#I remain undaunted

[thebadjoe]

BAD JOE'S DRDT CH.2 CRIME SOLVING THEORY PART 6

Wow! It's been a long while, but it's finally here! DRDT Chapter 2 is back with part 2 starting since more than a week ago!

...Oh? What's that? There's some reveals that is damaging my theory and I should get to fixing? Awwww, man.... what a drag.... I am so doomed... nanchatte!

Anyways, hi! It's me, the dude who makes-overly-complex-and-ridiculously-long-theories-in-the-hopes-of-trying-to-solve-the-murder-case-that-not-many-people-agree-with-for-more-reasons-than-my-theory's-word-count. (Okay, the last part about the reasons is probably not true... yet!)

I am back yet again with some more updates regarding my theory.

NOOOOO!!! NOT AGAIN!!! PLEASE, I DON'T WANNA READ ANOTHER GODDAMN DICTIONARY LENGTH OF A THEORY POST!!!!

Woah! Calm down, imaginary self that is under the impression that some people were way too overwhelmed by my latest part of the theory post! You have nothing to worry about!

It would be silly of me to rewrite all of it again with some small changes. I will of course link up my part 5 later as source of reference, but really, all I'm gonna be doing here today is point out the newest problems with my theory ever since episode 12 and 13 and give my personal thoughts on those.

Also, to make sure that people hasn't forgotten what I've been all about since the beginning, I will do a short recap of my theory, displaying only what's most relevant to the murder case.

Besides, ain't no way I'm writing something this long ever again (except for maybe trying to solve the future chapters, but that's a matter for the far future).

With that said, I feel obliged to point out that this is spoilers for the fangan Danganronpa Despair Time Chapter 2, up until episode 13.

With that out of the way, let's get to it!

Hey look! I still remember how to use that show more button again, hurray! (I'm really sorry again to @1moreff-creator and everyone else who's been reading my very first posts last year that didn't have a show more button)

So, first things first, I'd like to apologize in advance because as amazing the episode 12 and 13 were, I will not be doing a reaction post of said episodes. I think I'm just too lazy to actually display my whole stream of consciousness through two whole videos and I think it is safe to say that practically all of us had a very similar reaction to those episodes.

What was the common reaction, you may ask? Well, it's simple, really... it went something like... OMG, THIS IS SO FUCKING HYPE! OMG!!! THAT WAS SO INSANE!!! THE DRAMA!!! DAVID BEING DAVID!!! THE LEVI REVEAL!!! THE FLASHBACK PART 2 SCENE!!! OMG, WHAT IS EDEN DOING?!! AREI IS HOLDING DAVID'S HANDS?! WE'RE FINALLY TALKING ABOUT THE MURDER METHODS?!?! OMG, SO GOOD!!!

...right? Yeah! I thought so! :D

Although I may not be showing proper and precise reactions to these episodes, if you're interested, I'd definitly recommend reading @venus-is-thinking 's, reactions on episode 12 and episode 13, @1moreff-creator 's reactions on episode 12 and episode 13 and @accirax 's reactions on episode 12 and episode 13. They're pretty good reads (and no, I'm not just saying this because they all believe that Eden is the culprit, I swear!).

And for those who are totally blind or new to my shenanigans, yes, I do believe that Eden is the culprit behind this murder case.

There is indeed a few problems that arose ever since the latest episodes, so to make sure that everyone is up to speed with what I'm gonna be talking about, I'm now going to be doing a short recap of the events, according to me.

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THE RECAP

DAY 1 : The day where everyone receives their mixed up secrets and explore the second floor. DAY 2 : The day where the attempted murder on Ace happened. DAY 3 : The day where Whit suggests David to chill for the evening in the relaxation room. DAY 4 : The day (morning) of the body discovery announcement.

Ever since Arei bullied Eden who then cried and exited the playground on DAY 2, that was what triggered Eden to decide to commit murder for the sake of escaping this hellish killing game. Knowing that her secret is that she kissed a girl, I deduced that she's probably trying to escape because she misses her beloved dearly.

So while she was off screen during most of that day, she spent time making plans for the murder set up and narrative, which is why she decided to share Arturo's secret (as seen in the flashback).

During the evening of DAY 2, Ace was working out in the gym, then he hears a conversation happening between David and Arei in the relax room. The conversation that Ace was quietly listening to did not happen in the evening of DAY 3, but rather the evening of DAY 2. Ace lied about when he was listening to that conversation.

At some point during the conversation or perhaps even after the conversation, Eden sneaks up on Ace and knocks him out with the turpentine that anyone could've gotten access to that day. Ace is Eden's chosen murder victim.

Sometime later, Eden eitheir used a letter or called out Arei's name to lure her into the playground or somewhere close to knock her unconscious with that very same turpentine. She then moves Arei's body into the relaxation room to lock her up inside because of the specific nighttime rules regarding that room.

Eden also brought old spares of clothing to cover Arei's body to make sure she doesn't get stained with starch from the water misting formula from the relaxation room.

During the night of DAY 2, she prepares the murder mechanism in the gym with some needed tools from the storage room and some wire that she took out from possibly a grandfather clock that she may have in her dorm. I deduced it as such because of Whit's description of everyone's dorms being suited to their needs.

I also deduced that there is actually a switch to turn on and off the fans, which is important since the attempted murder involved the fans. As Eden finished setting it up, as she was about to clear up with evidence, she heard someone using the elevator.

She hid in the dress up room, then Nico enters the second floor, looking for Ace to kill him. As Nico explores the gym, Teruko shortly enters the elevator to get to the second floor as well.

Teruko, looking for her spares, runs into Eden, who was hidden in the dress up room. After some talk, they heard a loud noise coming from the gym, which they both take a look inside.

Upon seeing this mess of a crime, Eden realised that her murder plan failed and that she needs to come up with a plan B really quick. So while she is taking time to "process this emotionally", Teruko was investigating.

Eden finally comes up with a plan B and figured that she needed to get her hands on the roll of tape ASAP. She managed to do so with a sleight of hand when Ace "suddenly wakes up", knocking Eden out of the way, distracting Teruko in the process.

Later that night, Eden proceeds with her plan B by making a murder mechanism in the playground. She also took the rope from the storage room. Once it's all properly set up, all's left was waiting for the relaxation to unlock at 8:00 AM on DAY 3.

In the morning of DAY 3, she retrieves Arei's unconscious body and proceeds with murdering Arei. Then, she proceeds to conceal the body somewhat behind the curtains in the relaxation room. She also grabs her glove, her monopad and the necessary materials in the dress up room for the next step of her plan.

She spends the rest of the morning to prepare her disguise trick. Then during lunchtime, Eden spends a short amount of time disguised as Arei to hide the actual time of death.

Once lunchtime is over, she returns to eitheir her or Arei's dorm to remove the disguise, spend time cleaning up, relax, power nap, etc. Then, during the evening of DAY 3, she spends time with Hu to fabricate her perfect alibi.

Later that evening, David explores the relaxation room. That's when he notices something wrong with the room and becomes the first person to discover Arei's dead body.

For some personal reasons, David brings the body back into the playground and hangs it by the swingset. Eitheir he or Eden (earlier in the morning) balls up the clothes and hides it in the closet of the dress-up room. Then, in the morning of DAY 4, David grabs everyone's attention to the fact that Arei is missing right before the secrets reveal. Then fast forward a bit, then we get the BDA of Arei

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And there ya go, that's my recap regarding how I believe the murder case happened. Pretty short, eh?

HELL NO!!! THAT WAS STILL PRETTY LONG!!! AHHHHH!!!!

Eh... I guess I couldn't really make it that shorter, my bad! If I tried to make it any shorter than that, it would've been extremely confusing.

Ah! Speaking of which, if you're confused in the sense that it feels like none of this should work at all, and there's a lot of contradictions and whatnot, then I would heavily recommend reading my actual theory post. I am not going to spend time refuting with people in the comments about points I've already pointed out in my previous post.

However, if there are things that are unclear to you, things that you do not understand and want to know what I'm talking about, please, feel free to ask away! I will help in any way I can.

With that out the way, I guess I can now start with pointing out the pr-

HAH! THERE IS A MAJOR ISSUE WITH YOUR THEORY!!! BASED ON EPISODE 12, THE MURDER COULD'VE ONLY HAPPENED IN THE MORNING OF DAY 4 BECAUSE OF THE BODY SWING! YOU'RE DONE FOR!

Ah... yeah... that! Of course! That's not a problem!

!!!

Let's talk about it first, shall we? :D

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AREI'S BODY SWING : CONFIRMED TIME OF DEATH???

I'd like to come clean with something, everyone. Ever since I came up with the theory that murder happened at a totally unexpected time, there was something that was constantly bothering me.

That's right, I was very well aware of the body swing happening during the BDA ever since the beginning.

HUH?! Then all this time, you wrote all of this despite knowing that?!

Correct! I'm really sorry about that, but please, understand that I had a very good reason for it. For you see... everytime I saw it, I was often under the impression that this was simply an eerie effect / animation, to give a more dramatic intensity towards the BDA, without meaning anything. I legit thought it could be a thing, I swear!

But despite all that... I couldn't help but feel uneasy about it. Deep down, I felt like that maybe there was an actual meaning to it, maybe it was an actual clue that I shouldn't disregard. But I figured that because of my theory beliefs, then it would be rather unlikely that it would be used as evidence.

But alas, I was wrong about that. The body swing plays a very important rule in determining what happened in this murder case. I cannot deny that fact, especially since Teruko brought it up, plain as day. Despite it seeming like it damages my theory, I'm thankful that the dev finally cleared that little doubt I had since then.

Then you admit it, the murder actually happened in the mor-

Oh, not so fast! Let's not jump to conclusions just yet, alright? Arei's body swinging by the swing set doesn't quite exactly prove that the murder occured during the morning of DAY 4. The body swing only proves that someone messed with the body by the swingset.

W-What?! That doesn't make sense! The murder clearly happened in the morning of DAY 4!

Nuh-uh, not quite. You believe it clearly happened in the morning because that's what the cast concluded on top of Charles pointing out that the culprit could've clearly fake the time of death by saving the fishes for later.

But unless we have decisive evidence that the murder happened in the morning, we can't be 100% sure that the murder happened in the morning of DAY 4.

From the looks of it, you just seem very desperate, if you ask me.

At first, when episode 12 released, I kind of was... up until I figured out a fairly logical solution to it. That's right! I have a way to explain who made the body swing and why.

You're not going to suggest that David did all of what he supposedly did in the evening of DAY 3, but instead in the morning of DAY 4, right?!

Nope! Not at all. Disregarding the facts that it wouldn't really make sense and that he'd have to move the body out of the relax room anyways before nighttime (because of the water misting rules), David actually has an alibi in the morning of DAY 4.

(As does Veronika too as she was with them in the cafeteria)

With all of these reasons mentioned above, as much as I initially wanted to make it somehow possible that David came back to the crime scene to mess with the body somehow, it just isn't possible.

So instead, someone else did it.

Then out with it already, you staller! Who is it?!

There is only one possible candidate that would make the most sense in that scenario : Eden. Eden is the person who messed with Arei's body in the morning of DAY 4.

WHHAAAAT?!?! WHY WOULD SHE DO THAT?! THAT'S SO RISKY!

That's what I initially thought at first, not gonna lie. But then... something hit me : Eden doesn't have an alibi for the morning of DAY 4 eitheir.

I thought that there would be absolutely no need for Eden to come back to the crime scene a certain short amount of time before the BDA, so instead, I needed to reverse my way of thinking.

What could she possibly aim to do that would prompt her to come back to the crime scene last minute?

Considering the facts (based on my theory, mind you) that she killed Arei in the morning of DAY 3, hid the body somewhere in the relaxation room, built up an evening to night alibi with Hu and that David was the first person to discover it during the evening, there is a simple explanation behind it.

Arei's BDA was meant to be triggered much earlier than the morning of DAY 4. The original intent behind this whole scheme was to have the BDA trigger during the evening of DAY 3.

That doesn't make sense!

No, that's wrong! It does make a whole lot of sense. Think about it. Let's say you were a participant in this killing game and were in David's shoes during the evening of DAY 3... you come across a dead body in the relaxation, what would you do?

!!!

That's right, you wouldn't just mess with the body and move it somewhere else, now would you? Aside from freaking out, the most natural and human thing to do would be to gather help.

If it were anyone else than David who discovered the body in that exact scenario, they would cry out for help, tell everyone that they found Arei dead inside the relaxation room, which would then result in a body discovery announcement.

But what if the person who found the body were to personally ask for Hu's and Eden's help, wouldn't that ruin her plan since it wouldn't trigger the BDA?

There's an easy solution to that. Eden could've simply decided to find more people to share the news to meet up with the corpse. This wouldn't ruin her plan in the slightest.

Quite the opposite, actually. If the body were to be discovered and trigger the BDA during the evening, it would solidify her air tight alibi even further as she wouldn't have any possible timeframe to commit murder in the evening as she was spending time with her friend Hu.

Ugh, so what? It didn't really happen anyways because of David being David! That doesn't change anything!

Actually, it does change things considerably. If you put yourself in the culprit's perspective where the whole intent was to have the body discovery happen in the evening of DAY 3 and that during the whole night, nothing happened, you would certainly find that very strange.

The culprit would be clearly confused, yet really curious to find out what even happened.

Couldn't she have taken a look much later during the night?

Perhaps, but she figured it would've been pointless. The reason why is that if she thought that nobody found the body, then the body would've still remained hidden in the relaxation room which would then be currently locked away because of the water misting.

So instead of checking it out during the late night of DAY 3, Eden decided to investigate during the very early morning of DAY 4, sometime past 7:30 AM.

But the relaxation room is still locked up until 8:00 AM! Why not wait until then?

It's simple! She just wanted to be there a little bit in advance to make sure she can enter the room as early as possible. And so... while she is waiting for the relaxation room to unlock, she probably figured that she should take a look around the other rooms, why not?

And thus, that leads to Eden finding the body being hung by the swingset, alongside fishes scattered around the floor for some reason.

To reconfirm, I still believe that David is the first person who discovered Arei's dead body in the relaxation room and that he's responsible for hanging her body alongside placing those fishes by the playground.

Okay, Eden discovers that the body has been moved to the playground? What now? Everything's already in place, so what could she possibly do with the dead body?

Well, since the BDA was not triggered on the evening of DAY 3, she figured that she may as well put Arei's monopad back into the corpse's pockets.

But what about her missing glove? Why didn't she return that as well if she wanted to return her monopad?

That's a good point, that's for sure. But there are two easy fixes to this counter argument. First one being that she simply forgot about the gloves. No one's really perfect, after all. She was so concerned about the body not being discovered yet that this completly slipped her mind.

The second fix would be that it would've been way too risky to try to retrieve the glove. Maybe initially, Eden, after she removed her disguise, she placed the clothes and the glove back into Arei's dorm. So if she wanted to retrieve the glove, she'd have to return to Arei's room, unlocking it with a monopad that isn't her own.

Would she really risk that again after making this much progress without getting caught so far? Like imagine if she tried to take that risk one last time only to get caught, that would be quite the devastating result, wouldn't it?

Ok, fine. Nevermind the gloves. Is that all she did?

Pretty much, yeah. She returned the monopad back into her pockets, which moved the body somewhat.

...

Well, it's also possible that she tripped and moved the body even more by accident. Or perhaps she felt like she was in such a hurry to avoid getting found out that she accidently bumped into Arei's dead body.

...Are you kidding me? There's no way that's gonna be enough to move the body for this long!

Well... maybe her being there at exactly 7:30 AM is not the exact time. She could've been there a couple minutes before 8:00 AM, which could make this possible.

But that's ridiculous! There's no way Eden is strong enough to make the body swing that way. To make the body swing for a good amount of time, she'd need more than just accidently bumping into the body! It needs considerable force.

And I'll stop you there. If you've read my last theory post, you should know by now that I'm a firm believer that because it's a work of fiction, anything that seems unlikely can become possible.

The main thing we should take from Arei's body swinging during the BDA is that at some point in time during the morning, someone messed with the body, proving that someone was there during the morning of DAY 4.

And there you go, that's my whole explanation as to how Arei's body was swinging during the BDA that doesn't necessarily mean that the murder occured during that exact morning.

If you're not quite convinced yet, there is a certain part of my theory that begins to make a lot more logical sense with this solution in mind. Take a look at this!

Thanks to the solution I suggested, these two lines become a lot more fitting to my updated theory. Here's why!

If Eden were to explore and find the body hanging by the swing set during the morning of DAY 4, she would know that at least 1 person found the body, but not who exactly.

Because of Whit's silly comment, Eden immediatly thought of the body in the playground and jumped to the worst conclusion : Whit is the person who found the body first.

So if they were to open the door to the playground, the BDA would not trigger since Eden is the culprit. So in a moment of panic, Eden uttered : "Teruko, wait--".

It is still pretty much the same as what I had in mind according to the previous part of my theory post, except that it works a whole lot better now that Eden personally saw the actual state of the dead body in the morning of DAY 4.

So there you have it. This seemingly major problem for my theory actually turned out to be very beneficial for my theory after all! Ah, the joys of making logical sounding deductions! My theory should be saf-

HAH! YOU THINK YOUR THEORY IS SAFE FROM HARM YET?! WRONG!!!! IN EPISODE 13, THEY ACTUALLY SHOWED HOW THE MURDER MECHANISM WORKED! NOT ONLY IS EDEN TOO WEAK TO OPERATE IT, BUT THEY PUT FISH WATER INSIDE THOSE JUGS! SINCE THEY REVEALED THAT MURDER METHOD, IT HAS TO BE THE SOLUTION. YOUR THEORY IS RUINED! GOOD DAY SIR!

Oh, you mean this?

Oh no, this murder mechanism is different from mine and this one requires a certain amount of strength that Eden possibly doesn't have! And the fishes! Since they brought it up, then there's no way my theory can work! Whatever shall I do??? It's joever.... just kidding!

I don't mean to alarm you guys, but the current proposed murder mechanism idea actually has flaws. Let's talk some more about the murder mechanism in the playground, shall we? :)

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TERUKO'S CURRENT MURDER MECHANISM IDEA : RIGHT OR WRONG???

Before I get into it, I'd like to remind everyone that just because we've been shown how the murder may have been done for the first time means that's how it actually happened. Let's not forget that they spent so much time arguing and discussing about the secrets that they barely ever talked about the murder case in itself.

So if anything, episode 13 is practically just them beginning their actual work! Mistakes are bound to happen. We shouldn't jump to conclusions just yet. Besides, there is actually a problem with this murder mechanism.

I'll present it to you in pictures to show you what I'm talking about.

The taped up wrists. This was practically the decisive proof that this wasn't a suicide nor could it have been an assisted suicide. So now that they've introduced a murder mechanism in an actual episode... what's actually the point of the taped wrists in that scenario?

If the culprit used exactly this kind of murder mechanism, then there would be absolutely no need to tape up her wrists together.

Maybe it was to stop Arei from trying to struggle?

Nope. If that was the case, we would've seen much more signs of struggle coming from Arei. There may be scuffs on the ground, but there's absolutely no other form of injury on Arei aside from her broken neck.

Well, I saw a theory where the accomplice was Levi and he could've easily overpower her!

(I believe that was something that @1moreff-creator theorized, if I recall? At least, that was the theory pre part 2)

It used to be borderline possible, but not this time anymore! Thanks to the first two episodes of part 2 of chapter 2, it seems extremely unlikely that Levi wanted to work with the culprit as an accomplice.

Not only because of what we find out regarding his secret, what kind of character he is, but also because of something he said in episode 12.

I don't know about you, but this doesn't look like something an accomplice would say at all, right? If the culprit was someone who didn't have an alibi in the evening, it would be a different story, but the most fitting theory for having Levi work as an accomplice is to work for Eden, who happens to have an alibi in the evening as you already know.

So since we gotta take Levi out of the equation, then we don't really have much other possible candidates who could've easily overpower Arei to the point where taping up her wrists would've helped better on that regard.

Therefore, the most logical solution would be that Arei was knocked unconscious with the turpentine. But since that's the most likely scenario, then what's up with the taped wrists?

If the taped wrists weren't used to prevent any remote chance for Arei to try to get out of this situation, then it must've been used as part of the murder mechanism.

But since the murder mechanism as shown by Teruko doesn't explain the taped up wrists whatsoever, then this becomes a discrepancy. Therefore, that can't be quite the correct answer to solving the how this murder mechanism works.

And since this murder mechanism idea is flawed, it also means that there's no guarantee that the jugs contained fish water inside, they could've simply gathered water somewhere else or perhaps there jugs were already filled with clean water to begin with.

Because this murder mechanism idea is flawed, there's no guarantee that the culprit used this method which required some unknown amount of strength, but an amount of strength regardless (unless the author wants to pass it off as anyone could've done it since it's easier to do it by spinning it, I'm not sure).

Because of that flaw, my theory isn't affected by the murder mechanism idea that Teruko suggested since there is no guarantee that this is the correct answer.

So yeah, there's no problem whatsoever! Also, as far as I'm aware, since the release of the latest episodes, I have a very logically sound reason to explain the taped up wrists as shown in part 5 of my theory.

To give you a small reminder, it was for something like this!

(Whole murder mechanism not properly shown in the drawing because I'm lazy as heck, but just take a close attention to the arms)

By having Arei's arms go between the pillars of the seasaw, you can make it so that she can't get out of it by taping her wrists together, which plays an important role in the murder mechanism. Not going to elaborate further, if you want to know more, you gotta read the big post right there!

And there you have it! Those were the two main concerns that could've negatively affect my theory, but fortunately for me, it doesn't. In fact, it supports it even more than before.

Especially regarding the David / Arei conversation flashback (shown from David's memory's perspective). This conversation told us a lot more between these two, do you know what that means?

That's right! It means that Ace is full of shit! There's no way he didn't hear anything else. The only way he could've not hear anything else is if he gets snuck up from behind and gets knocked out with the turpentine, but it could've easily simply been Ace witholding that information to make David look more suspicious.

Therefore, if he lied about this, he could've also easily lied about when he actually overheard that conversation for his own selfish gains!

There's also a few couple other points that could further support my theory, but I don't feel like going over every single little detail as of now. I mainly wanted to solve these two issues and nothing else.

So, DRDTers, I need to ask you the following : Do you still believe that I am delusional with this overly complex theory of mine? :)

Thanks for reading another one of my big posts, as usual!

Edit : Go read the finale of my theory next, it's worth it!

[thebadjoe]

Hello dear theorist! It is I, Bad Joe, Pretender of a Great Detective!

I do not know if you've read my theories or not in the past, but I am a firm believer that Eden is indeed the culprit.

So of course, any sort of posts that involves people supporting the Eden!Culprit possibility or finding ways to make it seem like it's unlikely always catch my attention. Yours is no exception on that matter.

And so, I've been reading all your points and... I couldn't help but have a slight grin to my face. Let me give you my thoughts on that matter!

The main thing you have to take into consideration is that rather than claiming that it's impossible because of these problems that you've encountered, you should reverse your way of thinking.

Knowing that Eden is the most likely culprit because she's the best candidate for taking the tape, we should ask ourselves this question : If Eden is indeed the culprit, then what can we possibly deduce from these obstacles that would help solve the mystery?

She doesn't have the ability to get the water required for the murder

I'm actually not going to start in order. I'd like to tackle this point first. To make it more clear, I'd like to remind everyone that by water required, it refers to the "fish" water in the relaxation room, because of the fishes.

That's the current idea based on Teruko's first idea on how the murder happened in episode 13. And so far... I agree on one specific matter.

There is absolutely no way for Eden to grab the fishes by herself at the only possible time frame between during the evening of DAY 3 (when Teruko, Whit and Charles encounter David in the kitchen) and nighttime.

It is cold hard fact because Nico claimed they fed the fishes during the evening of DAY 3 and they didn't notice any missing fishes. (Unless they lied about it, but nevermind that)

But what does this mean for the murder case if Eden's indeed the culprit, but didn't grab the fishes? While I'm at it, let me make another claim.

As of now, this is incredibly unlikely for Eden to be working together with an accomplice. Therefore, she worked alone on this murder scheme.

Then if she worked alone and never grabbed the fishes, then what the hell is up with those fishes?!

By eliminating the impossible, whatever remains must be the truth. Here's my idea : Someone else grabbed the fishes during the evening of DAY 3. The person responsible for taking those fishes did not work with the culprit. They did it for their own reasons.

W-WHAT?!

Confusing, I know, but that's the only way to explain how that was remotely possible to begin with if Eden never touched those fishes.

It may seem incredibly confusing at first (especially if you never read my theories), but trust me, I have proper answers that would fit this idea perfectly.

I will not elaborate in here however as there is just so much to talk about especially since the more I go on, the more questions you're gonna be asking if I don't elaborate enough and I don't want to turn this into another large post.

If you are interested to find out, here is the most important theory post I've made (It's a ridiculously long post, so you've been warned) and then there's this fresh post I've made that solves some problems I encountered with episode 12 and 13 (not related with this point, but figured you might be curious).

Anyways... my point is that as strange as it may seem, there is a way to explain how those fishes got there without having Eden being the person responsible for it.

The murderer would have no reason to try and circumvant the BDA rule

I'm not gonna lie, this point confuses me a bit.

.....oh! Of course! My bad! I was still under my theory beliefs, so it took me a while to understand what you were referring to.

In other words, you're saying that because it happened "last minute" before the BDA and that Teruko, Whit and Eden were the first three people who ran into the corpse, the BDA wouldn't trigger unless the culprit somehow figured out a loophole with the BDA rule, which seems incredibly unlikely because it was made "last minute".

Therefore, she must be innocent, right? Well... I do recall seeing some people finding ways to circumvant it, although I don't quite fully recall how it worked. But I believe one of said examples was that the culprit closed their eyes or averted their eyes away from the murder happening as they let go of the mechanism.

It is a way to explain it for sure, as silly as it may sound, but quite frankly, I don't believe that's what happened. So on that point you made, I agree wholeheartedly!

...what? You thought I was going to disagree with it? Hell nah! I think that's a very valid point... if you were to presume that the murder happened in the morning of DAY 4.

....what do you mean?

Well, your whole premise is that the murder must've happened in the morning of DAY 4, right? After all, that's what the majority of the playerbase happened. But we must not forget one thing : because Eden is the best candidate to take the tape and that it was used in the playground, she must be the culprit.

But of course, if we believe that the murder happened in the morning of DAY 4 while believing that Eden is the culprit, then we have ourselves a contradiction!

So how do we solve this problem if Eden is indeed the culprit? Well... unless there was a third party who happened to sneak by and discover the body of Arei without Eden noticing (which seems impossibly unlikely), then we're left with only one option.

The murder of Arei Nageishi did NOT happen in the morning of DAY 4. It happened at a different time.

HUUUUH?!?!? Then how do you explain the body swinging during the BDA?!

Easy! Someone (eitheir the culprit or anyone else) visited the crime scene and messed with the body somehow, which resulted in the body swinging.

WHAT IN THE FU- YOU'RE OUT OF YOUR MIND!!!

Eh, I guess I am. :D

But hey, just like before, most of it is explained in part 5 and part 6 of my theory posts. I have logical reasoning behind it, I swear! Moving on!

The wording of the note is simply too weird for it to make sense that it was Eden writing it

I've got to admit, the wording behind this note is very strange indeed. It makes me wonder if that was just simply Eden trying way too hard at making a fake note to make it seems like it was someone else who wrote it.

Not the best explanation, but an explanation nonetheless.

There is one thing I will definitly agree with you on that matter though.

Why would Eden do this, why couldn't she have just asked Arei to meet her at the playground ? I mean since they were friends now, why would she need lie so much to get Arei's attention ?

I agree with you on that matter because I believe that Eden did not lure Arei with a letter. She simply lured her by calling out Arei's name, since she's friends with her now.

Then what about the letter? What was the whole point of it?

Well, let's not forget about my previous counterpoint because according to my deductions, Eden must've killed Arei at a different time than the morning of DAY 4.

So since she was killed at an earlier time than the morning of DAY 4, then perhaps the note served a different purpose. It was eitheir something meant as a backup plan or the culprit needed it to tell a specific narrative that would make her seem the least suspicious in that trial.

The narrative part would definitly make sense since that's what led to Arturo's secret reveal and Eden telling her side of the story which would temporarily give suspicious towards Arturo while Eden would get away scot free!

I'm not gonna go into details there, but what matters is that I found a way to solve this problem of yours.

She would have no knowledge and reason to replicate the murder method used against Ace

She couldn't have gotten the Turpentine that was probably used to knock out Arei

...As you may have noticed, I stuck both of these points together. And no, that's not an editor's mistake on my end. I purposefully put these two points together because both of these issue can be answered with a single answer.

Once again, we need to go under the assumption that Eden is indeed the culprit. So how do we solve the issue of Eden not knowing how the mechanism of the murder attempt on Ace worked and how could she get her hands on the turpentine if someone else did it.

Well, both of these points have something in common : they are supposedly done by someone else. So how do we make the impossible possible?

Well, we simply need to turn the side of the chessboard! Here's my idea!

Eden is the person responsible for the attempted murder of Ace as well as being responsible for the murder of Arei.

That's ridiculous!

No, that's wrong! It's logical deduction! By making her responsible for the attempted murder of Ace, it easily explains how Eden was able to use the turpentine to knock out Arei as well. It also explains how she was able to pull off a murder somewhat similar to the attempted murder.

Also, I don't mean to be a broken record, but she's the most likely candidate for taking the roll of tape before Teruko's distracted eyes.

This is my solution to this whole murder case!

Of course, if some of you are unaware of my theory, it will seem incredibly overwhelming and confusing. But trust me, I'm not doing this only because I'm trying to make something as crazy as possible. I'm doing this because this was the most logical conclusion I arrived at when looking at every bits of information available with this murder case.

In case you missed it again. Here's part 5 and part 6 of my theory.

You had previous versions?

Hah! Don't worry about them. Those are practically outdated versions! :)

Thanks for reading!

The issues of Eden being the culprit

Look, just ignore the fact that I conceaded the fact that Eden being the culprit made sense not a long while ago (and that I also made a post about it). In all honesty the only reason why I accepted the theory was mainly because at the time, Eden was the one who had the most evidence stacked against her + the idea of her doing this with an accompliced solved most of the issues I had.

Now however with any thoughts of accomplices throughouly gutted mainly because I really just don't think Whit is involved in the murder anymore (even if he's overwhelmingly suspicious for no fucking reason). The idea of Levi helping has also pretty much gone out of the window now, so that would mean Eden couldn't rlly have gotten the help of anybody (and I don't want to entertain ideas that Arei might have allowed Eden to do it cause it makes no sense with Arei's characterization).

With all of that, now multiple holes that I've been willing to ignore kinda seem obvious with how the case is taking shape. So I'm gonna list all the reasons why I think that, right now, Eden being the culprit seems kind of unlikely.

-She would have no knowledge and reason to replicate the murder method used against Ace

Teruko has made it obvious now that the murder of Ace and Arei are connected in their method. Meaning there has to be a link between those two murder and who commited them. However, how would Eden have known exactly how the murder of Ace was commited, the murder mechanism was undone when Teruko and Eden both walked in. Even if you use the argument that "well Teruko noticed so maybe Eden did !" that would still leave the question as to why Eden would even try and commit a murder that's similar to the way Ace was almost murdered.

-She doesn't have the ability to get the water required for the murder

This one is the most obvious, unless she has someone who helped her, Eden couldn't have gotten the water. This was fine when Eden could potentially have someon working with her however with Arei's revealed talk with David alongside Levi's behavior last episode, I heavily doubt any of them helped Eden. Meaning Eden couldn't have gotten the water.

-The murderer would have no reason to try and circumvant the BDA rule

This one is something I don't hear a lot of people talk about but it's really important. We know that anyone who has witnessed the murder happen does not count for the BDA announcement. Meaning that unless Whit or Eden circumvented that rule, they are ruled innocent by default.

Obviously the wording is vague enough that you could argue the culprit tried to avoid that rule from applying but why ? We already from a lot of signs that the murder was sloppy and almost done last minute, why would the murderer think of such a niche rule. I'd argue this argument of trying to avoid the BDA rule would only work if another culprit was caught because someone was declared innocent by that rule.

-The wording of the note is simply too weird for it to make sense that it was Eden writing it

This is probably the least convincing argument but I still wanted to put this out there.

I understood at first the idea that Eden wrote the note and then just pretended that it wasn't really her handwriting, however isn't it weird how strange the note is worded (ignoring the mispelling).

Why would Eden do this, why couldn't she have just asked Arei to meet her at the playground ? I mean since they were friends now, why would she need lie so much to get Arei's attention ?

Eden could've lied about being threatened but I'd argue it definitely wouldn't be written out like this.

Unless if the culprit isn't Eden and therefore wanted to make 100 pourcent they get Arei's attention by putting everything they overheard into the note. Considering how sloppily the note seems to be written it also would make sense it just sounds like a rehearsed version of what the culprit overheard.

-She couldn't have gotten the Turpentine that was probably used to knock out Arei

This one is the most damning, we know for a fact Arei had to have been knocked out. The floor of the playground is extremely prone to scrapes and marks that any type of resistance would've been made obvious. Obviously I don't think Arei did this willingly because otherwise she wouldn't have had her wrist bound by tape (and also it just makes 0 sense with her character) so this means she had to have been knocked unconcious.

However, Eden had no way to get the turpentine, the attempted murderer of Ace was the one who had it and unless somone wants to try and make the argument that Eden tried to kill Ace, this means that Eden couldn't have gotten a hold of it.

[kvothes]

coffee shop is nearly empty due to snow and they are killing the playlist today. i’ve heard sufjan stevens twice. right now it’s white winter hymnal by fleet foxes. perfect for a wintery day

[theheadlessgroom]

@beatingheart-bride

Susannah suppressed a chuckle through her mug at the mention of the dreaded citrus and mint combination-another mistake she made in her youth that she had never forgotten, and for good reason! Still, it was nice to know she and Philippe were in a similar boat in that regard, these little mishaps with less-than-pleasant flavor combinations...

The chime of the clock brought her out of her reverie, and so she was quick to drain her mug. As lovely as a cup of freshly brewed coffee was, it did not a dinner make, and so she rose to join him, her newly-caffeinated stomach now alive with butterflies as she shyly linked arms with him, looking like any other couple one would find on the street.

Where will we go for dinner? she wondered to herself, as they exited the cafe and headed back out onto the street, to get a further lay of the land. Obviously, both of them were plenty familiar with Southern comfort food and good ol' Creole cuisine, and of course, he was as familiar with French fare as she was with Irish, but she wondered...would they go with what they knew, or would they shake it up? She supposed, since they were on vacation, it wouldn't hurt to be daring and try something new...

"Anything in mind?" she asked him curiously as they walked along together-perhaps, in his planning for this vacation, he found an excellent restaurant he was excited to try with her!

[buttercuparry]

I am sorry to come across your dash over and over again, but I cannot stop now, not when my friend Siraj is ONCE AGAIN  facing a stagnating campaign. 

He has raised  only $226 CAD in the past 12 hours, which is a considerable drop from the last few days!

Siraj ( @siraj2024 ) cannot afford to slow down, and he cannot afford to come online whenever he wants to and request your help. You have to understand that with the bombing and destruction of every infrastructure of communications in Gaza Strip, be it cell towers or internet cables, it is a struggle for him to share even his daily updates. 

As early as October 27 2023, this collapse of connectivity was confirmed by NetBlocks and Paltel services posted the following message on their Facebook page, “ We regret to announce a complete interruption of all communications and internet services within the Gaza Strip"

So every piece of news, every update made now comes with the cost of a journey fraught with danger!!!

Siraj struggles daily to reach a cafeteria on the sea shore, where he can access a  hotspot connection in exchange for an exorbitant amount of money.  However as a journalist, he refuses to compromise with telling the truth– this means undertaking this taxing 3 km journey  under a blazing afternoon sun. On top of the constant migraines it gives him,  he has to contend with the constant threat that hangs over his life the entire journey due to incessant bombing.

The prices do not help him either. There is transportation costs, there is Internet cost. So whenever you see Siraj post, whenever you see him in your dms, know that Siraj is burning away what little money he has on him, to get the world to hear him.

And all of this just adds onto my horror and shame of what happened on tumblr in the last few days. The more I learn, the more I know, I am sickened to think of how some bloggers, sitting in their comfortable homes, can so easily dismiss the struggle it takes Gazans to reach out to us and have the audacity to call them scammers.

Siraj remains  undaunted by all this abuse. He has a message for all instead:

“ This primitive life will not defeat us. We will not stop conveying our message via the Internet. We will not forget anything of who we were. We will not be you and you will not be us no matter how long the darkness lasts."

So please, do not turn away from this wonderful man. Do not turn away from this brave man. 

Help him rebuild his home. Help him get to 30k within the next week!!

 This is a big step forward from the indignity he has been forced into.

Boost and donate! He is on Hussein and Nabulsi’s list at no 219 so please dont hesitate. 

[xvysarene]

𝔽𝕒𝕥𝕒𝕝 𝔸𝕥𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟

Pairing: Sylus x Fem!Reader Prompt: “Why do you always have to get under my skin?” Words: ~2k Genre: Suggestive Notice: Mentions of wound, profanities

[ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST]

Halting at the top of the stairs leading to your flat, your hands tightened around the pocket knife you had begun to carry.

Your eyes scanned the swaying tree nearby, certain that you had caught sight of that damn crow once again.

Since waking up on the white sheets of the hospital two weeks ago, after being rescued from a kidnapping by a certain someone who seemed to vanish into thin air (again), you often caught the mechanical black bird at the corner of your eye.

Locking the front door behind you with a click, the familiar surroundings of your home offered a brief moment of comfort.

Until your eyes landed upon the man sitting on your couch. He sat there as if he belonged.

“To what do I owe this displeasure?” You sighed, not even questioning how he got in, though your door was accessible only with your fingerprint.

A small smirk played at the corner of Sylus’s lips. “It’s good to see your feistiness returning.”

“If you saved me and paid my hospital bills in hopes to gather more information, you’ll be disappointed. I have none.”

One eyebrow, a shade darker than his hair, arched at the unexpected accusation. “Is it so hard to believe that was purely my good intention?”

“I became a puppet in whatever beef you had with my kidnappers. It would be stupid of me to assume that you’d do a goodwill for someone you claim not to care about,” you said bitterly, the memory of the event happening a couple of weeks ago flooding back vividly.

“The great man Sylus can’t take it when someone touches his whore. We were just about to have fun, weren't we, darling?”

Sylus remained unfazed by your capturer’s mockery. One of the lifeless goons was still dangling from his grip, and he casually chucked it to the ground as though it weighed nothing.

If you hadn’t been watching his eyes closely that day, you would have missed the quick flick of his gaze taking the blossoming bruise on your cheek, the half-ripped blouse, and the cold blade pressed against your neck, biting into the tender skin.

“I don’t care about her,” he drawled. 

And not once did his eyes lock with yours. It was stupid to feel hurt by his indifference. You wouldn’t be there in the first place if it weren't for this heartless prick.

Yet his words stung deeply.

The feeling of the wooden door flushed against your back grounded you to the present, trapping you in as he silently closed the distance.

Struggling to remain undaunted, you continued, “You completely ignored me after manipulating me to gain information on the hunters who had begun meddling in your business—”

“I ignored you so those hunters wouldn’t trace you back to me,” he cut you off.

It took a few seconds to let his words sink in. “What?” You gaped.

“Your kidnappers were among the hunters you mentioned to me. They were not UNICORNS’, they were rogue hunters whose leader I killed. That’s why they were after me.”

He ran a hand through his face. “When I realised how unknowingly deep you were in this mess, I had to divert their attention away from you.”

His towering height prompted you to tilt your head upward. The ghost of his fingertips tracing from your cheek, down to the side of your neck, caused you to flinch in surprise.

“What do you think those lowlifes would do if I show even an ounce of care towards you?”

While the bruises had subsided, the scar from where the blade had grazed you remained.

A muscle ticked in his jaw seeing the jagged line. “You weren’t supposed to be involved at all.”

“A bit too late now isn’t it?”

His eyes darkened, an ember of fury passing through them. “I ensured they suffered tenfold for what they did to you, and only then did I end them.”

The sound of breaking bones and desperate noises from that day rang in your head. It was a blessing in disguise that your eyes screwed instinctively as the captor callously tossed you aside.

You didn’t even want to witness the horrors Sylus had done to them.

Your silence drew his eyes down to the pocket knife still clutched in your hand, now looking so harmless. Wouldn’t it be nice to be born with the Evol gene? Maybe then you could’ve protected yourself better.

“Are you still planning to stab me with that?”

“Depends.” Your chin lifted defiantly.

A glint of amusement danced in his eyes as he chuckled lowly, sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

You hated your body for reacting that way. It was infuriating how effortlessly he could affect you.

“Why are you here then? What more do you want from me?”

“You,” he said without a heartbeat’s pause, “I want you.”

It felt as if the air had been stolen from your lungs, leaving you breathless.

Sylus was a big, red warning sign. Much like his eyes. And yet, when he locked you in that magnetic gaze, your brain short-circuited.

He’s got you spellbound ever since you first met him at The Nest, acting like a gentleman by saving you from the overly handsy drunk patrons, before worming his way into your life with calculated charm.

Every colleague had warned you about him, yet you still chose to dance with danger.

“You think you can just walk in here and take whatever you want?”

A slow smile curved the corner of his lips, leaving you torn between wanting to slap it off his face or kiss it away.

Maybe both.

“I can try, right?” His confidence was maddening, and yet, it drew you in like a moth to a flame.

Your mind screamed to push him away, to run, but your body betrayed you, entranced by the undeniable tension that always seemed to exude whenever the two of you were near each other.

“Why do you always have to get under my skin?” you were too breathless, too vulnerable for your liking.

He dipped his head closer, his voice a low, intimate murmur by your ear, “Figuratively or literally?”

The feel of his rough, masculine fingers at the nape of your neck sent your heart racing. 

Haunting reminders of them tightening around your throat, the pressure mirroring his relentless thrusts, would forever be burned in the back of your mind.

Oh, and how could you forget how those fingers always managed to find your sensitive spots, teasing and exploring with an expertise that was both exhilarating and overwhelming?

His hands knew your body as if it were an instrument crafted just for him, every caress producing a harmony of sensations that only he knew how to play.

As he repeated his question, daring you to answer him, you punched his firm chest. “Don't fucking play games with me, Sylus.”

“Who said I'm playing?” His other hand enclosed over your pocket knife, tossing it somewhere behind him. The clattering sound should’ve cleared your head, yet it didn’t. “I know what I’ve always wanted. You don’t know how hard it is to ignore you and not send every guy who eye-fucks you six feet under whenever I visit the bar.”

Underneath the surface of physical attraction and fleeting desires, there was always a complex connection between the two of you that couldn't be easily dismissed.

Those eyes, a deep, passionate red, always glowed with intensity when they fixed upon you, as if nothing else in this world could divert his attention.

As if he wanted to make you his, to protect and treasure with every fibre of his being.

“You're impossible,” you whispered, though it lacked conviction.

With a slight lift of one eyebrow, he asked you a question. So, what's it going to be?

He was a confident man. Direct. In no rush.

You should've felt ashamed when your hands moved of their own accord and tugged at his lapel roughly, but you couldn't care less when your lips met his with equal passion.

The familiar, distinct notes of leather melding with cedarwood enfolded you. As his big palms rested on your bottom, lifting you to ease the strain on your neck, your legs naturally encircled his taut form.

Feeling his thick arousal pressing firmly against your clothed, damp core was an exquisite torture, ripping a deep moan out of you.

Sylus devoured the sound like a starved man finally savouring a long-awaited meal.

His long legs carried you swiftly to the bedroom in less than ten strides, lowering your body onto the mattress with a surprising gentleness, though his lips revealed a contrasting intensity.

Exploring. Consuming. Desiring.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as he drew a map of sloppy kisses along the curve of your neck.

Until he stopped short at the spot where you knew the slightly raised scar from the blade was.

“I am sorry, I should’ve kept you close.”

The crack of emotion seeping from his voice startled you, forcing your eyes open to meet his crimson orbs already focusing on you.

A vulnerability he hardly revealed to the world softened the stern lines of his face. Swirls of yearning and fury were a turbulent mix in his pupils.

“I won’t let anyone else hurt you again.”

How could this man be so full of contradictions?

He was rough and tender.

Brutal and compassionate.

“Just because I don’t possess any Evol, doesn’t mean that I’m fragile.” 

The caress of your palm cradling his cheek prompted his eyes to drift shut. His lips grazed your wrist, where the skin, once raw and marred red from being bound, had now healed up nicely.

“But if you get hurt because of me, then I will never be able to forgive myself, amore.”

If hearing the familiar pet name tumbling out of his lips didn’t turn you into mush, the sensation of his big palm sliding beneath your shirt certainly would.

His warm and protective touch on your bare flesh sent tingles racing along your skin.

“Come stay with me.”

You weren’t even able to let out a gasp of surprise as Sylus discarded your clothes at such an admirable speed.

“For the night? In the N109 zone?” your voice was embarrassingly high-pitched as his silver hair tickled your sensitive skin. Each kiss trailed lower down your chest like gentle raindrops.

“Do you really think I would let you go after tonight?” A small bite was the punishment you received for asking such a ridiculous question. “Everyone knows how important you are to me by now, and I'm not taking any chances with your security. Everywhere, anywhere—I don’t care, as long as I can keep you safe.”

One of his strong thighs settled in between your legs. The fabric of his pants felt so amazing against your throbbing centre, heightening your desire with each agonisingly slow friction.

It was not fair how he had you under his mercy while asking such a serious question. Perhaps this was his cunning way of ensuring you would say yes.

And you were a lost cause, head bobbing up and down the slightest as you surrendered to his control.

“I need your words, amore.”

His hair was dishevelled, sharp features were accentuated by the city lights as he leaned closer to your face again. Ever so subtle, he pressed his thigh more unforgivingly into your core, driving you crazy.

Red eyes twinkled with mischief as Sylus enjoyed watching you squirm underneath him, delighting in the unfiltered lust flushing your face with each teasing contact.

Ever the insufferable tease, he slid his hand underneath your pants, fingers millimetres away from where you needed him the most.

“Yes, I’ll stay with you! God, you’re the worst,” you almost screamed in frustration as your hips bucked. Gasping, you felt those wicked fingers finally descend lower. “Now, talk less and do more.”

A deep hum of satisfaction rumbled from his chest as you felt his grin on your lips, complying with your request. 

“I am no God, but I’ll make sure you chant my name.”

He would damn well make sure that you two would be christening every corner of his living space—now yours—starting from the sleek granite kitchen countertops, to the plush rug in the living room, all the way to the balcony beneath the moonlit sky.

⤷ ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Heya! I love your "half a bed" fic!!

You said to drop any "only one bed"-trope ideas in your inbox so I'm hoping I did this correctly? But I'm thinking for Asterion x Tav that since Cazador controlled Star so much, he doesn't really own anything for himself? And maybe Tav notices and because the others are already asleep, she offers for him to share her bedroll? He's snarky and rude and she's unimpressed but it's the start of a mutual very strong infatuation and eventually relationship?

Heyo sorry it took so long!! Had some trouble overcoming the writer's block for this but hey I did it in the end! Hope you like it!

"I don't recall giving you my bedroll." You raise an eyebrow at the pale elf who has taken to using your bedroll every night ever since you first offered to share it with him.

He yawns, flashing his fangs at you before grinning, "we're sharing it, are we not? That means I have every right to lie on it."

"It doesn't mean you can take up the whole thing! Where am I going to sleep?" You attempt to shove him to one side but he refuses to budge an inch. "Move!"

"Nope." He pops the 'p' on purpose, knowing it will irritate you. You scowl and shove harder, half ruing the night you offered to share your bedroll. He laughs at your futile attempts, a genuine smile playing on his lips until you give up and flop onto him, causing him to yelp in surprise. You glower when he complains about you being too heavy, giving his side an annoyed poke but you can't really bring yourself to be mad at him even if he just stole your sleeping spot.

Then again, you always had a soft spot for the vampire spawn.

The first time he shared your bedroll was early on in your adventures. Everyone else had gone to sleep but he had remained outside, seated by the dwindling fire with the excuse that he wasn't tired yet. You'd woken up in the middle of the night to relieve yourself, noticing that even though the fire was long gone, he remained outside his tent.

"Still not tired?" You ask, slightly concerned.

"No." He answers curtly, leaving no room for further questions. You sit next to him, much to his chagrin and he shifts away ever so slightly. You notice it, of course, but choose not to comment on it.

"You should still try and trance, you'll need your strength for tomorrow," you hum, looking up at the night sky. The stars are bright tonight, shining in stark contrast to the dark sky.

"Shouldn't you take your own advice?" He snorts.

"Well, I'm not the one who has been out here the whole time," you retort, suppressing a yawn. He notices, however, the twitch of the corners of your lips and rolls his eyes.

"Go and sleep, idiot. Can't have our dear leader collapsing midway because they didn't get enough rest can we now?"

"Is that concern I hear?" You smirk.

"No." He scowls, sending a glare your way. You give him a look of disbelief, which then morphs into amusement and you grin.

"You're terrible at hiding it you know?" You huff, giving an amused shake of your head.

"Hiding what?"

"Your concern for my well-being."

"What concern?"

"That concern." You fold your arms across your chest, undeterred.

"Tch, stop bothering me and go back to sleep." He snaps, looking away. You, however, remain undaunted by his attitude.

"Is there a reason you can't trance?"

"Stop it and go back to sleep."

"There has to be a reason. Nightmares perhaps?"

"Shut up and stop asking so many questions."

"I'm trying to help you here."

"Then stop trying to help me. I don't need it."

"You don't want it, you mean."

"Yes, finally, you get it. Now leave."

"No." Your response surprises him.

"No?" He asks incredulously. "What do you mean no?"

"I'm not going to leave you to deal with your problems alone. We may not be friends yet, but we are companions. If you're stuck dealing with your own problems, you're not going to be able to fully contribute to the party and that's an issue. So we're going to solve it together, with me helping in whatever way I can and you doing the rest." You put your hands on your hips, daring him to talk back.

"And what if you can't do anything to help solve 'my problems'?" He sneers.

"Then I'll accept it and rely on you less so you can sort your own issues out first." His eyes widen slightly and you can see the panic that flashes across his face. Your heart aches upon seeing his reaction but you steel yourself, reminding yourself that it is for the greater good of the party.

"I —" He pauses, looking down. He sighs, looking back up at you reluctantly, all the fight having left his body. "I don't exactly have a bed roll to sleep in, you see. Cazador never allowed any of his spawn to have any personal belongings, everything belonged to him and he 'loaned it to us out of the kindness of his heart'. Trancing on hard ground is…difficult."

"We can share my bed roll if you're comfortable. Each of us can take a half, it should be big enough for us both."

He blinks, surprised. "Are you…sure? We…" He swallows hard.

"We've slept together before, don't tell me you're squeamish about sharing a bed roll." You raise an eyebrow.

"I'm not. It's just that…"

"Don't worry. I'm not some horny bastard who can't go a night without lying with someone. We can have our own side of the bed roll, no physical contact required." He still looks uncertain, and you sigh. You can't exactly fault him, he's dropped enough hints about certain aspects of his past and you're not going to tear open any of those wounds.

He laughs, the sound ringing hollow. "Are you sure about that, darling? It would suit my taste better if you were~"

It's your turn to roll your eyes. "Yeah, right. Anyways, are you going to take me up on my offer or not?"

"I'll take you up on it if you don't mind, darling." His usual smirk replaces the quiet sad look on his face.

"Well, come on then. We don't have much time left."

You can't help but smile upon remembering that night. He'd come so far since that night, the two of you had grown more comfortable with each other, and even after you had bought a bed roll for him, he still preferred sneaking into your tent to steal half your bed roll.

"What are you smiling about?" He pokes your cheek with a huff.

"Nothing." You grin. He rolls his eyes in response, running a hand through your hair. You bury your face in his chest, letting the gentle feeling wash over you. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, loving the way you sprawl on top of him without a care in the world. He's a vampire, for goodness sake, and yet you bare your neck to his fangs like that, not the least bit worried he take advantage of the situation and drain you.

"Hmph." He wraps his arms around you, nuzzling into your hair. As much as he complains about it, your weight is comforting. It reminds him that he isn't alone anymore, that he has you to turn to when he needs someone to lean on, and that you have him to lean on in return.

"Good night, Star." You yawn cutely, stretching your limbs.

"Good night, love." He murmurs back, pressing one last kiss to your head before he drifts off into a trance. You watch him for a while, smiling softly at the way he slowly relaxes as the trance takes hold, worries forgotten for the night.

Wrapped in the cocoon of your vampire lover, you too drift off and let sleep claim you, knowing that when you wake, he will be the first thing you see just as he's always the last thing you see before you sleep.

[yuesya]

Kamado Tanjiro gasps, barely able to stop himself from pitching forward and toppling face-first into the cold, hard ground.

“Stand down. This is an order!”

Those had been the words that Rengoku-san had spoken to them. To Tanjiro in particular, due to the heavy injuries that he’d suffered while fighting the demon who’d fused himself with the train just earlier.

Lower Moon One. A powerful demon, as one of the Demon Lord’s named Moons–

“If you reopen your injuries again, then it will be fatal! Do not move, Kamado Tanjiro!”

… But now, Rengoku-san was fighting Upper Moon Three, all on his own. An Upper Moon, the third-ranked strongest out of all the demons that Kibutsuji Muzan had created with his own blood. And Rengoku-san was fighting it with all his strength.

…

The demon had appeared out of nowhere. Had nearly killed Tanjiro in the blink of an eye –but Rengoku-san had intervened, and saved his life. He’d ordered Tanjiro and Inosuke to stand down and stay out of the fight.

Even without life-threatening injuries… just watching the battle, Tanjiro knows that neither one of them would’ve been able to help Rengoku-san.

Rengoku-san was fighting the Upper Moon on his own.

Harsh clanging rings out through the clearing; the demon meets each swing of Rengoku-san’s sword with his own fists. Joyous laughter echoes and resounds in the air –Won’t you become a demon and immortalize such transcendent martial prowess for all eternity, Kyojuro?– as the demon unflinchingly presses forward with his vicious onslaught.

But whereas the demon’s regenerative abilities ensure that any injuries inflicted upon him are healed within the blink of an eye, humans possess no such regenerative capabilities.

And even though Rengoku-san is the Flame Pillar, is leagues and bounds more powerful than any rank and file swordsman of the Demon Slayer Corps… he is human.

And humans are fragile. When they are injured, they do not regenerate as demons do.

Rengoku-san is strong, is meeting Upper Moon Three blow for blow, but–

Every injury that is incurred takes a toll from him. Every cut, every graze; every laceration, every–

There is a sickening crunch when one of Upper Moon Three’s punches catches Rengoku-san in the side, and Tanjiro can’t help the involuntary cry that falls from his throat when the Flame Pillar spits out a mouthful of blood onto the demon’s face.

But even so, Rengoku-san does not waver.

Does not falter, and simply tightens his grip on the hilt of his sword as he lets out a fierce roar and goes in for another blow.

Please, Rengoku-san–!

Blood drips onto the ground, blooming into a dark puddle beneath his feet, but Rengoku-san remains undaunted. Readies his blade, and strikes–

“Ninth Form: Rengoku!”

Dust fills the air, cast up by the sheer force of the attack as demon slayer and demon clash together once more. Tanjiro blinks rapidly as he peers through the fog, desperately hoping that Rengoku-san will–

…?

… What?

Tanjiro blinks, disconcerted by the sight that slowly swims into view through the slowly-clearing dust in the air.

There is a girl, there.

Except Tanjiro swears that there hadn’t been anyone else around in the nearby vicinity at all –aside from the train passengers, all of whom were well away from the site of battle– and yet, it’s undeniable that there’s a girl standing here! Long white hair, pale skin, and dressed in a dark kimono that doesn’t look anything like a Demon Slayer Corps uniform.

And yet, she’s standing between Rengoku-san and Upper Moon Three, evidently unbothered and completely at ease. The demon has even retreated a slight distance away from Rengoku-san, who’s currently collapsed on the ground, coughing blood.

Relief wars with confusion in Tanjiro’s mind. What was going on–?

“Move aside,” the demon finally says, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t kill women.”

The girl nods easily, “Then die.”

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

You're Pushing Me Sideways, but You Won't Let Go

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader (Vampire!Daryl)

Setting: Saviors Era

Warnings: Blood; Injury; Biting to feed; Suggestive dialogue

Summary: You rescued Daryl, once and then twice.

A/N: Just a quick little thing to satisfy this vampire Daryl obsession that I have.

You knew breaking him out of the sanctuary would be dangerous. It was a suicide mission. You knew you wouldn’t come out unscathed. You were blinded by your rage, your determination to pull Daryl to safety. Once you saw him, you had not a single doubt that you had made the right choice. They had tortured him with the sun, no animals on which to feed. He was burnt, the right side of his face blistered and raw. He couldn’t heal. He was weak, barely able to run fast enough to ensure the escape you had planned so carefully.

It was that hindrance that left you with a through and through bullet wound to your thigh. The femoral artery had been hit. With a makeshift tourniquet, you had been able to get him out, covered in a blanket to shield him from the dangerous rays that would kill him slowly, drain him of vitality until he was nothing. 

Now, in the cover of the forest, he lay starving while you lay dying. There was really only one resolution and you knew he wouldn’t like it.

“Take my blood.” Your voice scraped against your vocal chords, mouth desert dry. Somehow summoning the energy, you looked up at him. He sat beside you with your head on his shoulder. His jaw was set, but the pain in his eyes remained unhidden.

“No.”

“Daryl, I’m dying.” You could feel it. You were cold, tired, the wound no longer hurting. Your blood seeped out, soaking your jeans. The tourniquet wasn’t enough against an entry and exit wound. “I can still save you.” You knew he could smell it, his heightened senses reacting unbidden. He was fighting the hunger. He always had, especially when it came to you. He would tell you how sweet your blood smelled while he moved inside you. How just a taste would never be enough. He turned to carnal pleasures to overshadow the desire to feed from you.

“I ain’t bitin’ ya.” He sounded desperately determined, still gazing straight ahead. His breathing was bordering erratic, chest heaving. “I’d kill ya. I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t be able to stop.”

“Then don’t. Take what you need, I’m dying anyway.” You stated nonchalantly. You didn’t need long to come to terms with it. Everyday was a battle to survive. You’d been lucky to make it as long as you had. Now, it was all about saving Daryl. The community couldn’t lose him, and you couldn’t die knowing he would follow. “Please.”

“Said I ain’t doin’ it!” As much as he tried to sound undaunted, his voice cracked. 

“Please, Daryl.” Your vision was graying at the edges. “Let me do this for you.” You felt him shift, his movements stiff but deliberate until he was in front of you, irises an intense red instead of the mountain lake blue. You loved both of them, both sides of him, but you knew what this meant and you hoped against hope that he would follow through. He was grappling for control, on the edge of giving in to your request.

“Can’t lose ya. Won’t.” He ducked his head, intending on avoiding the plea in your eyes, forgetting the bloody mess of your leg. When he snapped his gaze back to your face, his pupils were dilated, he was panting harshly through his mouth with the tips of his fangs visible behind his lips. “I’ll do it, but Y/N—” You shivered, the cold fingers of death scrabbling for a permanent grip on your consciousness. “I ain’t losin’ ya.”

He dove forward, pulling on your shoulders to meet him halfway. You always wondered what it would feel like to have him bite you. It wasn’t as painful as you thought it’d be, but you were pounding on death’s door, your skin cold and on the edge of numb. There was a pull when he drew out the first mouthful, a groan vibrating against your neck. He jerked you closer for a better hold and it actually hurt, but you could feel his strength returning, eager to see his face without the burns, without the pinched lines of pain and hunger. Realistically, you wouldn’t. You knew that. You’d be dead by the time he stopped.

Your heart that had been pounding a tattoo against your ribs was now a gentle cadence, a rhythm that held its melody even as it slowed. He jerked you again with a growl that rattled you to your core. It was enough to know that because of you, he would survive. 

“I—I love you.” And with that, your reserves were spent. You surrendered to the pull of nothingness, ready to exist in the darkness, but Daryl would live.

Then you were cold, chilled to the bone. 

You had always read in the books that vampires were much like walkers in the sense that they held no body heat, there was no heartbeat, but also no reflections in the mirror, they would burst into flames or glitter in the sun. None of that was true. Daryl was a human space heater and you could tell the moment he pulled away from you. 

He didn’t drain you. Why? DId he not realize that you were still alive? Were his senses so scrambled that he couldn’t hear your heart still beating? It really didn’t matter. You were dead anyway. He had only unintentionally prolonged the process. 

“Told ya that I ain’t losin’ ya.” His face was suddenly hovering over you, the moonlight carving out his silhouette like a painting. He was beautiful. He was healing. He was—biting his wrist? You were pretty sure that meant something but your brain was shutting down, making coherency impossible. As the urge to close your eyes grew too intense for you to fight any longer, you let them slip shut, the last image being the glow of red morphing into a bright blue that you prayed would surround you in death.

“Daryl.” You breathed. 

And then there was nothing.

With a deep inhale, you shot upright, the moonlight bright and the sounds around you amplified. You felt your heart begin to race, your breathing a panicked cycle of inhales and exhales. You could smell everything, hear everything. The hole in your leg was gone. When you bit your lip, the sharp tip of an elongated canine broke the skin. Overwhelmed, you sought out your peace, the one thing—the one person— that could tether you to reality, ground you. Daryl was sitting across from you, a fire burning between you.

He smiled, fangs still stained with your blood—and his own.

“Told ya that I wasn’t losin’ ya.” You blinked at him for a moment before you couldn’t help but smile back. “An’ I meant it.”

[hd-junglebook]

"Hey Sugar"

-said with rizz

Luke Hughes x F!Reader, Trevor Zegras x Reader (platonic)

Masterlist Link

a:n Now we're delving into some of the drama. I have so much planned for Luke, so I hope everyone's excited. I will be posting a little 'announcement' later today to see what work you want from me next.

Warnings: throuple jumpscare, flirting, maybe cursing, suggestive flirting, nausea/vomiting, arguing

Summary: Luke's brother Jack arrives with friends, and a misunderstanding about you and Luke being engaged unsettles you. You long for Luke to clarify the situation, but he doesn't. When Luke suggests slipping away together for a bit, you're torn between giving in to your desire for him or protecting your peace.

Word Count - 3774

Part 3

Two agonizing days had passed since the disastrous dinner, and the volatility raging through your system showed no signs of abating. If anything, the jarring mood swings and bouts of nausea seemed to intensify with each lurching hour.

One moment, you'd be curled in a tight, miserable ball on Luke's rumpled sheets - stomach cramping viciously as you fought back waves of queasiness. The next, an irrational spike of anger would crest within you, bitter resentments and grievances spilling forth in a blistering torrent aimed at anyone within blast radius.

Poor Luke had borne the brunt of your mercurial temper more than once over the past couple days. You still cringed inwardly at the snippets of venom that replayed through your mind...the unfair accusations and white-hot outbursts detonated at even his mildest gestures of concern.

Yet, despite the vitriolic lashings, the man remained a stalwart presence at your side - steadfast and seemingly undaunted in the face of your hormonal cyclone. As if determined to simply weather the tumult until it passed, Luke took each scorching barb with stoic poise before eventually gathering you into the protective circle of his powerful arms.

It was there, cocooned in his solid warmth with his soothing baritone rumbling through your quaking frame, that you found fleeting moments of reprieve from the flames. Until, inevitably, the fires would rage anew - sparking from some unknowable origin deep within you.

This morning appeared to be no exception as the first fingers of dawn spilled buttery light across Luke's titanium sheets. You squinted against the pale glow filtering through the parted blinds, feeling that telltale cramp already blossoming in your lower belly. A low moan slipped unbidden past your lips as you instinctively curled into a tighter ball, dreading the hell to come.

In the periphery of your vision, Luke's massive frame shifted almost imperceptibly - the steady rise and fall of his sculpted torso indicating he still clung to the final wisps of slumber. A rueful smile tugged at your lips as you watched the slight furrow materializing between his brows, no doubt registering your fitful stirrings on a subconscious level.

Sure enough, those ridiculously thick lashes began to flutter in the next breath.

You tensed in anticipation as Luke's searing browns slowly blinked into awareness, searching your side of the bed with instinctual concern. When his hooded gaze finally landed on your hunched form, his features contorted into an achingly tender look of understanding.

"Hey..." The graveled endearment was little more than a whisper as Luke shifted onto his side to fully face you. "Another rough one, huh?"

You could only nod tightly, jaw clenched against the impending cramp as you focused on his beloved face. Luke regarded you with those piercing brown pools for a weighty moment, seeming to assess if reassurances or remonstrations would be required for this particular flare-up. When your expression remained pinched with stoic endurance, he simply sighed and extended one arm in mute invitation.

The profound relief that blossomed in your chest was instantaneous and overwhelming. Without a second thought, you surged into the solid warmth of Luke's bare torso - shamelessly seeking the grounding familiarity of his scorching skin against yours.

He didn't hesitate to accommodate, muscles flexing fluidly as he secured you against the powerful cage of his chest. You sagged gratefully into the protective cradle of his unyielding frame, drawing solace from the reassuring lub-dub of Luke's heart reverberating against your cheek.

Potent arms like towers of steel encircled you, one corded forearm cushioning the tender dip of your waist while the other smoothed over the rigid line of your shoulders in broad sweeps.

As always, Luke lent his steadfast strength without reservation or expectation - merely offering the uncompromising bastion of his body to weather your internal squalls.

You focused on the smoldering brand of his touch, allowing the cadence of Luke's respiration and the exquisite familiarity of his clean, male musk to sweep you under like a balmy riptide.

There would be time later for confusion, for interrogation over these distressing symptoms plaguing both body and spirit. For now, surrendering to the sanctuary of this man's healing embrace was the only sensible form of self-preservation.

…

Two hours had passed, and you felt it was time to get up. You walked around the room, gathering your clothes scattered haphazardly across the floor. Luke's rich baritone reached you from the rumpled bed. "Where you goin', gorgeous?"

Pausing, you shot him a glance over one shoulder, taking in his tousled bedhead and sleep-swollen features. "I'm gonna go talk to Jess. I'm tired of rotting up here, you know?"

Luke regarded you steadily for a beat before giving a slight nod, seemingly accepting your need to rejoin the world beyond these four walls.

"Don't take too long to come down, okay?"

The gentle plea beneath your somber tone wasn't lost on him. It caused a small, reassuring curl to unfurl in your chest as you offered a tight smile.

"I won't."

Then you were shouldering out of the bedroom, pulling on clothes with clumsy motions as you made your way down the hall. The hushed cadence of voices soon reached your ears, and you followed the murmurs into the open living room area - freezing at the scene playing out before you.

In one corner, Jessica and Maggy were engaged in what looked to be a heated exchange - their body language taut and confrontational as they traded heated whispers. You watched with a growing frown as Maggy gestured emphatically, clearly trying to make a point.

"I don't know how you expect this to work out, Jess," she hissed, slicing one hand through the air. "We both like him. He's either gonna choose one of us with your stupid ultimatum, or we can both be happy!"

Jessica scoffed loudly at that, tossing her silk tresses as her eyes flashed with indignation. "Don't give me that 'we can all be happy' bullshit, Mags! Trevor deserves more than being passed back and forth."

As their heated words escalated, you realized with a jolt that the object of their dispute was conspicuously absent. Scanning the cavernous living area revealed no sign of Trevor anywhere in the fallout radius of their confrontation.

It wasn't until you turned again that you finally spotted him - a hunched, dejected figure tucked in the far corner beside the hearth. His hulking frame seemed to radiate naked defeat as Jessica and Maggy's scathing tirades washed over him.

The swell of pity and protectiveness that bloomed in your chest was visceral. How could any of you have let things deteriorate to this point? Trevor was the kindest, most tender-hearted soul you knew. He didn't deserve to be torn asunder by your dysfunctional dynamic.

You took an instinctive step towards him, intent on extracting him from this torture. But before you could cross the distance, Trevor lifted his gaze to yours - and the breath punched from your lungs in a soundless gasp.

Glittering tear tracks shone down both whiskered cheeks, those warm hazel eyes glimmering with a devastation so profound it pierced straight through to your soul. For the span of a haunting, eternal moment, you held that hollowed stare...letting its harrowing anguish sear into your very marrow.

Then, as quickly as the connection had materialized, it was severed. Trevor blinked and rose unsteadily, turning to make his silent escape out the back entrance as Jessica and Maggy's shouts reached a fever pitch around him.

You could only watch, stunned and horrifically impacted, as he slipped away - your mind reeling from the truth that revelation had shored into aching focus. This was the insidious danger of your tangled web, of prioritizing passion over genuinely healthy bonds...

…

Luke bounded down the stairs at the sound of arriving cars, his heavy footfalls reverberating with unbridled energy. You watched from the entryway as not one, not two, but three vehicles came to a rumbling stop outside the lake house, kicking up plumes of dust in their wake.

Your brows hiked skyward as you registered the unexpected numbers, though Luke didn't seem the least bit fazed. If anything, his features were split by a wolfish grin of anticipation as he reached the front door in a few powerful strides.

"That'll be my brother and the rest of those delinquents," he supplied by way of explanation, giving your shoulder an affectionate squeeze as he brushed past.

You could only nod mutely, trailing after him as Luke flung the door open with gusto. A chorus of raucous hoots and hollers immediately assailed you, accompanying the cacophony of car doors slamming and heavy footsteps crunching up the gravel drive.

At the head of the boisterous pack was a towering, broad-shouldered figure that could have been Luke's doppelganger were it not for the closely-shorn chestnut hair and thick mustache framing his full lips. This man - undoubtedly Luke's older brother - wore an equally shit-eating grin as he bounded up onto the porch, thick arms already outstretched.

"Bout damn time you got here, dipshit!" Luke crowed with unbridled affection, not even bothering to dodge the crushing embrace that sent them both rocking back on their heels.

The two titans of men crashed together with the force of linebackers, deep laughs rumbling through their powerful frames as they jockeyed for supremacy. You couldn't help but hover in the open doorway, temporarily dumbstruck by the sheer unvarnished joy radiating from their reunion.

"Hey, watch the shoulder, asshole!" the brother growled out between peals of laughter, giving Luke's trapezius a playful shove. "Just had that shit rehabbed!"

Luke simply cackled louder at that, ruffling the cropped bristles atop his sibling's head with unrestrained glee. "Don't be such a bitch, Jacky. Maybe if you toughened up, you wouldn't keep getting hurt."

The snide remark earned Luke a solid jab to the ribs, causing him to let out an undignified wheezing grunt. But the brilliant smile never faltered, only stretching wider as he hauled his brother into another fierce hug - this one softer, more lingering.

"Missed you, man," you heard Luke's deep bass rumble against the solid plane of Jack's shoulder.

The tender endearment, mumbled as it was, still managed to strafe your heart with a piercing ache of...something. You blinked rapidly, struggling to process the sudden upwelling of emotion clogging your throat as you watched them embrace.

What was happening? This was hardly the first time you'd witnessed a brotherly reunion between Luke and Jack. Hell, the two had been practically inseparable growing up, despite the five-year gap in their ages. You'd lost count of how many rowdy homecomings and holidays you'd shared in their boisterous presence over the years.

So why did this particular moment feel so viscerally charged? Why were your eyes prickling traitorously as you drank in the simple scene of contented intimacy? It made absolutely no sense, and yet you couldn't seem to halt the swell of sentiment cresting within your thundering chest.

Luke must have sensed your roiling inner turmoil because he suddenly disengaged from their clinch, turning to face you with a softened expression. Those searing brown eyes found yours over the solid mass of Jack's shoulder, glowing with naked tenderness that momentarily stole the very breath from your lungs.

"Y/N..." he rumbled, somehow managing to imbue your name with gratifying weight. "You know my knucklehead brother, Jack."

The gentle prompt snapped you from your fugue, forcing you to blink rapidly as you refocused on the newcomers scattered across the front yard. Jack had spun towards you now, those craggy features arranged into a rakish grin that could have been lifted straight from Luke's playbook.

"Well, well...if it ain't my future sister," he all but purred, sweeping you up into an enthusiastic bear hug before you could protest.

You instantly found yourself engulfed in sinewy muscle and subtle cedar musk - not entirely unpleasant save for the way it constricted your ribcage. Still, you managed an awkward sort of half-laugh, giving the man's broad back a few consoling pats.

"Nice to see you too, Jack. Take it easy there, I need these bones."

The teasing only earned you a full-bellied guffaw as Jack finally relented, carefully extricating you from his vice-like embrace. His eyes - a slightly paler, more aquamarine shade than Luke's midnight browns - crinkled with unrestrained warmth as he regarded you.

"She's a goddamn knockout and she can hang? No wonder you finally stopped fuckin' around and put a ring on it!"

The vulgar observation, accompanied by a roguish wink, instantly resurfaced the blooming mirth in your chest like a lead weight. Suddenly, the giddy elation of witnessing their reunion had evaporated - leaving only an unmistakable hollowness in its wake.

Luckily, the moment of visceral emptiness was fleeting. Luke quickly crowded in beside you, snaking one long arm around your waist in a infinitely more welcome embrace. His palm settled low on your hip, radiating delicious warmth even through the thin cotton barrier.

"Don't get too far ahead of yourself, Jackass," he admonished lightly, those smoldering browns finding yours once more with weighted intention. "There's still time for her to call the whole thing off if you keep running that mouth."

Jack simply scoffed at the empty threat, already turning back towards the cluster of cars where the rest of his companions were beginning to emerge. "Whatever you gotta tell yourself to sleep at night, baby bro!"

Though the flippant retort rankled you momentarily, you couldn't find it in yourself to properly bristle at Jack's outrageousness. Not when Luke was nuzzling his prickly jaw against the sensitive curve where your neck met shoulder, blissfully impervious to his brother's antics.

…

The raucous celebratory energy suffusing the lake house should have been infectious, intoxicating even. Jack and his misfit band of cohorts had effortlessly slotted into the group dynamic, their arrival sparking an instantaneous resurgence of riotous laughter and shamelessly off-color anecdotes.

Yet you remained closed off from it all, a mere bystander watching the raucous bonhomie unfurl at your periphery. No matter how many times Maggy looped an arm through yours with a conspiratorial wink, or Jessica pressed a fresh drink into your hand, you couldn't quite shake the leaden emptiness seizing your chest.

It was a persistent, gnawing ache - as if someone had nestled a lead brick between your ribs, slowly constricting your lungs until each inhalation was a monumental feat. You'd never felt so profoundly untethered from yourself, from the steadying anchors that typically kept you grounded.

Worst of all were the furtive glances you kept stealing towards Luke, desperately hoping to lose yourself in the contented glority of his smile...only to have Jack's parting quip ricochet through your skull like shrapnel.

Over and over, you replayed the crude insinuation in your mind's eye, feeling that spiderweb crack in your temporarily invulnerable facade each time. Why hadn't Luke corrected his brother's assumption about your relationship status? Sure, putting a defined label on the passion between you was unimportant in the grand scheme.

But the fact remained - you weren't Luke's fiancée, and the very notion that he'd allow someone to believe otherwise disquieted you in ways you couldn't fully articulate. It felt dishonest somehow, a falsehood woven into the rich tapestry of your lives that didn't belong.

So you lingered in the periphery, watching the party swirl around you in roiling eddies of boisterous camaraderie. Luke, ever the epicenter of the chaos, ricocheted between boisterous debate with Jack and sotto voce flirtations whenever you drifted within arm's reach.

Each time, you found yourself silently imploring him to bring up the innocuous comment, to casually clarify with that easy cadence of his that you were simply...complicated. That labels and conventions meant little in the face of your profound bond.

But the words never materialized, and you were left suspended in tangible torment - questioning everything and nothing all at once as the night raged on around you.

It was well after midnight when Maggy plopped down beside you on the sagging sofa, knocking your shoulder playfully as she sank into the buttery leather with a contented sigh. You barely registered her arrival, too consumed by the bitter chorus in your head.

"I'm sorry you had to see that earlier," she murmured after a contemplative pause, drawing your vacant stare instinctively. "We...Jessica, Trevor, and I...we decided it's best if we're just together. All three of us. It makes us happy, you know?"

The gentle confession, layered with audible reticence, had your brows hiking towards your hairline in a silent question. Maggy caught the wordless probe and flashed you a rueful half-smile, clearly interpreting your confusion.

"The arguing, the jealousy bullshit...it's just not worth it," she elaborated with a philosophical shrug of those curvaceous shoulders. "We're happiest when we're completely open and honest with each other - no holding back. Even if it means breaking some stupid societal norms along the way."

You felt your lips part, a thousand queries marshaling on your tongue as you processed Maggy's candid revelation. But in the end, the only response to materialize was a low, ragged exhalation - somewhere between a snort and a rueful chuckle.

Because in that endless night, with an internal war raging inside your shattered breast...you'd never felt more adrift and utterly rudderless than in the presence of their blazing certainty.

There was a tangible rightness to the path these beautiful souls had carved for themselves - a fearless adherence to the truth that burned within, regardless of proverbial norms or expectations. A level of uncompromising vulnerability that you could scarcely fathom in your current state.

It was transcendent and horribly enviable all at once...and it scorched you from the inside out.

"I...wow," you eventually managed in a papery tone, giving Maggy's slender fingers a reflexive squeeze. "That's...amazing, Mags. I'm really happy for you guys, and proud of the courage it took to get there."

Maggy's incandescent smile could have powered a small city as she angled herself towards you fully. "Thanks, babe. That means everything coming from you."

She bumped your shoulder playfully, as if to ease some of the heaviness between you. But nothing could alleviate the maddening ache spiderwebbing through your marrow - that hollowness that threatened to devour you from within.

From across the room, you watched Luke throw back his head in a rich peal of laughter at something Jack had said, jaw clenched and eyes crinkled in genuine merriment. Something fragile in your chest simultaneously blossomed with tenderness...and withered into stark disrepair.

…

A tranquil hush had descended over the lake house, the typical raucous energy giving way to contented quietude as the night crept deeper. Outside, the inky blackness was softened by a shimmering blanket of stars reflecting off the glassy waters, casting everything in an ethereal glow.

You shifted drowsily on the plush leather sofa, savoring the remaining tendrils of warmth radiating from Luke's solid frame where he was nestled against your side. His arm was looped securely around your waist, palm splaying possessively over the slight curve of your hip.

For a few languorous moments, your mind pleasantly drifted - lulled by the steady cadence of Luke's breathing and the occasional chorus of night birds trilling outside. He always ran several degrees warmer than you, his potent furnace of a body suffusing you with delicious heat.

You had nearly succumbed to a light doze when the low rumble of Luke's voice reverberated against the back of your neck, sending a shiver rippling down your spine.

"I planned a really special night for us, y/n." His midnight timbre was velveteen and hushed, thrumming with an undercurrent of anticipation.

You stirred groggily, twisting in the haven of his embrace until you could regard him properly. Luke's striking features were gilded in the pale moonglow filtering through the windows, casting his chiseled jawline and proud nose in stark relief. But it was his eyes - those blazing, all-consuming pools - that arrested your full attention.

They fairly smoldered with unnamed intensity, holding your drowsy stare hostage as one corner of those obscenely full lips quirked upwards.

"For what?" The words were slightly graveled from impending slumber as you blinked owlishly.

Luke's smile deepened into something richer and infinitely more weighted as he began tracing lazy, spiraling patterns along the soft skin of your thigh.

Each meandering caress of his calloused fingertips seemed to sear straight through the thin barrier of cotton separating you, raising delicious gooseflesh in their wake.

"I just want to do something for you," he rumbled in that sinful rasp, holding your molten stare unblinkingly. "It's...a surprise."

You felt your breath stall in your lungs at the heated promise that single word seemed to ignite. A surprise from Luke invariably meant some grand romantic gesture - extravagant and shamelessly indulgent in a way that never failed to overwhelm you.

Luke must have registered the momentary paralysis in your features because he leaned in fractionally closer, close enough for you to drink in the rich amber and cedar notes of his cologne. His palm drifted higher, finally coming to rest low on your abdomen as those blazing browns searched your face with undisguised intensity.

"This one won't be like the others, y/n," he murmured, the graveled lilt seeming to caress every syllable of your name. "This is going to be really...really special. For you. For us."

The naked sincerity, the profoundity behind those quietly uttered words...it stole the very air from your lungs in a sharp exhalation of pure wonderment.

Every nerve ending in your body seemed to blaze into awakeness, zeroing in on the scorching brand of Luke's touch as it meandered across your tingling skin.

You could only gape at him mutely through the rushof feeling, overwhelmed by the searing tenderness flowing between you in dizzying riptides.

Luke was many things in these moments - playful, irreverent, smoldering with the promise of white-hot passion. But above all else, he was steadfast - grounding you in the unshakable truth of just how treasured you were to him.

"Where?" you eventually rasped out once you'd recovered enough to form words. Moisture stung at the corners of your eyes as you held his blazing stare, everything inside of you seeming to crystallize into this single suspended heartbeat.

An achingly gentle smile curved those beloved lips as Luke reached up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear, callused knuckles grazing your fevered cheek in a scorching caress.

"I want to take you somewhere we can be alone for a little while. Just you and me under the stars. After we get home to Jersey, a night for just us, Y/N."

…

[tinydefector]

lovers amongst the stars

Megatron × GN human

Small post smut, after-care fic

No real warnings: naked bodies, craving each other.

because I love soft megatron falling even more in love.

1K words

Request and ask open, read pinned post

Megatron Masterlist

---------

Megatron watches in the dark shadow of the hub suite, optics flickering in the low light that filters in from the flickering stars. A Soft naked form is silhouetted against the starlight and darkness, his optics traces his lovers form in true contentment. His human lover gracefully moving against the piles of silk and satin soft pants falling from their lips.

How Megatron longs to close the distance between them again, to take their fragile flesh into his powerful servos and hold it close, to feel skin pressed against his haul, listen to the soft music that falls from kiss swollen lips.to hear the angelic frequency when they call his name in extasy, he remains watching, gazing his fill of their stunning form,

He feels his spark stutter as his lover turns, optics meeting those delicate eyes sparking with the red glow of his own. now gazing upon him. A soft smile curves his human's lips, and Megatron is undone wishing to have his lover pressed back against him in the most intimate manner possible.

Before he can beg forgiveness for his voyeurism, they moves to him, taking Megatron's battle-scarred servo between both hands. Megatron holds perfectly still, vents catching, as they presses gentle kisses along the seams and lines of his digit joints, tracing each line and curve.

No weapon of war has ever been treated with such tenderness, nor from one so small and delicate. Megatron's chains suddenly feel unbearably tight. This human, this mere organic, sees not a conqueror or tyrant of worlds - only sees Megatron, their lover. Megatron thinks that perhaps, just perhaps, he too can settle for an easy life if it was ever granted to him, but only with his sweetspark, he would damn himself just for them.

"Megs?" Falls from his lovers lips lightly as those eyes stares into megatron's ruby coloured optics. Turning more to come megatron's faceplate with a small hand tracing the lines that had worn into the plating over millennia's of war, soft fingers move against hard metal with the most delicate touch as if afraid they would hurt him.

Megatron's optics shutter briefly at the intimacy of the act and that single word, his nickname. He leans into the gentle touch on his battle-scarred face,his own servos tracing familiar curve of their hip, side and legs. servos itching to pull that fragile form close, to feel them wrapped around him again.But still he remains motionless.

Onlining his optics again, Megatron finds them gazing up at him searchingly, as if tracing far more than mere plating, how megatron wish it could be his spark in this humans hands. hand continues its path undaunted, and Megatron feels his chains loosening one link at a time. This human accepts him - all of him, past and present. And in those arms, Megatron believes he has finally found a home.

Megatron feels his sparks swell at the sound of giggles. He had not meant to let his gaze linger. megatron's thumb presses against his lovers chest, the soft beat of their heart, still races, metal against skin, Both existing in the silence of the hub suite only the two of them and flickering star light. "Didn't realise you enjoyed listening to my heartbeat" they teases. leaning into the giant metal hand as if it were made to fit again the organic form.

In this moment there is only them - two beings from separate worlds joined in the simple meeting of metal and flesh, spark and heart. Truely they were starcross lovers. Megatron lets the steady rhythm wash over him, that despite all odds somehow one so fragile has found the will to keep his spark beating. "I had not realized either, little one," Megatron rumbles softly, optics dimming in contentment, "but its song is sweeter than any chorus of Cybertron. I could listen to it every night and never tire of it, a song that sings for me in such a delicate manner, my sweet spark singer" He bends slowly to touch his helm to theirs, surrounding and surrounded by the life and light and love that has cracked through his armor at long last.

Megatron's optics dim fully as press forehead to helm together in the most intimate of gestures. For a gladiator built only for destruction, the simple contact feels like salvation, crackling through his circuits like the riches high grade energon. They are everything.

Megatron never thought he could have - redemption, compassion, unconditional acceptance of his marred and stained past. In his sweetsparks presence, all of Megatron's eons of hardship and conflict seem to fade, leaving only the glow of their mingled life-forces, one metallic and eternal, the other warm and fleeting. Megatron vows silently to shield this fragile gift with his very spark. As long as it beats, he would love them until the stars took him.

They may come from different worlds, but in each other they have found home, and that is well worth fighting - and living - for. Megatron folds them carefully against his chassis, embracing this divine fragile frame.for the heavens that have seen fit to bring them together if only for a moment in time.

A low, resonant hum rises from Megatron's chassis in response to the sensuality of the moment, vibrating through the plating against thier cheek. One small hand covers the gleaming silver armor guarding Megatron's spark, and he aches to show the glow within, to bare that most vulnerable part of himself without fear of its light extinguishing.

optics shuttered in blissful tranquility as Megatron's armored hand comes up slowly to cradle his lover closer. finds himself humming a nameless tune, some half-remembered melody from his time in the mines. his spark has stilled to a soothing tide. Here is absolution, amnesty, and above all else - love, freely given without demand for anything in return. Megatron marvels at the simple beauty of it, the soft skin of his human lover drapes over him in the most tranquil way possible.

This was one of the things the Ex warlord loved the most about his Conjunx.

[thebadjoe]

GUYS, HOLD ON JUST A MINUTE!!! (EPISODE 15)

Hey! It's me again, the selfish theorist.

I have a very important announcement to make regarding the murder case of drdt chapter 2.

You guys can go ahead and think I'm coping all you want, I don't care. You can turn away just like bef... actually.. no. You should stay here. In fact, everyone that's been watching chapter 2 episode 15 should pay very close attention to what I'm about to say.

Because... you see... I just made a massive discovery!

I've been rewatching the episode a few times, not the whole thing over and over, of course, but like bits here and there. And then... I stumbled upon something incredibly revealing.

Ladies and gentleman, there is a massive contradiction with someone's statement in that episode compared to what we know about the murder case.

Let me explain. Early in the episode, they were discussing about how Ace knocked Arei unconscious. He couldn't have gotten the turpentine, so he needed to use something else.

So one of them suggested that he strangled her to unconsciousness, which sounds fair, right? Well, about that...

In case you guys have forgotten, other than a broken neck and red marks on her wrists, there was nothing else noteworthy about Arei's corpse. Charles couldn't have known about that because he never investigated the dead body for obvious reasons.

And in case you're doubting me, go ahead and rewatch episode 8, the investigation. It's clearly stated that there's nothing else on Arei. They couldn't have missed it out eitheir because both Teruko and Arturo checked the body.

Oh... this is all coming together... You thought that you defeated me with this shocking and dramatic episode, drdt dev, well think again!!!

I. remain. undaunted!

And now, I can say with pure and absolute confidence...

*slams an imaginary desk and points finger at the general direction*

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ACE IS NOT THE CULPRIT!

[rallamajoop]

Queer lit of the 1800s: Two gay Victorian vampire stories you've probably never heard of

So, I have this post in the works tackling that all-important question: just why are there so many gay vampire stories? But in writing it, what was supposed to be a brief tangent about a couple of little-known m/m vampire stories from all the way back in the late 1800s era… started expanding into something not-so-brief, as such tangents are prone to do.

But what the hell, the internet tells me it's queer history month: clearly the only solution is to give those stories their own post, where my tangent can spin out as far as it likes!

Now, if you know anything about Victorian vampire literature or the lesbian vampire genre, you’ve probably already heard about Carmilla, by Sheridan le Fanu (1872), the world’s very first (known) lesbian vampire story. To this day, it's easily the second best-known and widely adapted tale in all the Victorian vampire canon (after Dracula, obviously) – and it probably deserves to be too.

But this is not a post about Carmilla, because Carmilla is not the only gay-vampire-story written way back in the Victorian era. It's not even the least subtle gay-vampire-tale.

There are (at least) two others, both featuring male/male vampire/human pairings. And whether or not they ‘deserve’ to be remembered in the same breath as Carmilla, they’re both fascinating works in their own rights: Manor, by Karl Heinrich Ulrichs (1884) – one of the world’s first gay activists – and A True Story of a Vampire, by Count Eric Stenbock (1894).

You can read both online. A True Story of a Vampire is long out of copyright and can be found on Gutenberg (Carmilla is too, if you're interested), and many other places. Manor has been translated into English only much more recently, but you can still get hold of it in pdf form, or buy it in ebook format. But if what you really want are some summaries, and/or whole lot of extra context and analysis to go with the stories themselves, I've got you covered below.

Manor (1884), Sailor Stories, and Karl Heinrich Ulrichs

We’ll start with Manor, since it was published ten years before our other example, and because I’m not quite cruel enough to leave you going "wait, did you really just tell me there was a legit gay activist writing vampire slashfic in his free time way back in the 1880s?" while I ramble on about the other story first. We'll start with the author himself, because his own story is at least as interesting as any fiction he ever published.

Born in Germany in 1825, Karl Heinrich Ulrichs knew from a young age that he was attracted to men. He trained in law, but wisely resigned before he could be fired in 1854 when his proclivities came to the attention of his superiors. Most in his position would've redoubled their efforts to hide; Ulrichs spent the next several years joining societies dedicated to science and literature and developing his own theories about non-hetero orientations, before officially coming out to his family in 1862.

He was just getting started. By 1867, he was ready to come out to the whole world.

Ulrichs is far from the first gay man to recognise his attraction without shame and find society in like-minded individuals ‒ but he may well be the very first to come out voluntarily and publicly, and advocate for the decriminalisation of homosexuality. And when I say "publicly" what I mean of course is, "in a formal address to the Congress of German Jurists." He was shouted down, but it was still a staggering act of bravery for a man of his time. It would still be a staggering act of bravery in many parts of the world today.

Undaunted by his reception, Ulrichs would also publish a dozen booklets advocating for rights for his community between 1864 and 1879, framing their sexuality as natural, inborn and wholly benign. In 1880, after multiple arrests for his political advocacy, he left Germany for self-imposed exile in Italy, where he would remain until his death in 1895. But it's during this period that he published some poetry, as well as Sailor Stories, a collection of four short stories inspired primarily by Norse mythology, including Manor (which we’ll get to, don’t worry).

Though Ulrichs saw little legal success in his lifetime, through modern eyes, his greatest failure might be only that he was so far ahead of his time. When he began writing and advocating, the word 'homosexuality' didn't even exist yet ‒ he himself used the term 'Urnings' for gay men, eventually coining terms for variations like 'Mannling' and 'Weibling' (gay male equivalent of 'butch' and 'femme') as well. He also came to recognise bisexuality, lesbian attraction, and even intersex conditions, theorising that all resulted from some combination of male and female characteristics developing in the same individual, as the available knowledge on embryonic development suggested might be possible. For a guy with only Victorian era science to work from, that's still remarkably close to the modern consensus today.

Nor did Ulrichs' work die with him. His writings would go on to inspire and be republished by gay rights movements that followed him ‒ including the work and advocacy of Magnus Hirschfeld, who created what may be the world's first trans-affirming clinic. Even in his own time, responses from his own readers show much his work meant to them, reassured at last that they weren't alone.

So how does a German activist from the 1880s find himself publishing gay vampire fiction based on Norse mythology while living in exile in Italy? I only wish I knew. My sources suggest his main goal with Sailor Stories was to publish something that would sell. Unsurprisingly, given the subject matter it seems to have sold very little. Manor is the third of four short tales, and by far the gayest of them all. It's also (IMHO) by far the best, and the most interesting.

Set in a Norwegian fishing village, Manor tells the story of the romance between a 15-year-old boy called Har, and the titular Manor, a sailor 4 years his senior, who rescues Har from the wreck which killed his father. In the days that follow, the pair become close, and Manor takes to swimming across the bay on summer evenings to visit Har at his home. And so they meet whenever they can, until tragedy strikes again, and Manor is killed in a shipwreck near the coast, leaving Har inconsolable with grief.

But this being a vampire story, in the nights after Manor’s death, something is seen swimming across the bay to Har’s home, just as Manor used to do. Har is visited night after night by the spectre of his beloved, who lies beside him in bed, strokes his cheek with cold hands, and kisses him with icy lips, draining his blood from his heart, "like an infant at its mother’s breast." Har himself awaits each night with mixed joy and fear, longing to see Manor again, even in such a form.

As Har weakens, the villagers attempt to trap Manor in his grave by hammering a stake through his body, but he continues to visit Har nonetheless, now sporting a gaping wound in his chest. The villagers return with a new stake, widened at the base like a giant nail, and finally, Manor is restrained in his grave. But it’s too late for Har: weakened and heartsick, he dies, begging only that he should be buried beside his beloved at last. Neither rise again. 

Though I can’t speak to how it reads in the original German, in translation, Manor is relayed in largely workmanlike prose. Its tale is short, simple, and sad – but so much about it fascinates me all the same.

(Draugen, Theodor Kittelsen, 1891)

There’s the incorporation of elements you might better recognise from Norse draugr folklore – revenants more typically associated with deaths at sea, or charged with guarding their own graves ‒ but still far more closely related to the vampires of Slavic mythology than most people probably realise. Manor is also one of painfully few stories which clearly recognises what is surely the original purpose of hammering a stake through a vampire’s body: not to kill it, but to hold the creature down and prevent it from leaving its grave. As a hopeless vampire-nerd (I've presented panels at conventions about this stuff, it's dangerous to get me started), I can’t tell you how much I love those aspects of this story.

But above all, Ulrichs’ tale captures what might be one of the oldest and most traditional versions of the folkloric vampire: the spectre of a lost loved one, and the potent mixture of fear and twisted longing thus inspired, that the weight of their loss might drag you down into death to join them. Many ‘real’ tales of vampirism have been inspired by outbreaks of wasting diseases like consumption, working their way through a family, one member at a time. But in Har’s case, it is clearly grief as much as Manor’s physical visits that claims him. He loves Manor so much that he welcomes his lover back, even as a revenant. In his own way, Har too is cursed by Manor’s death to wander the world like the walking dead, until finally reunited with his lover once more.

Nowadays, tragic love stories like this tend to get an eye roll from a lot of the queer community. The old ‘bury your gays’ trope has been done to death, and we’re largely sick of being told that noble suffering is the best we can hope for. But it’s notable nonetheless that Manor’s sexuality has no bearing on his death, and little about the story would change were Har female. It's far from clear if the rest of the village even recognises Har and Manor's love for what it is, let alone whether they'd disapprove ‒ after all, vampires will often go after friends and acquaintances when lovers and family members are exhausted. As such, it’s hard to read the village’s attempts to keep Manor in his grave as a simple matter of prejudice. They're also genuinely trying to save Har's life.

And yet, the way Har keeps the undead Manor’s visits a secret, even begging for the stake to be removed so they can resume, echoes the real experiences of so many gay and lesbian couples far too clearly to be accidental. And however disturbing to a contemporary audience, Har’s willingness to follow his lover to the grave leaves little doubt of the depths of his feelings. To an audience in the 1800s, even the most cliched example of bury-your-gays would be revolutionary.

Did I mention that this story fascinates me? There are layers to this thing.

For completeness, I’ve also read the rest of Sailor Stories (and you can too at the same link). Only one of the other three tales contains any queer romance: the first, Sulitelma, where a boy called Erich falls for a handsome sailor called Harald he meets aboard a spectral storm ship. But there's no happy ending: his sister falls for the same handsome sailor, and shoves Erich overboard to his death to eliminate her competition.

Atlantis, the second story in the collection, is a direct sequel to Sulitelma, but it's even more bizarre. Erich is barely mentioned, and instead we find ourselves reading a tale which I can only summarise as like something I might have found on fanfiction.net back in the early aughts, written by some 14yo trying to straightwash the original material. Here, Harald and some of his fellows go on shore leave to the land of the phoenix, populated by Greek nymphs and Cupid, and mildly comedic hijinx ensue. It is fascinatingly bizarre, but not exactly satisfying as a read (or a sequel).

The final story, The Monk of Sumboe, tells of how two close friends destroy their relationship and themselves with their fixation on the tale of an alluring siren. There's a solid concept in there somewhere, but it's far too short and abrupt to do much with it, and all the characters remain strictly heterosexual. But if there's one thematic detail that ties it to the rest of the collection (beside the many Norse elements), it's that hopeless longing for something others would warn you away from ‒ whether that be a phantom ship, a visit from a vampire lover, or an elusive siren. None of these tales end well for their protagonists, but we're drawn to sympathise with them nonetheless.

I cannot guess what reception Karl Ulrichs expected in publishing this book. Sailor Stories is neither a work that could expect good reception from mainstream audiences or a defiantly-radical queer masterpiece. What did people make of it in its own time? Was it read and cherished by at least a few boys or men like Har and Manor? I’d hope so, but I’ll probably never know.

If you'd like to read more about Karl Ulrichs, I can recommend (among my sources) this New York Times article for a quick overview of his work, or the various work of Michael Lombardi-Nash and Hubert Kennedy (link 2). You can also read the first chapter of his published correspondence online for free.

A True Story of a Vampire (1894), and Count Eric Stenbock

Our second Victorian vampire tale was first published in English, though it was written by a Swedish Count. Like Carmilla in its own day (and quite unlike Karl Ulrichs), both story and author seem to have flown largely under the radar until many years after publication, the queer subtext little noted or commented upon (if at all).

If nothing else though, A True Story of a Vampire aptly demonstrates that at least someone of that era spotted what Carmilla was really about – because he wrote his own version, only about men. Stenbock’s tale is effectively a much shorter, gender-swapped version of Carmilla – but with a larger age gap between vampire and victim lending the story uncomfortable pederastic overtones.

"Vampire stories are generally located in Styria; mine is also," it begins – though I couldn’t name you any vampire story from the era besides Carmilla set there. The narrator, the surviving sister of the vampire’s victim, is called ‘Carmela’, if you needed further proof.

Much like in Carmilla herself, the vampire, Count Vardalek (a Slavic term for vampire) arrives at their house after being forced to seek local hospitality when some convenient ‘accident’ interrupts his travels. There, he bewitches and slowly drains the life from her brother, Gabriel – a boy described in terms variously angelic and fey, a wild thing who befriends wild animals and would rather climb a tree to a window than take the stairs to his own room, but who cleans up beautifully for church – a sublime, cinnamon roll of a creature, far too good for this sinful earth, too pure. Gabriel is a true male equivalent of the likes of Dracula’s Lucy, feminised further still by his youth and innocence. Had a vampire not got him, one can only imagine he’d have eventually have been spirited away by the fairies.

Gabriel and the mysterious Count are drawn to one another immediately. Even as Gabriel wastes slowly away, he greets Vardalek eagerly each time he returns by throwing his arms around his neck and kissing him on the lips. Count Vardalek himself seems to be a vampire of the psychic variety, gaining in health and vitality while Gabriel wilts, merely after spending time in one another’s presence. Vardalek himself seems to genuinely regret Gabriel’s inevitable death, but unlike in Carmilla, there’s no rescue at our conclusion. Gabriel dies, and we’re given no reason to assume he’ll rise again.

To the modern reader, the true horror of this tale lies not with the vampires or even the homoeroticism, but with those uncomfortably pederastic implications. Gabriel can’t be more than twelve years old, his youth and innocence emphasised in his every description. Pains are taken to suggest that Gabriel’s own attraction to Vardalek is as much responsible for his fate as the vampire himself. Gabriel’s father is similarly bewitched by this charming stranger, and never recognises the danger, or the reason for his son’s tragic death. Even the narrator, his loving sister, cannot truly hate Vardalek for taking her brother from her – even when her father dies of grief soon after. Gabriel’s fate seems sealed from the moment the Count enters their home.

But knowing how often real child molesters get away with it, their actions excused or downplayed by their family, their victims accused of ‘seducing’ their abusers and made complicit in their own misery… I can only say that, for my money, A True Story of a Vampire is a very effective horror story in ways the author probably never intended, once you start to question the reliability of its narrator.

It won’t surprise you to learn that the author, Count Eric Stanislaus Stenbock, was a (very) gay man, deeply involved with the gothic and decadent artistic movements of his day. Born to a Swedish Count and an English heiress, Stenbock seems to be remembered less for his writing than for his character. In The Oxford Book of Modern Verse, 1892-1935, W.B. Yeats describes him as a "scholar, connoisseur, drunkard, poet, pervert, most charming of men" ‒ naming Stenbock as an exemplar of the poetic zeitgeist of the age. Notably however, none of Stenbock’s actual poetry is featured in the volume.

Stories about Stenbock are so bizarre that it’s hard to know how much should be believed. Eric Stenbock supposedly travelled with a multitude of exotic pets and a life-sized doll he referred to as his 'son', dabbled in religions ranging from Roman Catholicism to Buddhism, and decorated his dwelling with peacock feathers, oriental shawls, a bronze statue of Eros and a hanging pentagram. One acquaintance once compared him to a 'magnified child': "very fair hair beautifully curled, and a blond, round, blue-eyed face," who paused at the door and "took a little phial out of his pocket, from which he anointed his fingers, before passing them through his locks." But by his thirties, he was already dying of liver disease after years of alcoholism. He passed away at only 35.

Stenbock’s surviving artistic legacy consists of three volumes of poetry and one of prose, with some of those poems including explicit references to Ganymede or male lovers. So how did he escape the same controversy that dogged similar works by other queer creatives of his day, like Oscar Wilde or Walt Whitman – let alone Karl Ulrichs? Well, simple: his work never attracted enough attention to generate real controversy. Stenbock may have been just as much a character as figures like Wilde, but he hadn't nearly the same talent or success.

One last minor biographic detail that may be worthy of note (discovered courtesy of some very poor-quality scans of his one proper biography) is that the youthful Gabriel of A True Story of a Vampire may owe his name to a real Gabriele ‒ a female cousin ten years Stenbock’s junior, whom he would've spent time with in his teens, and seems to have been especially fond of. Whatever the true significance of that name, he'd use it more than once in his fiction: another short story, The Other Side: A Breton Legend, also stars an angelic little boy called Gabriel, with a similar dangerous attraction to the strange. It features some lovely mood and imagery as it sets the scene, but (perhaps as a result of the lack of a suitable model story like Carmilla) it is, in my opinion, a much weaker story overall.

But again, the most disturbing aspect of Stenbock's biography are the hints about his own relationships with much younger men. His second book of poetry, Myrtle, Rue and Cypress, is dedicated to three people: Simeon Solomon (a gay painter of the pre-Raphaelite movement, whom he met at Oxford), Arvid Stenbock, Eric's cousin, and to "the memory of Charles Fowler" ‒ the son of a Clergyman, who died of consumption at only 16.

This enigmatic dedication is all we know about Stenbock's relationship with Fowler. We don't even know how the they met (Fowler seems to have had a relative at Oxford at the same time as Stenbock, but even this is speculation). But that dedication, in a book which will go on to feature poems about the beauty of Ganymede, or explicitly addressed 'To A Boy' (Tis ever a delight, dear, To gaze upon thy face, To love the life within thee, Fair fashioned, full of grace) makes it hard to read Stenbock's feelings as remotely platonic.

It doesn’t help that the same volume includes a poem about an actual vampire, published ten years before A True Story of a Vampire would ever be penned, but with very comparable subject matter:

With slow soft sensual sips Draw the life from the tender spray, And brush from thy soft lithe lips The bloom of thy boyhood away

It's worth keeping in mind that Stenbock himself would've been only 21 at the time of Fowler's death, and that we don't know whether he ever acted on his attraction (whatever form it may have taken). He may well, as I've seen suggested, have kept his admiration private, idealising the image of the beautiful, dying boy in his final days, in that classic Victorian-gothic way. But it doesn't help that Stenbock's cousin Arvid, from that other dedication in the same book, was 8 years his junior, and that their family apparently disapproved of their relationship as "unnaturally close." Or that another famous Stenbock-associate was Norman O'Neil, a composer whom he met on a London omnibus in 1891, when O'Neil too was only 16. Stenbock was apparently taken by his intelligence and beauty, and would go on to leave him a considerable sum of money in his will. By 1891, Stenbock would've been 31, but his fixations hadn't aged with him.

So how are we to take all this? This was an age where a marriage between a 16-year-old girl and a suitor of Stenbock's age would scarcely have raised eyebrows. Uncomfortable as it may sound today, for many queer youths of the era, a romance with someone older and experienced enough to play mentor may genuinely have represented the safest real option available. There are layers of complicated subtext, meanwhile, in the idea of any gay man of the Victorian era casting himself as a vampiric monster, doomed to ruin the object of their attraction with their very touch. There may be layers more in Stenbock framing his tale as "A true story" before telling us of the misery a foreign Count brought to an innocent family, with his helpless fixation on their youngest child.

It's worth noting also that even in Manor, by Legit Gay Activist Karl Ulrichs, our love story is between a boy of 15 and a man of 19 ‒ an age gap of only 4 years, but large enough at 15 to raise some serious eyebrows. His first story too, Sulitelma, involves attraction between a man and a boy (exact ages unknown). Though Ulrichs explicitly viewed relationships with prepubescent children as reprehensible, he seems to have had no problem with relationships between young teens and much older adults ‒ even printing a story sent in by a reader (details in this article), joyfully recounting how he (the reader) was initiated into the world of male/male love as a 14-year-old by his brother's riding master. Ulrichs saw no reason to disapprove.

To confuse things for anyone looking this up today, google Ulrichs, and you'll find a number of online articles claiming that his own first experience involved being sexually assaulted by a riding instructor when he was only 14. This is wrong on multiple fronts: not only is the story related by Ulrichs as a positive experience, it wasn't even Ulrichs it happened to. No, shit like this would not be okay if it happened today (and frequently wasn't then), but we don't help ourselves by distorting the stories told by our queer forebears to fit modern expectations.

But none of that surrounding context makes the youth of the day any less vulnerable to predation, or Stenbock's fixation on youthful beauty less creepy. Today, no evidence remains to help us guess whether idealising the beauty and innocence of youth was the greatest of Stenbock's actual crimes, or the least of them. Anything is possible.

In brief: welcome to the joy of trying to reconcile the complicated place of pederasty in queer history! I'm afraid you can look forward to seeing a lot of it from here on back.

A True Story of a Vampire is not a bad work of fiction by any means. There are some lovely descriptions and entertaining turns of phrase, and the horror is certainly effective. It may even be considerably more readable than Carmilla to many, simply for being so much shorter. But how you feel about it is really going to be up to you.

One last digression about Carmilla and Christabel

There’s one additional work that I’ve once or twice seen listed as an even earlier queer vampire tale: Samuel Coleridge’s unfinished poem Christabel (1800) – the only problem being there’s no vampire in the story (and how queer it is may be questionable too).

Like Carmilla, Christabel tells of a Baron’s daughter (the titular Christabel) who comes upon a mysterious stranger in apparent distress (Geraldine) and invites her into her home. We never learn what kind of being Geraldine truly is (three further parts were planned in addition to the two that were completed), but when she undresses, Christabel spies something that horrifies her, remembering it later with the words "Again she saw that bosom old / Again she felt that bosom cold." But under Geraldine’s spell, Christabel’s recollection of this incident comes and goes, and Geraldine has soon bewitched her father too.

All ‘evidence’ that Geraldine was intended to be a vampire rests on such details as Geraldine having to be carried past an iron gate into the house, much as vampires have to be invited in – but that particular vampire trope wasn’t actually codified until a solid century later (like most vampire-tropes, we have Stoker's Dracula to blame). The idea that Geraldine has the cold, shrivelled body of the undead and revives herself on Christabel’s blood is a perfectly valid reading, but the more obvious interpretation would be that she’s some manner of shapeshifting fairy creature, weakened by the iron of the gateway, not the entrance to Christabel’s home. The aristocratic literary vampire had existed for over 40 years and appeared in numerous works of fiction by Carmilla's day; but Christabel predates the origins of the genre a solid two decades. For Coleridge to have come up with the idea independently seems vanishingly unlikely.

I mention Christabel here partly for completeness, but mostly to bring us back around to the greater family of Carmilla, which is still legitimately the first known queer vampire story. Though far better known than any other story discussed here today, how it came about is perhaps the most mysterious.

Sheridan le Fanu was a prolific writer, but I don’t know of any other story he’s penned with subtext like Carmilla's (and I’m not quite invested enough to read all of the rest to check, though someone totally should so I don't have to). Le Fanu was married, and had children, and that's all I can discover about his personal life. Was he some shade of queer himself? Did he have connections to anyone who was? Did he even realise what he was writing with Carmilla? Nothing I’ve read about him provides any answers. Nor can I tell you how many readers spotted the subtext it the story was first published. In its own time, it caused no great scandal, nor even seems to have garnered much attention (by contrast, Byron & Polidori's The Vampyre caused an uproar when it was published in 1819, mostly thanks to Byron's established fame and debates over its true authorship). It took until well into the 20th Century for it to obtain the reputation it has today.

But I’m sure it’s no coincidence that it was Carmilla that spoke to Stenbock enough that he chose to retell it. And while A True Story of a Vampire is still the only other vampire story of the era set in Styria, there was almost another one: Dracula, at least Stoker’s early plans for the novel. Styria also remains part of the unused prequel chapter later published as Dracula’s Guest. The setting isn’t the only detail Stoker nearly-borrowed from Carmilla either, my favourite example being the weird schedule by which both she and Dracula seem to have to be in bed in their coffins at dawn each day, both apparently helpless and immobile in sleep, though both are also repeatedly seen up and about later in the day. Neither tale offers any real explanation.

Have I mentioned lately that Stoker, too, was almost certainly some shade of gay?

Now, the fact that two different queer writers both found Carmilla so very inspiring – and would even both publish their own works of vampire literature within five years of one another – isn’t much to go on, in trying to establish what a story like Carmilla might’ve meant to England’s queer population some twenty years after it was written. Maybe Carmilla was being eagerly passed around London’s own Uranian gothic societies at the time. Or maybe two different men happened upon it by chance in wholly different circumstances, and took very different things from reading it. Maybe Stoker didn’t even notice the queer subtext himself. But I can’t help but wonder if just maybe, there's something more than coincidence at work here.

Carmilla the vampire is an explicitly villainous character, her victim confused and unwilling. But she remains one of the most complex and sympathetic vampires of her era. And perhaps, to a community who had never seen Ulrichs’ writing published in their own language, and might never see themselves represented in fiction except as monsters buried in layers of protective subtext, that still meant something to readers like Stenbock, and Stocker, and who knows how many others.

In short, maybe old, gay vampire stories like these really are worth remembering. I'll leave that one up to you.

[katakaluptastrophy]

I've previously discussed how when summoning Matthias Nonius, Abigail is doing necromancy straight out of the Odyssey.

But the Odyssey can also shed some further light on Fifth House necromantic practice. Namely, what exactly is a "Speaker to the Dead"?

The House conception of the River is very similar to the ancient Greek underworld, full of hungry souls untethered from their identity in life.

In the Odyssey, when Odysseus descends go the underworld and tempts the ghosts out with a blood offering, he sees his mother's soul:

Here I see my dead mother's ghost: she sits beside the blood silently, and cannot look on her own son’s face or speak with him. Tell me, my lord, how she may know it is I.

Swiftly he answered my words: “It is a simple thing to explain to you. Whoever of the dead departed you allow to approach the blood will speak to you indeed: but whoever you deny will draw back.”

...

I remained, undaunted, till my mother approached and drank the black blood. Then she knew me, and in sorrow spoke to me with winged words.

The starving souls that emerge from the underworld, drawn by Odysseus' blood sacrifice, don't remember who they were in life. His own mother doesn't recognise him...until her spirit consumes some blood.

Abigail spends a lot of time in HTN talking about different types of blood to give to different types of ghosts, and is concerned about the lack of blood for banishing the Sleeper. She also talks at length about the dead in the River being insane and hungry.

So I do wonder if to some extent what a Speaker to the Dead is doing necromantically is making a spirit cogent. As Odysseus does, tempting a ghost with blood and somehow thus initiating a process that allows it to connect with its former memories. And a ghost thus known can either be communicated with or banished.

[billdenbrough]

@naturecalls111 prompted me kevaaron + massage when i needed a warmup prompt bc she is the best. waves hands this is a vague au and heads up for some suggestive content ahead but it's just prelude vibes lmao

The thing is. The thing is that Aaron’s hands, while smaller than Kevin’s, are firm. It was a fuck of a thing, coming onto this team after two years of Volshan’s huge, bone-cracking hands, and being told this small blond with sharp eyes and a clever, pretty mouth would be the one helping Kevin with keeping his body well-tuned.

He certainly feels like an instrument right now, strung too tight. Everything is taut. He’s only halfway sure it’s his muscles. The rest of it might just be him, here, right now, in this moment. 

“God, what have you been doing to yourself?” Aaron mutters. He digs his thumb in deep, and Kevin can’t help the low, guttural groan that rings through the air. Aaron pauses. Kevin buries his face in the bed.

“Well, clearly that needed some working out,” Aaron says. He resumes his motions, pausing only to re-lotion his hands, and it’s just - Kevin is just -

Kevin is a fucking professional, okay? You don’t get onto as many teams as he has—let alone at the international level—without going through the team PT’s hands a time or twenty. But it’s just.

Aaron’s kinda funny, see. He's got this dry, quiet humour, usually pretty cutting, and these blunt remarks that make Kevin snort even when the recipient of such a remark sends him an injured look. The breakdown in relations with his teammates is worth it when Aaron sends him that little smile. And Aaron is smart. Obviously, medical professional, but he likes trivia and has opinions on the best way to hide a body (“My something-in-law,” he says once, in the world’s vaguest lore drop. “He’s got a variety of skills.” Which, like, ominous? If Jean were here, he’d be telling Kevin that the fact that Aaron clearly being related to some sort of serial killer isn’t flagging his boner at all means Kevin truly has taken too many Exy balls to the head. It might be true. Doesn’t change the fact that his boner remains undaunted and his neck prickles whenever he hears Aaron enter a room, so aware of him) and confiscates Kevin’s Exy racquet when he catches him at the court too late, but doesn’t make him go home. 

Which is how they end up here, actually.

Aaron says, you’re going to injure yourself, don’t be a fucking idiot. Kevin says, I need to get better. Aaron says, you’re already the best person on that court, you perfectionistic fuck. Kevin grins at him, quick and fierce, then remembers himself, and says, I can always get better. Aaron arches an eyebrow and says, not if you blow out your knee trying to conquer the world. Kevin wants to argue, but Aaron reaches over and tugs his Exy racquet free, placing one hand on Kevin’s bicep as he does so. Kevin is so struck by it that he lets him. 

Aaron says, you don’t have to leave if you don’t want to go back home. Kevin doesn’t ask how he guessed or what he’s implying. Kevin asks, what are you doing here? And Aaron says, checking the office. Thought I could get some paperwork done.

And Kevin asks, do you want company? And Aaron looks at him, expression a little unreadable, then says, yeah, okay. Come on, Kevin Day.

And he goes. And Kevin follows. 

And now here’s Kevin, getting an impromptu massage because Aaron narrowed his eyes at the way he was moving his left leg. And now Aaron’s fingers are moving up the back of his thigh, digging in, and all Kevin can think about is how badly he wants those fingers to be digging in because he’s holding on. Because he’s pulling Kevin down on him, clutching at him because he doesn’t want to let go. Or because he’s clinging to Kevin’s shoulders for dear life while Kevin proves to him that all his chat about the stamina of champions isn’t just chat. Kevin’s not picky. He’s just losing his mind a little, maybe, with how it all feels right now.

“Did you want me to do the front?” Aaron asks. “I can check your knee.”

Kevin shakes his head quickly. “It’s fine,” he says, but Aaron is frowning at him. He moves around the bed to face Kevin, and Kevin can’t escape his gaze, lying down as he is.

“Are you sure?” he asks. He presses the back of his hand against Kevin’s forehead—if he thinks Kevin has a fever and benches him, Kevin is going to be absolutely insufferable, especially because he’s fine, he’s just horny. Then he does something so completely unforgivable, and flips his hand absentmindedly, cupping Kevin's jaw. 

Kevin lets out a low whine.

Aaron steps back, and Kevin goes, “Shit, sorry, it’s—Keegan bruised me there earlier.”

The look Aaron gives him is unconvinced, but he nods. “Okay,” he says. “I'll just do a warm down then, if you’re sure.”

Kevin swallows, nods.

But then Aaron's hands are back on him. Gentler this time, for the most part, but digging into softer flesh, more tender spaces, and then—

Kevin makes a kind of gasping noise as Aaron’s hand slips a little, a little too slick from the lotion. Aaron’s apology is swallowed up by the gasp, but then cut off completely as his hand brushes against Kevin’s hard dick.

“Oh,” Aaron says, and then, “Is this why you were being so—Kevin, it’s fine. This is really normal. I promise I've seen it before.”

Appallingly, Kevin’s first instinct is to indignantly ask “Who?!”; however, cooler heads prevail and he says, “Uh huh.”

“No, I promise,” Aaron says. His voice is a little strange, but there’s sincerity in it, Kevin can tell that much. “I know it’s just a reaction, it doesn’t mean anything, it’s natural.”

Kevin blames Jeremy, who is the least honest but most sincere person he knows, for what comes out of his mouth next. Jeremy, who never tells anyone shit but is always so encouraging for people to be open with their feelings. It’s his fault, Kevin decides, because Kevin’s stupid fucking mouth decides to say, “I wouldn’t say anything.”

Aaron goes really still for a moment. Kevin is still not looking at him, so he only knows this from the sudden lack of breathing. Then, finally, “What?”

Kevin huffs, then turns over. No point hiding it now that they both know he’s hard as a rock.

It's embarrassing, but he’s said it now. He can’t unfuck that. So he stands his ground instead. “I wouldn't say it’s entirely meaningless.”

Aaron’s looking at him. Mostly his face, but he glances down at his dick, and Kevin feels it stir with interest beneath the attention. He's about to feel embarrassed, but then Aaron tilts his head, and his eyes darken just a shade, and Kevin thinks—oh. Kevin thinks, maybe this isn’t such a lost cause after all.

[thefirstknife]

Stuff about Nezarec from the TWID:

 CLASSIFICATION  - Disciple of the Witness   - Dread   - Prime Tormentor   - Resonant   - Unknown origin species   - Other names: (The) Purest Light, Darkest Hour, Whispering Nightmare 

Unknown origin species! Prime Tormentor!

INTEL  - Created from Rhulk’s blueprint, Nezarec was the first Tormentor from which all others owe their lineage. Nezarec relishes in sowing fear and pain, feeding off the terror of sentient beings. He can induce nightmares across entire worlds.  - Nezarec—in possession of the Veil—lead the Black Fleet as it assaulted Earth during the Collapse but was betrayed and killed by Savathûn. She separated, cursed, and entombed his Lunar Pyramid within the Moon and stole away the Veil. Guardians uncovered the Lunar Pyramid when the Vanguard mobilized to assault the Scarlet Keep, and they uncovered the Veil when they made contact with Neomuna on Neptune.  - For centuries, Nezarec remained buried. Then his disembodied head, held aboard the Witness’s Pyramid, was struck by a terraforming beam fired by the Traveler. It revitalized him as it reshaped the Pyramid, where an undaunted fireteam cut him down once more.  - Much that is known about Nezarec is derived from anecdotal experiences, engaged fireteam raids, and a tome recovered from the Golden Age that was entitled "Of Hated Nezarec.” 

Really interesting implications in the first paragraph. Created from "Rhulk's blueprint." What does it mean Bungie. Is he a result of Rhulk's experimentations? Or is this in the sense of the Witness using Rhulk's base biology to create something new? Or to corrupt some "unknown species"? What does it all mean.

OF NOTE   - An old Psion Exotic relic known colloquially as “Nezarec’s Sin” has long found its home among Warlock operatives. The helmet has known many owners throughout the years, all of whom have perished under mysterious circumstances, been rendered comatose, or have since relinquished their possession of the helm to another owner. This helm is currently believed to be in possession of the Guardian, [NAME REDACTED], a hero of few words.   - Mithrax, Kell of House Light, is currently afflicted with Nezarec’s curse despite Nezarec being destroyed. This occurred when the Kell led an effort to recover Nezarec’s scattered remains. He wants to distill Nezarec's essence into a mentally revivifying elixir while siphoning the corruptive elements into himself. Attempts to dispel or cure this curse are ongoing. CHA-319 was assigned to monitor it and report back any changes.   - Legends from the Dark Age speak of Lightbearers and non-bearers alike suffering night terrors when the Moon is at perigee. The legends detail rituals with the nearly extinct Earth-plant lavender, long thought to hold protective, calming, and cleansing properties. Furthermore, there are later legends detailing victims of these night terrors smelling lavender after waking, as if the nightmare mocked their attempts at protection. This led to a subsequent switch to a myriad of other panaceas. 

PSION MENTION!!!!!!! Nezarec's Sin is a Psion relic! Super cool information about it. Basically confirms that there's only one in existence and the YW has it.

Mithrax????????? Man. I was hoping that plot point turned not as terrifying as it originally sounded but nope. Apparently this is an active investigation into his wellbeing. Please. Don't do this. CHA-319 is Chalco Yong!

Love the silliness with lavender though. Incredible.