the question of “how did Kinzo disappear”, but how much does that matter compared to his impact on the minds of the other characters? We already know he’ll turn up dead one way or another. What matters are the secrets he carries, the way he intersects with the narrative and his role in letting us access the deeper truths of this story. In comparison to that, the Detective logistics of a disappearance are mundane and boring.

Either that, or Kinzo actually has been dead all along, and everybody on the island is complicit in the coverup, and Eva was right about everything the whole time.

Or the gun was never in the study at all and this is all a deranged moot point. Such are the joys of rotating Umineko in your mind at such breakneck velocities. You never know which theory is more likely. Take your pick.

Let’s head to chapter 12 and see how the story progresses.

[sacrificialsam]

What are your thoughts on parentified dean?

I hate when it veers into “dean is sams dad” territory cuz I think that’s silly (and not accurate to me anyway. I know the later seasons lean more into the dean as mom dad brother thing but I don’t think that dynamic fits with the earlier seasons and it does feel like they just wanted to give Dean more poor sufferer vibes which is something I don’t like. The ep with sonny’s farm is an especially bad example of this and I don’t think it fits with johns character in season 1 at alllllllll. In the pilot John has been gone for three weeks and dean is freaking out!!! At 26!!!!!!)

I think it fits when we talk about John and dean’s relationship. Dean spent a long time (until we see him go against John in season 1) coddling johns feeling and providing him with emotional support (and keeping him with him all the time. Again later seasons “dad would send me away sometimes” moments are ridiculous!!!)

i've talked about parentified dean a lot on this blog, but i'll give you a quick rundown of my basic opinions: while dean was clearly parentified by john when he was left alone to take care of sam, fandom constantly insists dean did way more for sam than is actually implied or even logical. i don't believe dean really thinks of sam as his son, and sam would never see dean as his dad. dean isn't and wouldn't be a good parent or parental figure, and saying sam's childhood was 'easy' because of dean's parenting is ignorant at best. additionally, i hate interpretations and headcanons of dean as a mother or maternal.

but to address your specific points, yeah they ramped up the woobification of dean a lot, and i also feel like dean's pity parties got worse and worse in later seasons. after a certain point john had to be vilified even more and act out of character to add onto this, and since preseries and the winchesters' childhoods aren't explored in complete detail a lot of rewriting could happen there. john was an absent father, but that doesn't mean he lost all contact with his family for months on end, as that's clearly a big cause of concern in the first season as you've pointed out. it honestly bothers me because i feel like the added victimization of dean's childhood is used to further the narrative of sam being spoiled and having it good in comparison; it's often played in a way that makes it look like dean was the only victim of john's subpar parenting because 'sam at least had dean' or something. and i want to point out i don't think sam was treated just like dean or was parentified in the same way, but he also had to grow up too fast and was negatively affected by it. and we also know dean added onto that by also wanting sam to stay a hunter instead of having a life away from direct danger, he wasn't the force of good to john's negative influence or anything.

with dean and john's relationship i think it's a bit complicated, john clearly used dean as a point of reassurance and support and did put too much stress on him, which he even apologizes for in his last moments. but i'm not sure if parentification is the right word for it, i don't think he was a parent stand-in for john, much more someone who could act as a right hand man, someone who would back him up (even against sam) and who could be relied on. i like the soldier or even the guard dog analogies a lot better than those saying dean was the other parent in their family dynamic, because i don't think dean ever fully moved out of the son category, he wasn't truly equal. and this is partially because john never let dean (or sam) disagree with his decisions, and dean very much idolized his father and wanted to follow his lead rather than have equal saying.

oh and i answered another ask about parentification before, if this wasn't a long enough read yet.

[opheliasam]

Thoughts on Stanford Era SamBenny 👀 ? Potentially? Perhaps?

Hmmm

I’m a staunch samjess truther re: stanford era, i do think they met in freshman year, which makes it a Little harder for Sam to meet anyone else. But as far as one night stands/ explorations go… very appealing

It’s late, Sam’s at the bar, final exam just ended. Maybe it’s a dare, maybe it’s a thing he brought up shyly that Jess wants him to further explore… or maybe it’s a one night stand pre-jess..

BUT.

Update: Okay, wow, this ran away from me. Absolutely didn’t intend for it. Gencest-Mature.

It’s a late night in some indistinct bar, off the corner of a shady part of town and Sam’s hunched over in a quiet corner, laptop propped up on a surface that’s surprisingly, magically, not sticky.

It’s a Monday night, and the bar is worse off for it; lighting dim and mood somber. Drifters and grifters.

Sam had a quiz today. (Mondays are quiz days.) Sam’s quiz went fine - more than fine if he allows himself that, but that’s not the point. The point is.

To be very frank, Sam doesn’t even know what the point is—about why he’s here and not in the library and he’d rather not investigate it, thank you. He just knows that it’s sometimes easier to study at noisy bars than elsewhere. To just be. And that’s fine. It is.

He sighs. The glare of his lap offending. He won't get done with this paper tonight.

Sam likes college. He really does.

He does, it's just - Mondays were heavy, and so were Tuesdays, and so were Wednesdays and Thursdays and well, Fridays were a blur of office hours and discussion sessions. Sam hadn't quite figured out what to do with his weekends yet, they were mostly reserved for passing out and freshmen events. Needless to say, Sam's schedule was less than “ideal”.

It's not something Sam really wants to admit to himself.

12-15 units is ideal for your first quarter, the UG Handbook had said. Sam remembers scrolling down stubbornly past that until he got to the part . The maximum number of academic units a first-quarter frosh may enroll in is 20, the rough equi—

Well, then.

He remembers his Cohort leader frowning upon hearing his plans for the semester, kind brown eyes wide with concern, "You should slow down, Sam. Take a breather."

Remembers stubbornly thinking then that coming to Stanford was the breather. Just getting there. Cursed may be the freshmen who take a full course load but it’s nothing that Sam’s not used to. He could do it. The rigour made him feel purposive, focused; free.

That had been five weeks ago.

People trickle in and trickle out, their presence noisy and solid, and Sam thinks vaguely about sleep studies and ocean sounds. Sleepless people desperately needing sleep. Sleepless people wanting to be whales.

Chastises himself for the judgement—they don’t want to be whales. They just—they just want sleep. It’s fine. It’s normal. It’s all fine. It’s—

The thing is, Sam knows need. He knows desperation too. He’s just never known this specific shade of desperate need.

If you walk out that door—

His chest suddenly feels tight with rage, white-hot and grievous. Ugly. Sam clenches his fist.

A glass clinks down in front of him. He watches it grumble at it is slides closer; wide fingers wrapped around it.

An Old Fashioned, served in a stern looking glass except for one little addition. it’s got a little umbrella in it. His lips quirk up, the rage settling into something gentler. Wait—Sam looks up, confused, “Hey, I don’t think I ordered—“

“My man, bar’s closing, and you’ve been in here for the last 5 hours treating it like it’s a goddamn library. It’s on the house, come on.”

It’s the Bartender.

Sam took notice of him when he arrived, but it was nothing more than cursory at the time.

But now...

The Bartender is a big dude. He’s dressed comfortably, a plaid overshirt draped casually over a black tee. His shoulders are very broad. He’s handsome, there’s no question about it.

He's bigger than Sam too—at least in terms of muscle mass; stockier.

He seems older, and he has one of the most impressive goatees Sam's ever seen. It would look stupid on almost anyone else, but it frames the bartender's solid jaw just right.

Sam smiles. Alright then.

Can’t hurt.

“Only if you drink with me.”

Mr. Cool-Beard-Guy-Bartender looks surprised, his eyes glinting in the dark. They look like church windows against the frigid, a frigid glass tone. His pupils are very, very black.

“Alright, Chief.” He answers, smiling with too white teeth.

Sam’s breath picks up.

“It’s your call.”

Easy.

The thing is, Sam shouldn’t be doing this. He really, really shouldn’t.

There’s something about this guy that Sam can’t put a finger on, and it should make Sam rethink this drink, should make him shove his laptop in his bag and get the hell out of here, should should should—

Instead, heat curls in Sam’s stomach. The conflict a siren song; the line between fear and arousal so thin it makes him hazy.

The door rattles loudly as the last customer heads out, snapping Sam out of his head. A slurry “G’night Brother” signaling a less than grand exit.

Watches the bartender as he mock salutes at the closed door, then winks at Sam. “ ‘Smiracle he still knows night from day.”

Sam can't help his smile. Funny. Mr. Cool-Beard-Guy-Bartender’s funny.

Sam’s way too sober for this but - what the hell, It’s 2 am, and past curfew anyway; he’ll have to spend the night outside.

He will, and if a handsome stranger is offering.

Well. It’s not like there’s anyone waiting for him.

Looking out for him.

He watches as the bartender gets another glass out, pours into it. It’s all very slow and deliberate. A show. A performance.

A seduction.

Sam inhales sharply and tastes air that’s thick with anticipation.

Before his brain can overthink this to the point of ruin, he clinks their glasses together and gulps the whole thing down like a shot.

He immediately regrets it; coughing and spluttering viciously as the acrid liquid settles in his stomach.

He can hear the guy chuckling while he’s having his near-death experience. It’s just rude.

He looks up at the Bartender, trying to make his eyes as disapproving as possible. It’s not very successful because it just makes the Bartender grin harder.

Dick.

Sam hasn’t had a drink in a while. Well, not since his freshman initiation, that’s for sure. And that was well over 5 whole weeks ago.

Cool Beard Guy Bartender hands him a lemon.

“Suck on that.” He instructs.

Sam wants to make a dirty joke. It’s funny. It’s actually, really funny and Sam’s trying very hard not to giggle.

“Uh…”

Cool Beard Guy Bartender puts his hands up, as if to say “hey I didn’t say anything.” Typical. Cool Beard Guy—alright, you know what, Sam can’t keep doing this.

“What’s your name, I mean,” sucks on the lemon. The sourness of it is grounding. It actually helps. Sam wonders if his thumb is going to taste like the lemon later. “—you don’t have to say it if you don’t want to—you know, it’s just I can’t keep calling you Cool Beard Guy—.”

Shuts up. Oh no. Oh no.

He flushes red.

You’re such a lightweight, Sammy.

Stupid big brother laugh. Stupid big leather jacket that didn’t fit right. Stupid big brother hands holding him up; cheap metal rings digging into his ribs. At the center of it all, a promise in the shape of a charm. A gift revoked, and a gift given.

So much warmth it threatens to suffocate—so much joy Sam’s giddy with it.

“Benny.”

“Hm?”

“My name.” He says, with a grin.

Right. Fuck. Focus, Sam chastises inwardly.

“Short for Benjamin?”

“Short for nothing at all.” The Bartender says with a smirk. It's restrained.

There’s a distinctive southern drawl in his voice that’s making it so much harder for Sam to think properly.

Sam’s feeling fidgety. There’s something about this guy that reminds him too much of hunts. Too much of scattered homes, and monsters and D—

“ ‘Nother.”

“You sure about that, Chief?”

Sam nods, grinning. He likes that. He likes being called Chief.

Benny’s quiet. His hand wavers where it’s holding the bottle and the silence stretches and squeezes.

His gaze is piercing, both hungry and conflicted. Sam knows that look. He’s seen that look, so many times.

“Nah, I think you’re good, Big Guy.”

The thought vanishes.

Sam’s eyebrows scrunch up. He thinks he must pout because Benny ducks his gaze, laughs a little breathlessly and downs his own drink. It was bigger than Sam’s own.

Must have—must have been. Sam feels very drunk.

Benny pours another and downs it too. It’s almost impressive.

Almost.

Sam watches. And watches; waiting.

He’s pouring a third one for himself before Sam clasps his hand over Benny’s wrist. Turns it over. He’s very cold.

“...Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.”

Sam needs him. Sam doesn’t want him to get drunk just because Sam is drunk. That’s not—it’s not right. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

“No.” Shakes his head. “No.”

Benny looks at him, searching. Closes his eyes and clenches his jaw. Breathes out. When he opens his eyes, they’re much darker.

“Okay. Alright then, no.”

Sam’s still holding his hand. Slides it down so it’s covering his palm. They’re slightly smaller than his, but wider. Rougher, like a carpenter. Or a hunter.

Sam shudders.

He can feel Benny watching him, careful. The way you track a prey. Sam would know, wouldn’t he?

Drags the glass to his mouth. Both of their hands clasped over the drink like a ritual. Or a promise. And tips it over into his drying mouth.

It still burns. And he’s going to have a hell of a hangover later. Scotch on rocks.

Just like Dad, huh Sammy?

His eyes burn. He blinks furiously. Not now. Not now.

“What’s the matter, Darlin’?”

Sam snorts at that, shakes his head. He’s not—he’s not.

“Are we—we just. We just gonna talk all night...Or ?” He slurs. Waves his hand between them meaningfully.

Benny laughs at that. Bemused.

“Whatever you want, Chief.”

Back to Chief again. Good. Good.

“I … I know what I want.”

Benny’s staring straight at him, his eyes calculating. It makes Sam feel—

“Do you…also want?”

Benny chuckles at that. His tone is sombre when he replies though, darker. Voice, gravel.

“Like you wouldn’t fucking believe.”

The honesty of it is staggering, has him feeling a little faint.

He watches as Benny swallows hard, then mirrors him.

And that’s that then.

Sam leans forward the same moment Benny leans back, catches him by his shoulders; his head knocks into Benny’s chest.

Whomp.

The embarrassment hits him like a pail of cold water.

He pulls back, flushed red. Confused. The anger comes easily enough.

“What the hell, dude?”

“Sweetheart...”

“It’s Sam. It’s Sam.”

“Alright. Sam. It’s late. It doesn’t matter what I want but I don’t want...I don’t want you waking up in the morning and punching me in the face, alright?”

Sam stares, confused. What the hell was he talking about.

Fuck this guy.

“What? What is it? You suddenly grow a moral compass? You don’t wanna fu—”

Sucks in a breathe. He suddenly wants to punch the guy. Feels so small.

“You don’t w—.” Clenches his teeth. His tongue betrays him anyway. “Me?” He breathes out, struggling.

Benny looks surprised, to his credit.

“Darl-"corrects himself, "Sam. I haven’t been able to take my damn eyes off of you since you walked in here with that scary lookin’ gadget of yours.” His southern twang playing with the vowels of the sea.

So easy admitted. So easily given away. The sincerity of it stuns. Sam’s heart does a thing. Idiot.

He makes him so shy. Makes him needy. He’s so drunk, and he misses home so, so terribly. And he wishes He were here. He wants-- He wants his big brother. He wants his big brother beside him. Looking out for him. Keeping him safe. He needs.

The admission burns like shame.

“Please.” His eyes blur over.

“What’s wrong?” Easy, warm. Inviting. Worried.

Worried.

Sam shakes his head.

Benny's eyes furrow.

“I want—I want to go home.” His voice breaks, and it’s humiliating.

Benny’s eyes are so, so kind.

“Come on, kid.”

There’s hands dragging him up and there’s hands holding him there. One of Sam’s hands slung over Benny’s neck. A parody of a memory long lost.

Big burly hands. Salt and brine. The back of his neck is so cold too. This should mean something. This should.

“You’re fu-fucking cold, you know that?”

Gets a chuckle in return. “I’ve been told.”

“Are you drunk?”

Pause. “…Unfortunately, yes.”

“Well, yeah...yeah. I mean—two drinks is a-a lot.” Eyes wide.

Silence. Sam can feel Benny’s breath growing more laboured.

“It’s not the Whiskey doing it.” The admission is strained, quiet. Followed by a dark chuckle.

Sam doesn’t quite follow, but it’s okay. It’s getting harder to think. He trusts. He trusts Benny.

Benny, the kind stranger with a no-name bar and too white teeth and the darkest pupils he's ever seen.

“Where are we going?”

“Back to my place.”

Sam doesn’t struggle or startle at that. He wants this. He does. Lets himself get bundled into the car. Let’s Benny take the wheel. Curls up in the backseat and stares at the moon.

It’s so warm in the car.

Blankets shared over winter nights on the road, a crooning lullaby - spoken in staticky tones. A rattling vent spitting out waves of heat that still don't entirely warm him up.

"Dean, turn it up!"

“It’s really warm.”

Benny hums at that. “Do you want me to turn the heater down?”

“No, I mean—it’s nice.” Pauses. “It’s really nice.”

He catches Benny’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Smiles.

“Thanks, Sugar.”

Sam wants to take offence at it, but it fails him.

Sam doesn’t remember much of anything else, but he does remember hanging on to him like a vise. He remembers clinging on and trying to breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Remembers being put to bed. Doesn’t remember much after that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam wakes up with a start, disoriented, to the sound of a motor bike starting. There’s a blanket wrapped around him and one of his shoes is on the floor.

He's barely out of the bed when last night decides to rear its ugly head; nausea swells like a wave and Sam scrambles to make to make it out of bed -

Vomit hits the floor with a wet dripping noise, sincere in all of its awfulness.

Sam groans. Great, can't help but sit down and stare despondently at the stupid mess. He wants to clean up, but it's just too much effort, he wishes he could just lie here a while, but it's not an option.

One, two, three - okay, again.

One, two, three - up.

Empty house. Empty flat. He walks around for a while, searching for water - his head an angry throb. He staggers over to the fridge and opens it to see it empty except for a singular water bottle, something that looks like dirt water, and a note.

He opts for the bottle first, downs the whole thing in one go, and groans. Too soon. His stomach grumbles unhappily, acrid bile pooling on his tongue, souring his mouth.

Sam sits down, parched throat now burning, and tries not to think about how he should have read the note first, shouldn't have acted so hastily.

Shouldn't shouldn't shouldn't.

He's so tired, already.

He knows what Dad would have said, what Dean would have said, and they're starting to sound like the same voice.

Something blisters beneath his skin.

The note.

When he reaches for the fridge door, it is urgent. He feels unsettled. The note is a neatly folded white printing paper, it says - "Drink the brown stuff first - it's good hangover cure." Handwriting scribbled, but still cursive, still elegant. It's sweet.

It's also surprising - it's not what he would have expected a dingy bar owner's (or was it bartender?) handwriting to look like. He tries to smile but there's something here.

Something he's not willing to accept here, he knows that.

Vamp -

He slams the fridge door shut.

There's nothing here that remotely suggests that. Nothing happened, there's nothing that incriminates Benny in the least. It's not like that - nothing happened.

Why'd he just leave all of a sudden, Sammy?

Fuck OFF, Dean.

It could have just been a bad one night stand. It was a bad one night stand - that's all. He embarrassed himself, Benny left. It was fine, it didn't mean anything. It didn't.

Okay. Focus. Did he bring his bag? Did he bring anything at all. His laptop. He needed to find his laptop. Sam wishes he weren't being as frantic as he was now, but fuck it, Dad wasn't here to tell him to get it together - he was allowed to freak out about this. It was allowed.

It was normal.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

A single thought keeps flowing in his head, turning over and over like a strand of DNA, extending vertically across himself. He feels like the thread and then, doesn't feel at all.

Home isn't real. Home isn't real, home isn't real. It's just you, alone.

He just has to go from here, that's all. He just has to leave and he just has to make sure that they doesn't get to know.

He doesn't chug the brown mud-water down (herbal hangover, c'mon), doesn't investigate anymore than he needs to (knows it is a conscious overlook on his part, knows he's doing it for a reason, knows that he is running away-)

His hands shake when he goes to dial his phone. His hands tremble with it. He doesn't know what he's doing, he needs - That's when the phone rings.

'Dad.'

oh fuck, what the hell, what the actual HELL.

He feels dangerously on edge, slanting - the precipice so much closer than he could have imagined. He feels equal parts trepidation and relief, doesn't know what to call this. The knot in his throat screams.

He could scream, he could scream at the phone and tell Dad to fuck off, to help him, to try and get him because he's fucking scared, but he won't. He won't.

He neutralizes himself. He's not this person, he doesn't run to fucking dad. He knows how to deal with this.

The phone stops ringing.

When he leaves the delipidated building, he doesn't look back. It's much too familiar a gesture to investigate, so Sam doesn't. His backpack is simultaneously heavier and lighter, the letter and the hangover-cure tucked securely in the second zip-pocket of his bag.

He pretends not to notice the phone booth outside of the house, and if there is a shadow in the bushes - he hopes it is imagined.

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Okay ! Well, that took me way to long to write, over nearly 40 (or what it feels like) weeks of downright terribleness (re: personal life) but yayy