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m1ckeyb3rry · 4 months

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Pomegranate Ink: XXIV

Series Synopsis: Unable to heal but willing to fight, with a fiancé in Kyoto and a last name that looms over everything you do, you accept an offer to study at Tokyo Jujutsu Tech. What you did not know was that your salvation and your ruination alike would soon join you at the school, neatly wrapped in the form of a boy followed by death.

Chapter Synopsis: You must deal with the Zenins in order to be able to recommend your classmates for well-deserved promotions.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Yuta Okkotsu × Female Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.3k

Content Warnings: angst, misogyny, naoya zenin, forbidden relationships, canon-typical violence, character death, original characters included

A/N: you all know what the next chapter is 😔

“You really think they’re ready for that kind of designation?” Todo said. You and him were sitting across from one another in some cafe or another, each sipping on your own drinks. You nodded.

“Gojo agrees. He’s the one who mentioned it, actually, and of course he would never force me to give a recommendation if I didn’t believe it was earned, but in my opinion, those seven have definitely earned it,” you said.

“The Zenins will have something to say about it,” Todo said.

“Since when have either of us ever cared about what the Zenins say?” you said, arching a brow at him. Todo chuckled, taking a bite out of the pastry he had ordered and chewing contemplatively.

“That’s true,” he said. “Alright, then. I’ll trust your judgment as always. When should we go?”

“Later,” you said. “The thought of going to headquarters right now is giving me a migraine. Besides, I have some errands to run and things to do in the meanwhile; I just wanted to check in with you and make sure that you were on board with the idea.”

“What would you have done if I wasn’t?” Todo said.

“I don’t really know. Gojo couldn’t give his recommendation as he’s a teacher, and Yuta’s overseas, so he couldn’t, either. I suppose we might’ve had to pay Mei Mei or tried to convince Nanami, but I’m pretty sure Nanami regrets giving us his recommendation, so I doubt he’d do it again,” you said.

“What, does he think we’re weak or something?” Todo said, clearly fired up at the perceived insult. Immediately, you shook your head.

“No, not at all. He acknowledges our strength — it’s just that he feels bad putting so much responsibility on the shoulders of two children, or at least that’s the vibe I was getting,” you said.

“That does make a bit more sense, but he’s being optimistic if he thinks childhood excludes us from the reality of this world,” he said.

“It’s his viewpoint, so I won’t try to argue for or against it,” you said. “Worst case, we would’ve called Kaito.”

Todo made a face. “Good thing it didn’t come to that.”

Kaito Hinode was Tullia’s cousin, and the reason she had even come to Japan in the first place. Although he was definitely handsome, and talented enough as a sorcerer, those two qualities were about all he had going for him. He was widely known throughout jujutsu society for being air-headed and scatterbrained, and he was reckless to boot, always somehow ending up in your family’s manor getting healed. Though he would definitely give his recommendation if you asked, the higher ups usually did not take him very seriously despite allowing him to be a Grade 1 sorcerer — in fact, the only reason it had been alright that he had been one of the ones to recommend you and Todo was because the other was the levelheaded Nanami, who even the higher ups had a begrudging respect for.

“Exactly,” you said. “It’s for the best that you agreed to it, especially because now it won’t just seem like favoritism or Gojo and I just promoting the people we like for no reason.”

“I don’t think the higher ups would’ve thought that either way. Like it or not, recommending your friends for Grade 1 status puts them in more danger, and you aren’t the kind of person that would do that unless you were absolutely sure they could handle it. Maybe they wouldn’t put it past Gojo, but everyone knows how much you love your friends,” Todo said.

“That’s true enough,” you said.

“What errands are you running today, then?” Todo said. You drew up a mental list of the things you had to do before you responded, already annoyed just at the thought of some of them.

“First, I have to visit the Zenin clan,” you said.

“What? Why would you ever put yourself through that?” he said. You gave him a look.

“You know that they have to be made aware of Maki and Megumi getting promoted, right? It’s better if I go than you, so don’t worry. I’m used to how they operate, so I’ll make sure there isn’t an issue with it. It’ll be more like a formal notice than a request for permission,” you said. Todo frowned.

“Just be careful, and don’t hesitate to call me for help if you need it. I’m not really doing anything much today, so I’ll be there in a flash if I hear that they’re bothering you,” he said.

“Thanks, Todo. It shouldn’t be a problem; the Zenins know to tread carefully around me. Naoya’s suspension was only lifted recently, and they’re all aware of the fact that I have the Kamos, L/Ns, and Gojos on my side,” you said. “It wouldn’t be to their advantage to outright hurt me. Now, I’m sure they’ll argue about what I’m going to tell them, but that’s to be expected.”

“I always forget that my rival is a child of nepotism,” Todo said. “Or maybe it’s that I purposefully try to not think about it. It’s the most boring thing about you, you know.”

“I don’t know if calling an inherited technique ‘nepotism’ is exactly right, but you could look at it that way, sure,” you said. “Anyways, after dealing with the Zenins, I’m going to go get some new curtains for my room. I’m bored with the ones I have right now.”

“I’d offer to help with that, too, but I doubt you’d want my help with interior design,” Todo said. “Even if I am really skilled at it.”

“Right, I think I’m good, but thanks for the offer,” you said. You actually didn’t doubt that Todo had an eye for interior design, as he seemed like the type who would, but you had this sense that your tastes differed in some ways, so it’d probably be for the best if you left him behind this time.

“Since you have so much to do, you should probably get going, huh?” he said. “Like I told you, I’ll keep my phone on. The instant you call, I’ll be there.”

“Thank you, Todo,” you said. “I promise that if I need something while I’m at the Zenin manor, you’ll be the third person I reach out to.”

“The third?” he said, scandalized. You placed your hands on his shoulders.

“The first would obviously be Gojo, and the second would be Noritoshi, both of whom would be much better suited to dealing with clan politics than you. If they’re both busy, then I’ll be certain to ring you,” you said. He knocked your hands away with a huff.

“I see how it is,” he said.

“Don’t be too offended. I like you better for not being born a clan heir,” you said.

“Your attempts to save face are not working,” he said.

“Maybe I should leave before I shove my foot further into my mouth, then,” you said. “See you around. I'll text you to come pick me up when it’s time to go to headquarters.”

“See you then, Y/N,” he said.

The Zenin mansion was a technically beautiful building. You had to admit this much, even though you hated the clan and everything they stood for — they had the aesthetic of a wealthy family down. They were not as extravagant as the Gojos, who had everything in excess, but neither were they as traditional and austere as the Kamos, who adhered to the thoughts and practices of their forebears rather strictly. It was something in between, a kind of class that was borne from a mixture of opulence and convention.

The gate did not squeal at all when you opened it, stepping into the courtyard of the massive home. Soft pink flowers dusted from a towering tree, the petals dancing in the breeze and giving an ethereal quality to the atmosphere. Somewhere, someone was playing the piano, and it was the most beautiful song you had ever heard, a mournful tune that floated out through an open window and tangled with the blossoms as they fell.

“Y/N L/N,” a stern voice said. You blinked, breaking out of your daze and finding yourself face to face with a man you knew to be Ogi Zenin — as in, the father of your best friend, Maki. “What business do you have here?”

“I come as a courtesy to the Zenins. However, my business is with Naobito, not you,” you said. Ogi did not seem like he was inclined to believe you, crossing his arms.

“Naobito is the head of the Zenin clan. He does not have the time nor the will to deal with a L/N grunt like you,” he said.

“L/N grunt?” you repeated. “It’s ironic of you to call me that when I’m a Grade 1 sorcerer, and the girl who brought someone back to life. In fact, I’d actually argue that I’m exactly the sort of person that Naobito would want to deal with.”

“Whether you’ve done all of that or not is irrelevant. You’re still a nobody in your clan, and nobodies don’t have the status required to meet with clan heads,” he said, moving to close the door on your face. “Is that all?”

“Wait!” you said. If you didn’t get this audience with Naobito, then you wouldn’t be able to recommend Maki and Megumi. It was one of those ridiculous rules that was stopping the promotion you were trying so desperately to give, and maybe Ogi understood why you were there, maybe that was why he was behaving in this way, but you refused to back down. The Zenins had ruined Maki’s life enough already, and you would not let them continue on in such a manner. “The piano. Take me to the person who is playing the piano.”

“The piano? Are you certain?” Ogi said, and now he seemed apprehensive in a way he had not before.

“Yes,” you said. “I know this piece; it is a difficult one, and yet they play it flawlessly. I want to give them my compliments.”

Ogi furrowed his brow, but he exhaled heavily, beckoning you in and bidding you follow him. You did so at once, not wanting to squander the opportunity you had been given. It was your hope that whoever was playing the piano would be a bit more agreeable than Ogi and would at least take you to Naobito, who you could then argue with until he accepted your words.

“Don’t think that this will go how you want it to,” Ogi warned as you reached the room where the music was originating from. “I know what you’re planning, but it won’t work.”

“I’m not planning anything,” you said. “You can just think of me as a music lover.”

Ogi slid the door open. “Tell that to him.”

The song abruptly stopped, and your eyebrows shot up involuntarily when you saw who had been playing. He looked confused, standing up as if to reprimand whoever had interrupted him, but when he saw you standing beside Ogi, a sly smirk formed on his face, his fox-like eyes gleaming.

“Well, well, well,” Naoya said, crossing his arms. “To what do I owe the pleasure of the L/N girl paying a visit to my study?”

“She wanted to pay you her compliments for your musical skill,” Ogi said, clearly amused at your obvious horror. This was, quite literally, the absolutely worst way things could have gone. You had been planning on avoiding Naoya for the entire visit, but yet here you were, standing at the doorway of his study, with him as your only hope at getting to meet Naobito Zenin.

“Is that so?” Naoya said, curling his index finger at you. “Well, you can hardly praise me from there, can you? Come inside, little L/N. You can leave us, uncle. I’d like to hear these compliments alone.”

“Certainly,” Ogi said, shutting the door behind you with a finality as you stepped inside with all the mechanical jerkiness of a wind-up toy. Naoya sat back down on the stool, resting his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands, peering up at you as if he were some kind of pillar of innocence.

“So, then? I’m excited. Did you really like my piano playing that much?” he said.

“You’re certainly better at piano than sorcery,” you said through gritted teeth. “Though that’s not really saying a lot.”

“You are so beautiful, and yet you say such crude things,” Naoya said, sighing and leaning back against the window. “It’s such a shame. I’d like you more if you kept your mouth shut more often.”

“I’m not exactly here to please you. I have to meet your father,” you said.

“And here I thought you were so fond of me for saving you after that snake curse almost killed you,” he said sardonically. “It’s not a surprise that you’re not here for me. I didn’t think you would be.”

All semblance of the gentler facade vanished without a trace, and he became the Naoya you were accustomed to — harsh, brash, arrogant, blunt, and rude. You scowled at him. He scowled back, though it was infuriatingly mocking instead of angry, like he found your irritation entertaining.

“You’re still proud of yourself for that?” you said.

“I consider it my greatest achievement,” he shot back. “I’ve thought about making that picture my home screen so I can be reminded of it every day.”

“You’re a freak,” you said.

“And you’re a girl,” he said.

“That’s not an insult, so I don’t know why you’ve framed it as one,” you said.

“The fact that you don’t realize it’s an insult only further proves your simplicity,” he said.

“Will you take me to meet your father or not?” you said. Naoya pretended to contemplate this, hemming and hawing like he hadn’t made a decision before you even asked the question.

“No,” he said. “After all, what’s in it for me? Unless you can offer me something worthwhile in exchange, that is, because if you can, then I’ll definitely oblige.”

“What do you want?” you said. For him to be making that kind of request suggested that he already had some kind of payment in mind, and furthermore, knowing Naoya, that payment wasn’t something you’d really want to give him.

“I want to marry you,” he said. “And no, it’s not because I like you, so don’t get the wrong idea in your head. On the whole, I think you’re far too stubborn and don’t accept your place in society, so you’d likely make a shitty wife, but at the end of the day, I want to be the next head of the Zenin clan, and for me to do that, to beat out the rest of my family for the title, I need something big by my side. Something like the backing of the L/Ns. Something like a wife who’s brought a man back to life.”

“Even if I would agree to that kind of an unfair exchange — which, by the way, I wouldn’t — who I marry isn’t up to me to decide. You must’ve forgotten, but I’m already engaged to Noritoshi, so I can’t just say yes to this kind of proposal and be done with the affair. I wouldn’t dare incur the wrath of the Kamos like that,” you said.

“The Zenins would protect you. You forget that the Kamos need the L/Ns in order to stay relevant, just like the L/Ns need the Kamos in order to elevate their status. You’re the key to it all, Y/N, the one who can shift the balance between the clans,” he said. It was the first time he had ever said your name. You hoped he would never say it again. Even if being referred to as the L/N girl was degrading, your name was your own, something that you were loath to share with someone like him.

“I’m not some kind of key,” you said. “I’m just an ordinary sorcerer. I don’t know why the clans are so invested in what I do or who I marry. Bringing someone back to life was a one-time thing, and even though I am so talented with Composition, it’s reliant on somebody else’s power, so I’d say it barely even counts. Besides, it’s not a guarantee that any children I have will inherit Dissection and Composition from me, so I don’t know why any of you think that that’s a certainty.”

“It’s not a certainty, but there’s definitely a high chance that they will,” Naoya said. “Look, those are my terms. Say you’ll marry me, and I’ll let you meet my father. It’s the only chance you’ll get to talk to him, so make a decision quickly and be done with it.”

“What do you think Gojo will say if he finds out about this?” you said. Mentioning Gojo’s name was a surefire way to get the clans off your back when they were irritating you too much — though they didn’t love him, they had to respect him, as he was the sole representative of the Gojo clan and also the strongest sorcerer of the time.

“He might not be pleased, but haven’t you noticed that despite being under his wing, you’re still engaged to Noritoshi? Do you think he’d do anything if that engagement was transferred to me, instead?” he said.

“Yes, because he knows I don’t like you,” you said. “Everyone knows it. You think the higher ups won’t be suspicious that you’re marrying a girl that got you suspended from sorcery? It won’t ensure your place as clan head. It’ll just make you look like an idiot.”

“Fine, then,” he said. “Don’t marry me. Do something else for me in return.”

“What?” you said, trying not to sound too eager. Almost anything was better than marriage to Naoya; though it was definitely a beneficial union for him, it was the opposite for you. If you had to marry someone in one of the Big Three clans, then you were perfectly happy with Noritoshi, who was content with letting you do as you pleased and actually treated you like an equal and friend instead of a servant.

“Come listen to me play the piano again someday,” he said. “And actually say something heartfelt about it when you do.”

You were sure that in the meantime, he’d try his very best to convince your parents to let you marry him instead of Noritoshi, citing this future meeting as proof that you liked him, too. But this was not a big deal for you — you’d protest vehemently if your parents tried to dissolve your engagement with Noritoshi, and if they went ahead with it regardless, then you really would run away to live with Gojo. Anyways, the L/Ns were a passive clan, so they likely wouldn’t go back on an agreement with the Kamos for fear of a retaliation that they could not handle.

“Sure,” you said. “You should probably practice a bit more if you want what I say to be kind, though.”

“You just want to have the last word,” Naoya observed. “I’m the best pianist in the Zenin clan.”

He was right, but you weren’t about to tell him that. Unfortunately, you had never heard someone play the piano with as much skill as him, so there wasn’t much to critique in that area, but you would rather die than say something nice to Naoya Zenin, so you didn’t mention that, either.

“Now that you’ve gotten your promise of payment, take me to your father,” you said. Naoya stood gamely, offering you his arm. You sneered at it in disgust, and he rolled his eyes before lowering it.

“I suppose that that would be expecting too much out of you. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay three steps behind me. I don’t know what the L/Ns have taught you, but in the Zenin household, that’s what’s customary for women, and you’re no exception,” he said.

You suppressed the urge to imitate his smarmy words and way of speaking, deciding that there was no point in it when you had already just barely convinced him to give you an audience with his father. Instead, you made sure to stomp your feet as you stayed the ‘customary three paces’ behind him, sounding quite a bit like a petulant child but having no other way to express your disdain for the arrangement.

“Here we are,” Naoya said. “I’ll see you soon, little L/N.”

“Not too soon,” you said, shouldering past him so that you could make your way into the room where Naobito Zenin was reclining, downing something alcoholic that spilled past the corners of his mouth and dripped onto the floor. The scent of his drink filled the room, and for an entire minute, you stood in front of him and waited for him to put it down and notice your presence.

“Who let you in here?” he said after a bit, using the back of his hand to wipe at his face and gazing up at you groggily, blinking slowly and squinting like the light from the window behind you was too harsh. “Huh? Y/N L/N? How’d you come in?”

“That’s not what you should be concerned with. Rather, it is the purpose of my visit that is of import. Have you guessed it yet?” you said. Naobito coughed. You did not flinch.

“You want to promote that girl,” he said.

“Maki,” you said. “That’s correct. Today, in the evening, I will be one of the two sorcerers giving her and Megumi their initial recommendations. The rules dictate that you be made aware of both.”

“Megumi Fushiguro, eh? That’s fine. He has the Ten Shadows, so it’s a wonder it took so long for him to get the recommendations in the first place,” Naobito said.

“You’re going to try and stop me from recommending Maki though, aren’t you?” you guessed.

“How’d you find another Grade 1 willing to recommend her? She’s not particularly strong, so why would she get promoted in the first place?” he said.

“You weren’t there for the most recent exchange event, so I’ll forgive you for your ignorance, but the truth is that Maki’s gone toe to toe with a special grade curse already. Even if she didn’t win, just being able to fight back against something of that magnitude is clear evidence that she’s deserving of the status,” you said.

“She doesn’t even have a cursed technique,” Naobito said. You exhaled, pinching the bridge of your nose to ward off your coming headache. This was why you hated dealing with the higher ups — they were the most ridiculously traditional people to ever exist on the face of the earth.

“I didn’t want to do this, but since you insist on being difficult, I’ll remind you: Maki is my best friend, and she is Satoru Gojo’s pupil. Consequently, she has the support of the L/Ns and the Gojos. Do you think that continuing to block her promotion will end up well for you? At the end of the day, no matter how self-sufficient the Zenins are, none of them can heal. You can isolate yourselves if you choose, but without the help of the L/Ns or Shoko Ieri, all of you will eventually die in the war against curses,” you said.

“And do you speak for the L/Ns, girl?” Naobito said. “They don’t even respect you. You think that some ‘administrative delay’ stopped them from coming during the exchange event? Don’t be ridiculous. The Kamo boy was injured, so there’s not a soul alive that would’ve stopped them from going to that school if they wanted to.”

“What?” you said, your blood going cold. Naobito wheezed out a laugh.

“You are naive, aren’t you? Your father was the one who said that the L/Ns wouldn’t come to help,” he said.

“Why would he do that?” you said. Naobito shrugged lazily, tossing the now empty pitcher at the wall. It shattered with a deafening crash, clay shards flying everywhere. To punctuate it, Naobito burped.

“I dunno. I’ve never understood the ways of you L/Ns. You’d have to ask him yourself,” he said.

“I don’t have the time to go to the manor just to talk to him,” you said. “I have things to do. Sorcerers to recommend.”

“You’re still going on about that?” Naobito said. “Fine. I give you my permission. Go ahead and recommend Maki. It’s not like you’ll be the one supervising her, anyways. I’ll ensure it’s only ever members of my clan that take her on the missions; see if she becomes a Grade 1 then!”

“She’ll prove you wrong,” you said. “Do you understand that? She’s stronger than you realize. She’ll become a Grade 1 sorcerer in spite of what you’re doing here.”

“You both make a foolish pair,” he said. “Two girls that think they can face the clans and win.”

“Maybe I’ll never be anything more than a puppet,” you allowed. “But not her. She’s the one who will break free from all of this. She’s the one who will take you down.”

“Maki Zenin has all the strength of a flyhead,” Naobito said.

“Then I wonder how weak that must make you,” you said with a bow. “Good day, sir. Thank you for your compliance. I will report to the higher ups at once.”

Todo pulled up to the department store you were shopping for curtains at in good time. He took your bags from you and put them in the trunk, and then he opened the door to the passenger seat before ensuring you were buckled up and your phone was connected to the Bluetooth radio so you could play music. Only then did he begin to drive towards the jujutsu headquarters, singing along to whatever songs you put on in his surprisingly melodic voice.

“By the way, Todo, are you really sure you’re okay with this?” you said. He paused mid-high-note, giving you a confused look.

“Of course I am! I want my brother to get the recognition he deserves,” he said. “And it’ll be fun to accompany him on his missions. Getting the chance to watch him continue to learn and improve, taking part in the improvement…it’ll be a rush for sure!”

“Huh? Wait, Todo, don’t you remember—”

“I know what you’re going to say,” he said, cutting you off. “There’s a chance I might not be the one who’s assigned as his supervisor. Well, let me tell you something here and now: Yuji Itadori and I are meant to be together! He is more than just my best friend, he is my brother, and that’s a bond you’ll never understand. Us being together on our missions…why, it’s just destiny!”

“Um, actually, it’s not. Like I was saying, don’t you remember that recommenders can’t also be supervisors? That’s why Nanami and Kaito weren’t able to supervise us on our missions, and why Naoya had to step in at one point — due to the lack of Grade 1 sorcerers as a whole. We won’t be able to accompany any of them on missions, at least not on ones directly related to their promotions,” you said.

Todo slammed on the brakes, which prompted several honks from the cars behind him that had obviously not been expecting the abrupt stop.

“What?”

Walking through jujutsu headquarters with Todo beside you reminded you of the summertime, of the many missions you had had to take in order to reach full Grade 1 status. It was nostalgic in a way, and then as you walked towards the main office, you remembered what it had been like when Nanami and Kaito had given you their recommendations. Elbowing Todo, who was still grieving the news that he couldn’t supervise Itadori, you grinned up at him.

“Can you believe it? Not so long ago, we were the ones getting recommended,” you said.

“The start of our rivalry, huh? Well, I guess that was the exchange event, but I’d argue that being recommended at the same time cemented it,” he said, cheering up slightly. You weren’t sure if the setting sun was making the memories softer, but for some reason, you felt particularly fond at the moment, thinking back to those times.

“Now we’re the ones giving recommendations,” you said. “It’s crazy how far we’ve come. It’s only been about a year or so since I even became a sorcerer, and now I’m a Grade 1. You know, before joining the school, I was really unhappy.”

“You were?” he said.

“Of course I was. I was considered the failure of my clan, a girl who couldn’t even heal a papercut. I spent my time locked away in my room, told that the only thing I could ever amount to was a dutiful wife for a clan head. But what kind of an existence is that? Becoming a sorcerer was the first time I did something for myself. I took control of my life, and look at where that’s landed me! I can use Composition now, I’ve even revived someone with it, and I’m a first class sorcerer, as well,” you said. “I didn’t realize how wonderful it could be to be my own person, but now I’m so glad I got that chance.”

“I’m glad, too,” Todo said. “After all, I’d never be as strong as I am now without your advice and our rivalry to push me forwards!”

“You know what? I don’t even want to know what you mean when you refer to the advice I give you. I think I’ll never understand it, but I’m fine with that,” you said, finally giving up for good on trying to comprehend Todo’s method. “Let’s go and deal with some dusty old men now, shall we?”

“After you,” he said, opening the door and motioning for you to enter. Once, you would’ve been apprehensive, but now you walked in with confidence, your chin held high and your back straight, your strides even and measured. You were meant to be there. You weren’t an imposter. You were deserving of your place in this society.

“Y/N L/N and Aoi Todo,” Principal Gakuganji said. “The two of you understand better than anyone what it means to be Grade 1 sorcerers. Yet you still believe you should go ahead with this?”

“Yes,” Todo said from beside you, no longer his goofy self but every bit the proud and strong sorcerer that one would expect someone of his appointment to be. “We believe we should.”

“The Zenins will never allow her to be promoted,” Principal Gakuganji said. You smiled politely at him, though your every word had daggers behind it when you spoke.

“I already received permission from Naobito Zenin, so that’s not a problem. They’re fine with us giving her and Megumi our recommendations,” you said. “You can’t argue with this, sir. You saw them at the event, and you heard about their performances against the special grade curse that hijacked the team challenge. All of them deserve the promotion.”

“Grade 1 sorcerers are top of the line. They are the peak of sorcery, bar the special grades of course. You understand that?” Principal Gakuganji stressed. You and Todo exchanged looks before nodding. “They are meant to be the leaders amongst other sorcerers. Think over that carefully, and then repeat what you just said to me.”

“There’s no need to think about it,” you said.

“Absolutely none,” Todo agreed.

“Maki Zenin,” you began. “Elakshi Sakhare. Tullia Ferraro. Panda.”

“Nobara Kugisaki. Megumi Fushiguro,” Todo added, “and my brother, Itadori Yuji.”

“These are the seven that I, by my name as Y/N L/N —”

“And I, by my name as Aoi Todo —”

“Recommend for grade 1 sorcerer status.”

#yuuta x reader #yuuta x y/n #yuuta x you #reader insert #canon au #pomegranate ink #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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mickeys-malarkey · 1 year

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BATDR Analysis/Post-Playthrough Theory Revision Pt. 4/4: Guess what? I found some more highly suspicious songs…

So, let's add some nice, juicy lyric/film analysis to our dish (sorry, Betty, I couldn't resist the joke rofl… Speaking of Betty's comment, “all those juicy, lovely books gone to waste. Only Keepers go in there these days, and they'll tear you apart limb from limb if Wilson isn't with you…” sure sounds like the fandom simultaneously lamenting that all the Bendy books are supposedly “no longer canon” after the Memory of Joey/Nathan Sr.'s so-called “retcons” and, in a few cases I've seen, getting downright vicious towards anyone who tries to dig back into them)!! I'm very excited about how perfectly these wound up matching my theories, I had all but the first one in a playlist to watch/listen to later, and when I did and re-watched/re-listened to the first after writing Parts Two and Three? Wowzah… 👀

Before we start, summaries in case you haven't read/recaps because it's been a while since I posted the other parts.

(Sorry again that this part took so much longer to repost than expected… I live in shame.)

Part One: Wilson and Audrey have been trapped in their time loop for at least a year of real-world time, the game is actually taking place sometime between 1974 and 1992, and the beginning of BATDR is just a replay of June 18, 1973 like how the ending of BATIM is just a replay of August 1963 (there's also still all the evidence in my original analysis/theory that suggests BATIM and BATDR are both taking place sometime between 1978 and 1991, so do with that what you will). Also, there's definitely only ever been one studio and timeline, it's just that multiple entities have been editing everything beyond recognition (mostly Nathan Sr., whose alteration of the Ink Dimension is definitely symbolic of gaslighting, which I continue touching on throughout, but especially in the next part, which is my personal favorite).

Part Two: Wilson told us his entire life story and explained how his dad always was and still is the true villain to us in riddle format (which The Mug and the Maiden is the key to starting deciphering). Information he divulges includes but certainly is not limited to:

Arch Familial Dysfunction (Understatement of the Century): Wilson is the younger half-brother of Nathan Jr. from an affair that Nathan Sr. had with their housekeeper in 1926 (yes, the year before Joey reunited with him at the Sparkle Unicorn in 1927 and he was looking for girls to dance with there; dude's a serial adulterer). It's heavily implied that Nathan Sr. was not just emotionally but also physically abusive of him, that he was the cause of those big honking scars of his.

Power Dynamics: while Nathan Sr. was never officially involved in JDS, he was always pulling strings behind the curtain, to the point that it's accurate to describe him as one of the Three Kings of JDS (the other two obviously being Henry and Joey); we're given intimate details of how manipulative he is, including that it was under his influence that Joey claimed responsibility for horrible things that he didn't actually do.

The Truth About TLO: Joey and Allison were in Atlantic City schmoozing Bill's dad in order to get out from under Nathan Sr.'s thumb after the events of and since DCTL knocked sense into them, but Nathan Sr. retaliated by orchestrating all of the events that lead to Bill's “death” so that Mr. Chambers would instead put a price on Joey's head and they'd have no choice but to come crawling back to him for protection from he who they thought would be their way out.

Wilson's Corruption Arc: Wilson spent his youth watching his dad's machinations from the shadows and warning people through riddles so that Nathan Sr. wouldn't realize what he was doing; when Joey created the hivemind, he connected to it in order to do this more easily. This is how he was actually involved in the events/writing of TLO and DCTL. Unfortunately, his dad caught him by the end of TLO because he'd done a little orchestration of his own to lure a wildcard – Brant Morris – into the mix in hopes of exposing Nathan Sr. to the world and he was punished, starting him on a decades-long journey to Murder Puppet/Decoy Villain status that eventually involved Nathan Sr. ordering his mom (again, the housekeeper, not Tessa Arch) to put him through some sort of obedience test and then drug him so that he would be there when the crate containing the Ink Machine “accidentally” broke. He wrote The Mug and the Maiden to Audrey (like Buddy wrote DCTL to Dot and, as I previously theorized, Joey wrote TIOL to Henry) under the unsubtle pen name of “Wilton,” taking inspiration from her childhood memories of a toy (the Cracked Mug) that reminded her of her dad (like how he took inspiration from Bill's memories of Alice in Wonderland for the riddles he sent to him, Constance, and Brant) as a last, desperate cry for help before his own dad finally finished turning him into a Murder Puppet (like how TIOL was a cry for Henry to come save Joey from Nathan Sr. before he did the same to him and DCTL was a cry for Dot to stop Joey and save everyone else before his mind was overtaken by Boris's).

True Identities: the Memory of Joey is actually either a puppet created and controlled by Nathan Sr. or just straight-up Nathan Sr. in disguise; he symbolizes the image of Joey that Nathan Sr. has carefully curated and ingrained into the public's memory. Meanwhile, Bendy is actually the real Joey Drew, forced back into the Murder Puppet/Decoy Villain role by Nathan Sr. postmortem but most definitely not the real monster; Dapper Bendy symbolizes the side of him that did his best to heal from what Nathan Sr. did to him and be a good uncle/father and friend and that Nathan Sr. brainwashed him into hating and suppressing, Freaky Teeth Bendy symbolizes the habitual remnants of his maladaptive coping mechanisms formed by decades of being manipulated and abused by the man in question which he doesn't want to be, anymore.

Signs To Watch Out For: does something about the story make no sense (e.g., facts like dates and how the heck the ink actually works aren't matching up, an event gets called out as as weird/odd/strange only to have questions about it brushed aside, characters seem to have very different thoughts/feelings/motivations in one game/book than in another, an event gets written off as accident/coincidence/fate, etc.)? Great news /s! That's a sign of Nathan Sr.'s interference. Also, if a character seemingly randomly says something weird/odd/strange, that's a sign that Wilson's sending us a warning riddle through them (especially if it gets directly called out as weird/odd/strange).

Part Three: Henry and Allison's so-called “story retcons” are actually blatant lies made up by Nathan Sr. to keep Bendy/Real Joey trapped and at odds with his two real best friends postmortem (and put icing on the torment cake by allowing those friends to still be friends with each other but not him); the truth appears to be that Joey did call Henry for help but Nathan Sr. had him murdered, and then Allison tried to switch sides for good and help Joey through recovery as a fellow reformed abuse-victim-turned-abuser, so of course Nathan Sr. also had her and Tom murdered. Audrey is neither a soulless ink creature nor a sacrificed human but instead has her own, completely new soul created from pieces of Henry and Joey's via the same ghostly soul-combination process that creates all “children of the darkness/Machine” (many of whom seem to be hiding messages in their audio logs/memos in order to rat Nathan Sr. out on their parents' behalves), making her Henry and Joey's daughter (Henry, Bendy/Real Joey, the Memory of Joey/Nathan Sr., Wilson, and Audrey also appear to be the most powerful beings in the Ink Dimension because all souls are combinations of pieces of one's parents' souls in the Bendyverse, so all five of them have Royal Souls). Porter and Heidi are not Audrey's siblings, they were given their powers by the Memory of Joey in order to push us towards thinking that Joey was a cruel uncle/father who discarded the failed Audreys when he got sick of taking care of them (when, in reality, Joey was a very loving father who cherished every second with his baby girl and fought for her to have a better life than he did even though he made mistakes due to decades of being trapped in survival mode [e.g., having Audrey call him “uncle” in her previous reincarnations in order to cope with the grief of her dying over and over due to only having a partial soul] and it's actually Nathan Sr. who was the irredeemably evil dad, straight-up celebrating when they found Wilson's dead body on the floor of his JDS museum); Gent CEO Alan/Allen Gray/Grey appears to also be a child of the darkness/Machine, the son of Tom and possibly either Allison, Bertrum, or Nathan Sr. (who's definitely rewriting history to include Mr. Gray/Grey as one of his many Decoy Villains, regardless of whether he's his other parent or not), Grace the daughter of Norman and possibly Shawn, Heidi the daughter of Allison and Susie, and Steve the son of Wally and Tom. Bendy/Real Joey being the center of the hivemind and anyone infected with the right kind of ink becoming a personification of part of his psyche has confirmation out the wazoo, except it seems that Norman, specifically, may have become a personification of part of Wilson's psyche just because he's very powerful, himself, as another JDS Royal. “Cyclebreaker” doesn't seem to truly mean “person who can reset the loop,” but instead “person capable of breaking the cycle of trauma/abuse,” and Wilson's Keepers seem to be called that because Nathan Sr. gave them orders to ensure that his son continues obeying and remove anyone who might help him recover from what he did to him from the picture.

Both Parts Two & Three: many scenes appear to be heavily symbolic of or just straight-up Audrey leaning on/being tempted to lean on Joey's maladaptive coping mechanisms generational trauma-style and having a choice between cruelty and compassion. There's also quite a bit of evidence pointing towards Joey having intended the Ink Dimension to be a heavenly paradise for the salvation of suffering people (especially his fellow victims-of-Nathan-Sr. and people that Nathan Sr. used him and his studio to hurt/disappear), but Nathan Sr. having sadistically hijacked it and created the End Reel in the process of twisting it into a hellish prison to continue torturing his victims in postmortem (especially Joey).

Real quick, some thoughts I had while working on fanarts:

The cheese store man (from The Mug and the Maiden) may symbolize Porter and Steve McGregor in addition to all observers of the Joey-and-Nathan Sr. situation (a giant man with bits of cheese stuck in his beard? Sounds like Big Steve with all those bits of metal and whatnot that he eats stuck in his body. An old man with a long beard and ropes around him? Sounds like Porter, who got stuck in a pipe just like how Brant/Mr. Darble Mouse got stuck under the secret door in the warehouse basement/Governor's cellar… And the cheese store man knows the widow's real name but she calls him by the wrong one? Porter's definitely Brant Morris using a different name and he may have actually spied on the Memory of Joey in order to tattle on him, I love him even more now. Also… Brant/Porter is totally a personification of Wilson's sense of humor in addition to Joey's shame. Brant's the funniest character in TLO, Porter's downright mirthful about everything, Wilson/Wilton wrote the funniest fairytale I've ever read in my life… they also both apparently dealt with early hair thinning, interestingly), trying to push us towards investigating them in order to expose Nathan Sr.'s Fake Siblings plot.

The Decoy Villain and their Keeper dynamic is actually something we see repeatedly across Nathan Sr.'s victims, especially when the torch is about to be passed from one Decoy Villain to another… Arthur was Isabel's Keeper when it was time for her to kill Walter, Allison was Joey's Keeper when it was time for him to turn his employees into ink creatures (turning several into fellow Decoy Villains in the process), mayhaps we could even say that whoever figured out how to create the Slugs was Chef Buck's Keeper when it was time for him to start his “recycling” spree… and Heidi is Mr. Gray/Grey's Keeper now that it's time for him to take over from Wilson? 👀👀

“We're in the final days here. I can tell. People are packing things into boxes. Tools are going missing. You can smell the panic in the air around the studio. But us Gent boys, we're just watching from the shadows. We lock the doors, and keep our research going. Mister Gray already gave us a little wink. All is well. When one ship sinks, another one leaves the dock. I just need to keep my Ink Machine safe in the chaos. It's the key to so many discoveries.” ~ Thomas Connor, Bendy and the Dark Revival, “Business as Usual” memo (emphasis added)

“It's a funny thing. How so much can fall apart so fast. We never really had control at the studio. Either you were in someone's pocket, or you were putting someone else into yours. I just wanted what was promised to me. I just wanted to be beautiful! Surely you can understand that. Henry… Why are you here? We're all dying to find out. Do you just enjoy the terror of the drop into hell? Because if that's the case… Hang on tight. I've got a surprise…” ~ Twisted Alice, Bendy and the Ink Machine, ch. 4

Wilson's BATDS audio log was 100% about him wanting to pass on his secrets before his dad could silence him completely and forever in death as he did to so many others, just like how Joey managed to leave clues about the reality of the whole situation behind despite everything.

“It's important to seize an opportunity, before it slides through your wrenched fingers. The past so often dies without passing on its bountiful secrets. But oh… Mister Joey Drew. The secrets you've left behind. How very interesting, such… knowledge, such… opportunity. The time draws near… For a dark revival to come at last!” ~ Wilson Arch, Boris and the Dark Survival (emphasis added)

…Welp, now that that's out of the way, on with the show!

I believe that this one, released back in July (close to when you would've expected the Bendy Twitter to release a third teaser image), is supposed to have been written by Wilson:

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*Dapper Bendy bounce-dances in what looks to be part of BATIM Chapter 1 as it looked when the Memory of Joey brought Audrey there* “Under foot, have you looked, where the light don't shine no more? Here's a hook, what it took, to break their spirits and yours” *Dapper Bendy rests against a pipe in what looks to be the sewers in BATDR but with the contraband display case from outside the Pit in the Cyclebreaker prison* “Didja make, give or take, a bigger difference away? Didja break, didja quake, when you saw what's really at play?”

This sounds like the singer's asking us if we've read the Bendy books and looked for clues in the other games – all of which the Memory of Joey/Nathan Sr. is distracting us from with his erasure of Allison's existence, writing Mr. Gray/Grey into the story, etc. – and directing us to read The Mug and the Maiden for the explanations of events that we need. They then seem to be giving us confirmation that Wilson, Joey, and eventually Allison were trying to make things better from the inside and asking them if they broke when A: Buddy's death at the end of DCTL made Joey realize how Nathan Sr. was going to keep on using him to hurt people despite his best efforts, B: Allison experienced whatever it was that woke her up from Nathan Sr.'s trance in-between DCTL and TLO, and C: Wilson was punished at the end of TLO for learning too much and being a good boy, all while also D: acknowledging Audrey's ghostly origins and generational trauma??

*Dapper Bendy bounce-dances in what looks to be another part of BATIM Chapter 1 as it looked when the Memory of Joey brought Audrey there* “When it started, this commotion, this great disaster, what a brilliant revelation, what he's really after”

This sounds like Wilson realizing why his dad was doing what he was doing to Bill, Constance, and Brant by the time TLO ended!! “For it was the death of Mr. Darble Mouse that started all the trouble.”

*Dapper Bendy sits on a table in what looks to be the Little Devil Lounge, behind him is a buffet sign with graffiti that reads “Fetty was here,” which could be “Betty” with part of the “B” smudged off??* “It's a daily shift of churning, burning down the candle, it's more than we can handle”

Did you just confirm that Wilson's mom indeed drugged him as part of Nathan Sr.'s plot to punish him for warning people about his machinations and turn him into a Murder Puppet with your environment design, and then that everything was more than Joey, Allison, and finally Wilson could handle with your lyrics?? Which, y'know, now I think about it, honestly gives whole new meaning to TLO's epilogue…

“Swirling blackness wrapped so tightly, at first like a hug and then it squeezes, it crushes, it smothers . . . A quiet buzz, then louder, like a thousand voices talking at once. Screaming at once. Outside and inside. Our thoughts are not our own thoughts. Whose thoughts are these? How many of us are there? How many more will join us? We are all screaming. We are all waiting. We are all… lost. The light appears in sudden bursts. Too bright, it pierces at you, tears you apart even as you reach for it. What is there to reach for? Why hurt yourself? Just sink back. Sink back in with your friends. . . . We sink back and back and back. We understand now. We see how all this time we were wrong. We understand the joke now. Knock knock. Who's there? We can't fix the machine. We never could. Knock knock. Who's there? Who is there? Out there? Out here? We're all here. We understand now. It's the punchline to the joke: You can't fix what isn't broken.” ~ The Ink Machine('s Hivemind), Bendy: The Lost Ones, pg. 290-291 (emphasis added)

I think that this was the hivemind poetically describing what happened to Joey, Allison, and Wilson at the end of TLO, and to who knows how many more puppets and other victims Nathan Sr. collected over the previous and following decades: This man, who seems perfectly friendly on the surface, turns out to be an abuser once you're caught in his vice-like grip. His victims seek freedom, salvation, genuine love, even try to provide it to each other, but are punished for doing so, often alongside those who they tried to reach out to (e.g., Bill and his dad, Henry, etc). Eventually, they're trained to see potential help/etc. as something painful that they shouldn't even bother with, and learn to think that they should just allow themselves to sink back into obedience, because at least that hurts a little less. They understand, now, that they can't fix the Ink Machine, because just like every other thing they, themselves, intended to be good, Nathan Sr. intended it to only hurt them more. And he thoroughly enjoys watching them struggle, only to finally give in to him… Terrible. Dreadful. I'm sad, again. *Sniffs* Back to the music.

*Dapper Bendy is falling, possible reference to both the “falling down the rabbit hole” message Constance received from Wilson and Audrey's falling down the elevator shaft to where she meets the Memory of Joey and is set back on the path of meeting Wilson in his ink mansion* “So come on a ride! Further down below! And learn the prophesy of the hypocrisy that runs this broken show!”

“Come find me, Audrey. Come find me and I'll show you your purpose. I'll show you… the truth. And now… we die,” and learn the prophesy of Nathan Sr.'s puppeteering hypocrisy through Wilson/Wilton's twisted riddles??

“There's nowhere to hide! There's nowhere to go! You brought the hallway to a standstill, now the desolation grows”

This sounds like it's referencing Nathan Sr.'s not allowing anyone to escape and reality/memory alteration??

*Audrey wielding a pipe appears. Behind her, in the top right corner, “Jose[scribble],” presumably Joey's legal name “Joseph” scribbled out, is written in black ink; underneath that, written in the golden invisible ink, is the word “Life” with a halo, a dotted line like on a cartoon pirate treasure map that leads to an anarchy symbol that could also be being used as a certain family's last initial (Arch), and the letter “D,” presumably beginning “Death,” with devil horns. On the far left, in the same golden ink, is drawn a key* “Well it took, just a look, to see it wasn't the same, wrote the book, then he took, all the fortune and all the fame” *Audrey's now somewhere kinda nondescript other than signs pointing to the Art Department and a “Devil Cafe,” possibly a work-in-progress placeholder for the Little Devil Lounge* “Broke a tie, let it die, the love that made him a king, tell me now, can you find, the end to pull on this string?”

“Open your eyes and look around you! None of this ‘makes sense,’” yeah, I think I know exactly where the end of this (shall we say “puppet?”) string is: right there in Nathan Sr.'s hand!! This looks and sounds like confirmation that the version of Joey's story that everyone knows, the one that makes no sense because nothing matches up, was written by the Great Puppet Master, the Second of the Three Kings of JDS, Nathan Sr., as Wilson explained in that rant I just quoted!!! While also confirming that Nathan Sr. has forced Joey back into the Decoy Villain role postmortem as Bendy?!

*Audrey's now somewhere littered with toon carcasses like what Henry and Boris encounter all over Twisted Alice's territory in BATIM and BATDS* “Something in you brought you back here into your history, it's no mystery why your feelings seem so contradictory”

This sounds like it's acknowledging both Joey's seeming emotional/motivational contradictions under Nathan Sr.'s influence and Audrey's emotional conflicts being caused by the pieces of the First and Third Kings of JDS's souls that make up her own???

*Slow zoom on a door with a Gent pipe lock* “It was love that built this testament to artistry, warped by hate and trickery!”

Confirmation that the Ink Dimension was indeed created for Joey's regret and corrupted for Nathan Sr.'s revenge?!

*Chorus repeats with Audrey in an elevator until after the prophesy line* “Why have you arrived? Is there something you know?”

Confirmation of Nathan Sr.'s mafia-style disappearing of potential info leaks?? Perhaps even of the Insane Reader Ending being Audrey getting disappeared for knowing too much???

“Will hope or desolation be the seeds that you will sow?”

I think y'all will see why this line is fascinating in the analysis/theory conclusion… 👀

*Shot of Sammy, Boris, and a boatload of Lost Ones huddled around a flaming barrel like we see the Butcher Gang huddle around in BATIM Chapter 4* “Hello again, my dearest friend, *shot of the chasm in BATIM* don't look so down, it's not the end, let's play the same old little game, *shot of Joey's office door in BATIM* to back out now would be a shame, now step in time, follow the lines, I've saved your seat right next to mine, *Dapper Bendy and Audrey stare at a wall of what looks like graffiti mixed with notes on employee and cash numbers as well as pieces of paper* like an oiled machine, rhythm and key, we'll make you fit in our harmony, your eyes can lie, you're doing fine, it's just a chill run down your spine”

*Unintelligible noises* 👀👀👀 There?? Are?? So?? Many?? Layers?? To this?? This sounds like it could just be Wilson singing to Audrey, but also like it transitions from Joey and Henry singing to each other to Nathan Sr. singing to everyone, then the original Three Kings all singing to their kids, back to Nathan Sr. (with an implication that we should be searching the whole series for clues and a hint at most of the Children of the Machine never having actually lived in the real world as Nathan Sr. wants us to think they did), back to all Three Kings, Wilson singing to everyone, and back to Nathan Sr. again!!

“Don't be afraid, you're not alone, *Audrey and Dapper Bendy turn around to see Freaky Teeth Bendy with one eye X'd out* he's always watching”

“Shh, don't fret. We're going home,” Wilson and Bendy/Real Joey are always watching in similar hivemind-y ways?!

*Shot of Freaky Teeth running through inky darkness* “There's teeth in the night, a life as dark as coal, and in the prophesy, he's just the mockery of your own heart and soul”

This sounds like confirmation that A: the Cheshire cat reference in TLO was indeed one of Wilson's riddles, telling us that the smiling face that everyone's so afraid of isn't the real danger, it's the unseen claws who won't allow anyone to escape nor to look at anything but the smiling face, and B: the literal and figurative Memory of Joey as well as Henry being a copy created to be tortured are blatant lies meant to keep the First and Third Kings of JDS at odds even beyond the grave as well as torment and mock the both of them?!?!

“There's fear in your eyes, so where now can you go? Can you own what you have made here, or will terror take control?” *Chorus repeats over shots of the Ink Machine being raised on chains like it was in BATIM, then of Archgate Studios, and a couple of empty hallways*

More that I think y'all will find extra fascinating in the concluding section… 👀👀 Also, If you're somehow still questioning the books' canonicity, at this point, I dunno what to tell you. Before we move on to the next song, I wanna bring up… I'd noticed, way back when it was first posted, that if you turned off the audio and just focused on what the final BATDR teaser audio log is actually saying before we hear Wilson's voice for the first time, there seemed to actually be a coherent thought being communicated…

“So what can you expect in the coming months? You never know! He's always watching me… I saw Mister Drew the other day, meeting with that Connor fellow, holding some papers. I think they saw me looking though. Just too many secrets being cooked up in the kitchen! If I didn't know better, I'd say there was magic there. Well calculated understanding between creation… -big things are coming!- …and creator. Massive things! That smile… You just learn to go with it. He's always watching me… You just watch! I've got a good feeling something great is going to happen.” ~ Unknown, Bendy and the Dark Revival teaser audio log dated April 14th, [YEAR REDACTED]

At first, I thought that this plus the fact that they'd released seven audio logs but only six shorts at the time of the seventh meant Bendy was alive as a cartoon, he'd been watching events from inside the drawings and was splicing audio logs together to express that he thought Joey realized he was alive and he was excited about the idea of having a real body… But who do we know, now, communicates like this? Through hints dropped all over the place via the thoughts, mouths and pens of many different people? Wilson and Joey, communicating with us through the hivemind, right? With this new perspective… it actually sounds like this is two people talking…

Joey and Wilson, talking about the events of TIOL, DCTL, and TLO… Joey saying he's excited about creating his paradise for the lost, even if he's nervous about being caught by Nathan Sr… and Wilson saying he's excited about what he knows so far that the Ink Machine can do – watch people and get messages out more discreetly through the hivemind, not even having to be physically near anyone and risk getting caught to do either thing – and that he can tell Joey has good intentions, but he knows better than to get his hopes up for this whole thing to go well because his dad is involved in the situation, with his smile that masks the monster underneath with its Santa Claus Vibes and you just have to learn to play along with or else, because he's got spies everywhere… I love how they can make that same statement of “he's always watching” go from creepy in all instances to kind of comforting when it's referring to Wilson and Bendy/Real Joey and positively gut-wrenching when it's referring to Nathan Sr., once you dig deeper… *Shudders again* Anyways. Back to our regularly scheduled programming.

This next one, by one of the very same artists who previously released songs containing canon info, had its preview dropped the same day as the BATDR trailer:

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*Obvious Joey shadow puppet appears* “Pictures in my head contained all, *Bendy cutout puppets appear* to make standing out art, *cutout puppets are replaced by an Ink Machine puppet* we need to take big steps not small, *Ink Machine puppet is replaced by a mannequin puppet* draw animate your part, *mannequin puppet disappears* trying to impress *Lost One puppets appear* in this mess, *Joey puppet looks around to find himself alone* you were trying your best, it wasn't close to the success, *obvious Bendy smile materializes behind the Joey puppet* you'll stay in this nest” *Bendy smile consumes the Joey puppet*

First of all, I'm frightened by the fact that he's telling us this story with literal puppets, considering how many times the only way I personally could think to accurately describe the relationship between Nathan Sr. and his victims was with “puppet-and-puppet-master” imagery (by the way, I saw someone point out that Betty's mask looks an awful lot like the marionette faces in Showdown Bandit did… Sounds like another layer to Wilson's intentional symbolism for his mom's involvement in his dad's machinations, if you ask me. Remember how the marionettes had such a big thing about how they shouldn't look up at whoever or whatever was controlling them that many of them literally plucked out their own eyes to avoid it? Sounds an awful lot like the symbolism I proposed for Wilson's posters). Second of all, this sounds like Joey was the one who was singing for exactly one line, then somebody took the microphone away from him to sing to/with/about him rather than letting him sing about himself. The mannequin puppet seems to imply that, while we may think Joey's the one pulling the strings, it's not actually any of his employees who's being spoken to in that “draw animate your part” line. And everything from “trying to impress in this mess” onward seems like it's confirming that Joey was trying his best to create a paradise to rescue his fellow victims-of-Nathan-Sr. in without tripping the man in question's alarms, but he failed at both that and obeying Nathan Sr.'s orders to satisfaction in general and was both A: isolated and villainized in the real world, and B: finally merged with the soulless Bendy body in the Ink Dimension when his human one died, all partly to punish him??

(Speaking of mannequins, anyone notice these ones sitting right across from each other in Twisted Alice's part of Wilson's mansion that seem to imply that both Susie and Joey were just puppets in the whole “creating Twisted Alice” situation?! The Joey one even has distracting eyebrows drawn on, further correlating him to Bernard the Ugly Lizard Man Who Wears a Blue Cloak in The Mug and the Maiden!!)

Sepiatone: I gave you all that I had, frames are showing new way, the apathy that's so sad, you lead my name away Grayscale: Calling it phantasmagoria*, when you're seeing more than them, means not knowing what's euphoria**, now I can live it through again

*A sequence of real or imaginary images like those seen in a dream.

**A feeling or state of intense excitement and happiness.

Holy… guacamole… He just crammed so much information into the space of only two freaking verses!!

The first one sounds like it has two meanings, using the “frames are showing new way” line to transition from A: confirmation that Sammy Lawrence became a personification of part of Joey's psyche (his desire to be protected/saved by and feelings of betrayal/abandonment at the hands of Henry and Nathan Sr.) when he was infected by the ink and that Nathan Sr. caused Henry leaving but manipulated the narrative so that the only options anyone was allowed to believe were “it was Joey's fault” (when, in reality, he genuinely tried to make things work) and “it was Henry's fault” (when, in reality, he also genuinely tried), to B: confirmation that Henry's being gaslit into believing he was never human and, as a result, using Joey's Illusion of Living coping mechanism to try and forget his human life and become apathetic so that his imprisonment in the Ink Dimension will hurt less and that The Mug and the Maiden, King Widow, and Lord Amok pretty overtly point towards the Memory of Joey being Joey's name and image stolen by Nathan Sr. (the context implied by the previous two lines being: “in order to rewrite history”).

The second sounds like confirmation of A: the symbolism behind Wilson's blacked-out eyes and lack of damage until you see him colored in in his posters being that, if we allow Nathan Sr. to gaslight us into ignoring the evidence of his crimes, then we're blind to the truth (and adding that, consequently, we'll either not realize that the default ending isn't the happiest possible one [as most of the YouTubers I've watched play the game seem to think it is] or find the story – especially the ending – utterly nonsensical and/or unfulfilling [as even I did, at first. I'll explain why I was wrong in the analysis/theory conclusion]), and B: specifically because we didn't know the truth, the time loop cycle is continuing (she showed Bendy the End Reel, remember? And they literally showed her walking through the same door in Joey's apartment to get back into her own studio as Henry did to get back into Ink Dimension JDS. Audrey reset the time loop cycle, she didn't break it. Probably the only reason it was daylight is because her and Wilson's loop is larger than Henry and Joey's was). Hot dang, y'all good at cramming several layers of meaning into lyrics.

Now, I'd like everyone to notice that there seem to be two Joeys singing the chorus!! One speaks in sepia text and seems friendlier until you pay attention to what he's actually saying, the other speaks in gray text using a deep, growly, stereotypical villain voice and seems to enjoy this role until you pay attention to what he's actually saying…!! 👀

Sepia Joey: Hey, can you hear me now? Gray Joey: Even if you don't like it you'll die in ink Sepia Joey: You'll breathe when I allow Gray Joey: You will die so make it easier, just sink Sepia Joey: I left for you my legacy Gray Joey: All consumed by fear, inky atmosphere Sepia Joey: Take my hand, that's the destiny, let's spin the last gear, we are back my dear

Sepia Joey is actually scarily controlling (honestly, that “you'll breathe when I allow” reeks of Nathan Sr.'s mafia-style disappearing of anyone who becomes a liability or he grows bored of, just like the first paragraph of the “Next in Line” memo did) and the fact that he says that taking his hand (as Audrey refused to do when the Memory of Joey was telling her the obvious lies about Allison and Henry and half-truth about her origins, only to decide that taking Bendy's hand when he came to save her was wrong and she needs to reset the time loop partly to resurrect the Memory of Joey), spinning the last gear (sounds awfully similar to playing the End Reel), and returning with him+ (to the beginning of the time loop?) is our destiny (a synonym for “fate”), all sounds like further confirmation that the Memory of Joey is either a puppet controlled by or straight-up Nathan Sr. and the End Reel and its endless “cartoon cycle of torment” was his creation and plan. Meanwhile, Gray Joey actually sounds… downright despairing… and, I probably don't need to reiterate, at this point, but uh…

“…I remember this night well. Though I remember it being at the Bee Room, gold and black, not [the] silver [that Joey describes] as the main design aesthetic. Doesn’t really make much of a difference though, I suppose.” ~ Nathan Arch Sr., The Illusion of Living, pg. 44 (emphasis added)

…confirmation that Bendy is Real Joey alert (it makes a whole heckuva lotta difference, Nathan Sr. Shut the heck up)!! Also— did anyone notice that the visual effects for transitioning out of Bendy Is Chasing You Grayscale is freakishly similar to the visual effects for transitioning in and out of Henry's visions in BATIM?

Further evidence that Audrey is Henry and Bendy/Real Joey's daughter alert!!! Possibly also further implying that we need to be looking at more than just what the Memory of Joey/Nathan Sr. wants us to, and that Henry, Bendy/Real Joey, and Audrey are three of the five most powerful beings in the Ink Dimension— even without the Seeing Tool, they all seem able to see things that other ink creatures seem unable to…!

*Obvious Joey shadow puppet reappears* “Disappearance in the big silence, *Lost One puppets reappear, who the Joey puppet looks around at like he's panicking* world turning upside-down, *Lost One puppets disappear, leaving the Joey puppet alone again* everyone needed a new guidance *new Lost One puppets who seem to be kneeling in worship of the Joey puppet appear, only to disappear again, replaced by an obvious Henry shadow puppet, who the Joey puppet turns away from* one had but he has drowned.”

This looks and sounds like confirmation that Joey went into hiding to escape Nathan Sr. after JDS shut down and indeed contacted Henry for help fixing his mistakes but Nathan Sr. had Henry murdered and made it look like Joey either lured him to his death or created a sentient clone to torture in his place, both of which options make Joey look irredeemably evil?! And that, when Sammy's cult were worshiping the soulless Bendy back in BATIM, they were worshiping Joey's future image?!?! Y'know… it occurs to me, what if Joey wasn't the one who removed Henry from the ending of Tombstone Picnic?? 👀👀

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Bendy (Joey) runs away from a skeleton (Nathan Sr.'s machinations?) and stops to catch his breath, Henry's shadow looms, Bendy looks up at him and smiles, only for the film to suddenly, inexplicably be cut short… Could this have been a clue that Nathan Sr. had Henry murdered when Joey called him for help all along??

Forgive me, I'm about to go on a bunny trail, cause I just remembered, as well, that I thought it was weird that the thumbnails for all of the shorts are sepiatoned, but the animation is black-and-white… A hint that these are the versions that Nathan Sr. has altered, we're only getting a peek at Joey's truth? *Stares at my notes on Joey having to jump through hoops to get Nathan Sr.'s permission to publish TIOL and then Nathan Sr. further editing it postmortem via his excessive, creepy notes* (While I'm on the topic: I wonder if Audrey colorizing Tombstone Picnic at the beginning of BATDR could be a hint at the further story detail we get through The Mug and the Maiden, Audrey herself, etc… Wilson does import color into the Ink Dimension, after all…) My bestie pointed out once, as well, that it's weird that Bendy's literally known for his iconic grin, but… all of the shorts (excepting Tombstone picnic) seem to end with him scared, frustrated, or sad… *Stares at my notes on Bill, Constance and Brant being personifications of Joey's fear, anger, and shame* and also how it's weird that Boris is supposed to be his best pal, but he's actually really mean to him… *Stares at my notes on Nathan Sr. isolating and villainizing Joey, turning all of his friends against him* and also how it's weird that none of them (excepting Tasty Trio Troubles) really… have any music to speak of… aside from the beginning ditty… when BATIM made such a big deal about it (like, an “every single one was fully orchestrated” kind of “big deal”)… Now I've read TIOL, where Joey literally titled a chapter “Without Music, Life Would Be a Mistake…” and, in the BATDR teasers, there's those audio logs from Sammy and Jack…

“Every time I turn around there’s more work to do. Four cartoons almost complete and all of them need a tune by tomorrow. Typical Joey planning. I’m working so much I’m starting to see Bendy in my sleep. That smile... He’s always watching me. Few more months of this, I wouldn’t be surprised if that grinning demon drove me completely insane. That smile… something’s just wrong with that smile. Can’t put my finger on it. Shake it off, Sammy. Best get back to your songs. Someone has to keep the little devil happy…” ~ Sammy Lawrence, Bendy and the Dark Revival teaser audio log dated June 16th, 1935 (emphasis added)

(Could this be a hint that Sammy figured out that Joey, a terrible planner, was not the one in charge?? And the reason behind his unsettling smiles that get read as malicious but are actually dissociative???)

“Okay, the smell is kinda starting to get to me now. Ever since they started putting in more pipes, it’s really begun to flow a lot more down here. The good news is that it’s helped me to work on things a lot faster. Definitely been some of my best lyrics lately. Sammy and I even won an award for one of our songs last month… I was told. Of course it had Mister Drew’s name on the award, but it’s the thought that counts. Speaking of which, I saw Mister Drew the other day… was meeting with that Connor fellow, holding some papers. Why they’d want to meet down here is beyond me. Something stinks.” ~ Jack Fain, Bendy and the Dark Revival teaser audio log dated November 18th, 1943 (emphasis added)

(This already suggests that Jack learned something he shouldn't, but could it be that we were completely wrong about the circumstances and information? Could he and Sammy have put what they each learned together…?)

…And then, in the actual game, there's that memo from Telly Wester we find on a desk right after climbing a ladder that's had rungs removed for some unknown reason next to the first two “Wilson Knows” posters we see, and a memo from Sammy shortly after which is under the third poster… and Jack has mysteriously changed his tune about the sewers…

“Geez! You'd think I was drowning kittens the way these people are lookin' at me! I've never seen such disappointment in a person's eyes. But this is the way of things, if management can't pay their bills, then the bank takes the goodies back. Still, it does break me a bit knowing how much I loved them old cartoons this place used to make. Oh well! Times change. Life moves on.” ~ Telly Wester, Bendy and the Dark Revival, “Hard Times” memo (emphasis added)

“Joey, Jack and I have been wondering if you could meet with us considering the current situation? We have been with you for many years and we feel we have contributed to the success of Bendy in the past. Our interest is purely in keeping this company strong. We just want to help however we can. Let's talk.” ~ Sammy Lawrence, Bendy and the Dark Revival, “Let's Talk” memo (emphasis added)

(When I first read this, I thought “ouch, poor Joey. Someone finally offered help and they made a big deal about how it's only for the company's sake? That must've stung…”)

“You gotta follow your inspirations when you're a musician. Stick to what you know works. But when they built the new studio buildings, they all but filled in my office down in the old sewers. Turns out, I've gotten so accustomed to working in those disgusting conditions, that now if my office doesn't stink, the lyrics I write do. So when Gent started digging their massive utility shaft between their place and ours, I knew it would be just the right spot for me to move in. Now, I've got a song in my heart, and a creative stench up my nose.” ~ Jack Fain, Bendy and the Dark Revival, “Sewer Songs” memo (emphasis added)

What… what “goodies” was Telly talking about? What would cause people to look at him like that? Why this suspicious placement of items in a room that Wilson obviously had set up to welcome Audrey home…? I just remembered reading an old comment of mine… but I'd noticed that Tom, in his first BATIM audio log, talks about the ink pipes like he wasn't the one who put them in like his BATDR teaser one implies he was by placing him in the studio in 1943, just six days before Jack's audio log…

“It's dark and it's cold and it's stuck in behind every single wall now. In some places, I swear this godforsaken ink is clear up to my knees! Whoever thought that these crummy pipes could hold up under this kind of strain either knows something about pressure I don't, or he's some kind of idiot. But the real worst part about all this… are them noises the system makes. Like a dying dog on its last legs. Make no mistake, this place… this… machine… heck, this whole darn thing… it just isn't natural. You can bet, I won't be doing any more repair jobs for Mister Joey Drew.” ~ Thomas Connor, Bendy and the Ink Machine, ch. 1 (emphasis added)

I'd originally thought this meant BATDR was taking place in an alternate timeline/universe, not the same one as BATIM, but is this actually another case of Wilson and a child of the Machine trying to explain how past events have been edited and hint at what really happened? Is… is this saying that A: Jack figuring things out happened long before Tom arrived, perhaps it wasn't even Tom who he saw Joey meeting with at all (it would actually make his confusion at seeing them meet in the sewers make more sense if perhaps it was not just his boss, but also a fricking steel tycoon… All Nathan Sr. would need to do here to incriminate Tom instead of himself is edit the dates and a name), and B: Nathan Sr. orchestrated the events of DCTL to look like either Tom's incompetence or Joey's poor planning was the reason the pipe burst and infected Sammy, but, in actuality, Nathan Sr. sabotaged the pipes like he sabotaged the things he did in TLO, in order to disappear Sammy – start and supply his ink addiction – for trying to help Joey (both obviously also providing further evidence that Nathan Sr. editing Mr. Gray/Grey and all those other extra Gent employees into history)?? And… did Jack just sink into obedience because he didn't wanna get disappeared, too (in which case, the tune change is similar to Tom's between DCTL and TLO), or did Joey tell him he should go into hiding to protect him (in which case, the tune change is him leaning on Joey's Illusion of Living coping mechanism to make the fact he needs to stay in the sewers more bearable)???

“[Sammy] stared at me longer this time. Then he started to laugh this laugh that was all breath and no sound. Almost like wheezing. ‘Art Department. Okay. Okay, gofer for the Art Department, answer me this: Why are you guys storing ink in my sheet music closet? And why is JOEY running a pipe through my closet that's apparently filled with ink?’ A pipe? With ink? That definitely didn't sound normal, but then again, I had no idea what was normal for an animation studio. ‘I don't know.’” ~ Daniel “Buddy” Lewek, Dreams Come to Life, pg. 48 (emphasis added)

(The comments on seeming “innocuous strangeness” and theme of brushing questions aside return… Also, whose voice do we know by its distinctive wheezing? 👀👀 Wilson literally just commandeered Sammy's mouth, didn't he?!)

“I want to tell about Sammy. About when he disappeared. I want to get to that part of the story. But the thing is, we only notice someone is gone when time has passed… . . . Three days after that, when enough time had passed, but not so much that people really noticed it, Toby from accounting mentioned that Sammy hadn't come in for his paycheck. Again, us workers only knew anything about this because Mister Drew himself was storming around the building, angrily muttering about it. Interrogating folks he met as he went. I didn't feel like the rage matched the situation, but then I figured maybe he had something more on his mind than just a missing music director. . . . But then things took a turn. I remember coming to work and the police were outside and the studio was shut down. I remember being told by Richie that someone had broken in and messed the place up. That they were looking into a possible burglary. I remember Mister Drew rushing from his car and shouting in the detective's face something about sabotage. How seeing him shout like that was worse than seeing Mr. Schwartz lose his temper. Than seeing even Sammy lose his temper. It was jarring and a little scary. Especially compared to how he usually seemed.” ~ Daniel “Buddy” Lewek, Dreams Come to Life, pg. 193-194, 194-195, and 196 (emphasis added)

(Wilson seems to be highlighting an important part of Buddy's story for him, again…! 👀👀👀)

Was Joey so seemingly excessively upset by Sammy's disappearance because he was worried that Nathan Sr. might've taken another friend who was genuinely trying to help him away from him, changing the narrative around the situation, just like he did with the Henry leaving situation?! Was he not shouting about the “burglary” being sabotage, at all, but exploding because he now had confirmation that the whole weird situation was his “good friend” Nathan Sr.'s handiwork (honestly… why would he assume sabotage straight out of his car and what would this “burglary” even actually be sabotaging? How does this make sense as a response to the situation outside of the context I'm proposing? It… doesn't… Making him explode like this in front of many people even fits Nathan Sr.'s Classic Abuser Villainizing Their Victim M.O.)?! Could the lack of music in the shorts have been a hint at both how Nathan Sr. edits the Ink Dimension to be joyless and torture Joey in particular and how he punishes anyone who reaches out to/for help all along?!?! And… could Nathan Sr. have straight-up orchestrated Buddy's death, as well, besides forcing Joey to make up a story about how it was his own plan the whole time, because he realized Joey liked him?! Was the incident where Joey tricked Buddy into paying for a fancy dinner to make Nathan Sr. think he only saw him as a pawn when he started suspecting he'd done something to Sammy, but it didn't work?! Why was Buddy sat where he was (at… Henry's desk… which was being kept somewhere nobody wanted to sit, like Joey didn't want anyone going near it…) and Bendy locked up somewhere that this kid who people knew tended to stay late after work (just like Henry…) would hear him (recognizing, because he was under the pipes all the time, that this was a new and unnatural noise), let him out, and be blamed for unleashing the Ink Demon?

“It was because of the pipes. I know that now. My little corner of the Art Department that no one wanted to sit in… . . . So the pipes making the odd noise as I sat and worked in my corner that night really didn't even make me blink. Didn't make me look up. Until they did. . . . I stood up instinctively. This wasn't the furnace feeling frustrated. This was something else. What it was, though, I had no idea. Well, the thing I did know was that it was none of my business. So I sat back down and focused on my paper. That's when the moaning started.” ~ Daniel “Buddy” Lewek, Dreams Come to Life, pg. 139-140 (emphasis added)

Nathan Sr. took Joey's goodies away… drowned his kittens in ink because he kept disobeying/failing to obey to satisfaction… I get the feeling that, when Joey confronted him about Sammy being disappeared, Nathan Sr. said something like: “don't give me that look. This is just what happens when you don't behave, you know that. I felt a little bad doing it, I did enjoy his music… Oh well! Life goes on…” and it seems like he made sure the soulless Bendy took Buddy out extra poetically, because he could see Henry in him just as much as Joey could… so, he knew that death would hurt his “good friend” the most…

“[Mister Drew] grabbed me under my chin and held my head still. I tried to shake him off, but his grip was like a vise. He brought up his other hand and held me tighter. He came even closer and looked at me hard in the eyes. His scent was powerful. I'd never really noticed that before. But now for some reason I could smell him clearly. It wasn't just cigar smoke and pomade. I could smell his hors d'oeuvres from the party. I could smell whiskey and champagne. I could smell the city air and the heat of the day. His sweat. His madness. . . . Just because something is unbelievable doesn't make it not true. Remember that, Dot. Oh, please, above all things, remember that. . . . ‘The soul. But how do I get a soul? Sammy lured those people down here… I thought I could use them, but the ink had infected them for days. There was no soul left in there. I needed someone real. Someone good. I never thought I'd be so lucky as to have you, Buddy. But this was meant to be. This was the plan all along. That's why you were sent to me. When I came here, when I saw you—in the clutches of that beast—I understood your purpose.’ No. That's not my purpose. I felt anger rise in me, and I pushed his hand off my shoulder finally. I stayed where I was, white-hot rage now energizing me, making me almost afraid to stand up. Of what I might do. ‘I saved your soul, Buddy. And you saved me. You’re going to save Bendy.’ I didn't do that. My purpose was saving Dot and the others. That was my purpose. He couldn't and wouldn't take that away from me. My purpose now and always would be to protect the world from this beast. This machine.” ~ Daniel “Buddy” Lewek, Dreams Come to Life, pg. 287, 293, 294, and 295 (emphasis added)

Was Joey literally trying to tell Buddy that Nathan Sr. had plotted his demise because he knew he cared about him?! And was that comment about unbelievability a message from Wilson about the whole Nathan Sr.-and-his-puppets situation?!?! Which makes me think of… Okay, these next couple thoughts may be more of a headcanon than a legitimate theory, but I've had this weird, nagging feeling ever since I first read DCTL that I'd just totally discredited when I first heard Nathan Sr.'s voice, and I'm wondering if I shouldn't have… cause this line in The Mug and The Maiden, “two characters have died already, surely a third wouldn't hurt anything? Are you perhaps just reading this story because you want to see who will get the axe next? You're a little warped, do you know that?” is most definitely speaking of/to Nathan Sr… Any of y'all remember that scene in the elevator as Buddy was arriving at Joey's party? I wonder if my initial, gut reaction that the man with the southern accent who tried to get Buddy to join him in making fun of Joey (honestly, it seemed like laughing at the poor man was the one-and-only reason he was even there) and his wife who seemed done with his B.S. – both of whom mysteriously vanish after being introduced in a similar manner to Allison, like they might be important later – were actually Nathan Sr. and Tessa, except they were in disguise so that Joey wouldn't realize Nathan Sr. had come to watch his dominoes fall… until it was too late. Susie and Sammy already died (or “died”), surely another of his toys dying (or “dying”) tonight wouldn't hurt anything… but oh, goody-goody gumdrops, whichever will get the axe next? 👀 I also had this weird feeling when I first read TLO, before Andrew told Constance his name, that he was was going to be Nathan Jr… and I still felt like he might somehow be involved with Nathan Sr. – maybe a spy or something – until he just sort of got unceremoniously kicked from the story and nothing really came of him except adding more fuel to the raging inferno that was Constance's anger… I wonder if Nathan Sr. enlisted his neglected Favorite Son™ as Constance's Keeper? 👀👀 Back to things I'm more sure about, hm… that scene I just quoted sounds an awful lot like a certain scene at the end of BATDR…

Wilson: …All of the factors must be perfect. *Machine chamber rotates from the one containing the painting of Shipahoy Dudley to an empty one* The right design, the right science, and… *saw blades pop out of the chamber walls* the right soul. Audrey: What? Wilson: At last your purpose is revealed, Audrey. This is why you're here! With your soul inside him, my creation will live forever. Audrey: Stay away from me! You're insane! Wilson: Come now, Audrey! Part of you knew this was your path. Leave yourself behind… and ascend! Audrey: I thought you said we needed to save your father! I thought you had a plan to send me home! To make everything right! Wilson: I lied… My father is beyond hope. Perhaps you know him: Nathan Arch, owner of ArchGate! Industrial genius. Business tycoon. For years I've lived in his reaching shadow. He always had time for the grand creatives of the world, the “doers” as he called them! He knew only the best! The biggest thinkers! How could his lowly son ever hope to compete with that? But now, thanks to you, I can. Audrey: *Clenches fist* *tries to use her banishing powers on him* Wilson: *Catches her hand before she can* No need to struggle. My signal prevents you from using those devilish powers of yours… and more importantly, *catches her other hand before she can hit him with the Gent pipe* keeps the Ink Demon from getting in. It's time to die, Audrey… *starts dragging her towards the machine* and live again… as a god! Audrey: *Hits him with her pipe, continues struggling, and gets her right hand free* No! Not this time! ERRGH! *Hits him much harder, frees herself from his grip and pushes him into the saw blades*

More evidence that both Joey and Wilson's evil plans were actually Nathan Sr.'s all along?? He's done this before, to Susie, Sammy, Buddy, Henry, Allison, Grant, and who knows how many others through Joey (and, I mean, y'know, he's probably why Joey tried to sacrifice himself at all… I wonder if the reason his soul failed to merge with Bendy, the reason it was purportedly Joey's fault Bendy was soulless, was because he came to his senses at the last second and fought back like Audrey did), now he's trying to do it to both Audrey through Wilson and to Wilson through Audrey… This series is so filled to the brim with narrative parallels, it's astounding… And my. Gosh. I. Hate. Nathan Sr. More. And. More. The more I think about it all… Anyways, honestly, the whole Sammy and Jack situation would explain:

Joey's comments on Sammy and Jack seeming to secretly hate each other in TIOL: maybe he added that in so that, if one of his friends was caught by Nathan Sr., then maybe the other wouldn't be (clearly it didn't work, unfortunately)?!

Joey describing Jack as an attention-hogging showman when all of his audio logs show he was very introverted, didn't much care about getting credit, etc: maybe he wanted to create this image of him so that Nathan Sr. wouldn't notice him if and when he went into hiding?!

Why Joey put a pump switch in Sammy's office: maybe he realized Nathan Sr. was catching on and wanted to make him think he didn't care about him while also getting Sammy to start hiding like Jack?!

Why Sammy made the comment he did to the (sepia!!) newspaper in the Employee Handbook that most people interpreted as meaning he was always a villain and on Joey's side in a bad way when he, himself, clearly didn't like being ordered around and under a tight schedule: maybe he, himself, was also trying to throw Nathan Sr. off the scent of rebellion (also, this means we have even more evidence of Nathan Sr. A: letting rumors spread to punish Joey, and B: creating Decoy Villains through manipulation/etc. all the freaking time)?!

Now that we're all chewing on that food for thought, back to the music. 😝

Sepiatone: You were all my gold that has been never sold, giving life for art is going to be told, with a new name but an old soul, playing the old remastered roll, backing to tracks forgotten, all is fresh not rotten Grayscale: But there was just one creation, couldn't ever imagine, it brought my needed retaliation, for the artistic salvation *Two-Joey chorus repeats* Grayscale: Never-ending cycle started the suffering revival, the offspring has survived, angels and demons darkly revived, the vision brought a very costly decision, *obvious Joey silhouette appears* how great it is to feel the artistic *Joey silhouette flickers out of existence* catharsis, thaaa— Sepiatone: —aaat feels like I'm living, Sepia Joey: losing what I've been dreaming is what I'm fearing, but the true god of conceptions know, when from the spotlight he should go Grayscale: Anyone know? I'm! Still! Here!

*Wheezes* Did you just further confirm all my theories on how the version of Joey's story that everyone knows was written by Nathan Sr. (while simultaneously nudging us towards the idea that the Memory of Joey is straight-up Nathan Sr. in disguise and reinforcing that the End Reel is his creation and the resets are part of his plan to torture everyone), there was only ever one studio it's just that reality and people's memories have been modified and re-modified beyond recognition, Joey intended for the Ink Dimension to be salvation for those who've suffered in life and the victims of Nathan Sr.'s machinations but Nathan Sr. hijacked his creation, twisting it from a heavenly paradise into the hellish prison he, himself, now relishes and doesn't want to lose control of and consequently it was a good thing for Bendy to crush the Memory of Joey?? And possibly also drop a hint about the explanation of the events of TLO provided by The Mug and The Maiden before definitely reinforcing that the real Joey (who mused about ascending to godhood in TIOL and, if he's really Bendy now, has been described as a “deity” by Wilson, and has definitely been described as a “Dreamer” throughout the whole series, therefore “the true god of conceptions”) has been pushed outta the spotlight by the Memory of Joey and using Bertrum's line to simultaneously confirm that Bertrum also became a personification of part of Joey's psyche (his desires for the respect of others and praise for his work, hatred for anyone who belittles him and desire to upstage them in retaliation) and that Real Joey's soul is indeed still here inside Bendy???

Sepia Joey: Hey, do you hear me now? Gray Joey: After all these years, vision's still in the minds Sepia Joey: You'll breathe when I allow Gray Joey: Even dried-out ink is still drawing new lines Sepia Joey: I left for you my legacy Gray Joey: All consumed by fear, inky atmosphere Sepia Joey: Take my hand, that's the destiny, let's spin the last gear, I'll miss you my dear

Did you just also confirm that even the long-dead are still modifying the Ink Dimension for various purposes, simultaneously confirming that many of the new audio logs/memos/side stories may indeed have been made up by the souls of the series' scapegoats/etc. in attempt to call our attention to the discrepancies and reveal the truths and that Nathan Sr. – as the person who seems to be doing most of the reality/memory modification – might indeed already be dead, which would mean his soul would indeed be the true “new evil” in the Ink Dimension?! I'm vibrating again, omigosh…

The rest of the lyrics were all lines from the artist's previous Bendy songs ending on a lineup of posters of each one, which I'm thinking is probably further confirmation of theMeatly's repeated statements that all established lore is still 100% canon, and then did you notice… that while all the other posters only include drawings of cartoon characters, the poster for Legacy is a drawing of Bendy and human Joey as he looks in Archgate's documentary banners, haircut and all, and we see the Joey shadow puppet's shadow looming over it before the shot fades to black??? 👀 He's practically screaming in our faces that the Memory of Joey/Nathan Sr. is not supposed to be here and is the real villain!!

Whilst we're talking about there being two Joeys, one of whom is clearly heavily connected to Nathan Sr. for history rewriting purposes… Did anyone notice that, in his letter at the beginning of BATIM, Joey says that he “needs” to show Henry something… Then, in the monologue in his apartment at the end of BATIM, the subtitles (which are what I transcribed the quote from in my original analysis/theory, by the way. In case anyone was wondering. I have auditory processing issues, sue me) say he “needs” to show him something while the voice actor says he “wants” to show him… And then, when the Memory of Joey tells the version of Henry's story that's definitely, 100%, undeniably a blatant Nathan Sr. lie, at this point, he says both verbally and in the subtitles that he “wants” to show Audrey something… 👀👀 “Need” suggests there was a genuine need, and therefore that the “Joey called Henry for help” option would be correct, whereas “want” suggests he wanted to show off something he was proud of or something, and therefore that either the “Joey lured Henry in to murder him” or “Joey created Fake Henry to be tortured” options would be correct… Sounding like the subtitle mismatch was not a mistake, but actually a hint at the transition from Joey's Truth to Nathan Sr.'s Lie, to anyone else? Like maybe Henry remembered that his old friend was supposed to have said “need,” and he was confused as to why he was saying “want,” now?? 👀👀👀

This song was illustrated by someone kept anonymous in the video description, who I think we all know is the same person who did the visuals for that first highly suspicious song, despite him saying that Desolate Hallway would be his last project (if you couldn't already tell just by looking at the style, the crucial hint in the comments returns):

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First things first, it's suspicious that this song is titled “Black and White,” considering Joey and Freaky Teeth Bendy's heavy ties to grayscale. I think this song is straight-up Bendy/Real Joey explaining his side of the story to us.

Grayscale: Ooh you're outta luck! Somebody's pulled the rug, and everything you've known has bid farewell, now demons run amok, this land from which you're stuck, the heavens pray this fresh hell treats you well, oh no… Sepiatone: *Whisper that shakes the screen like it frightened the singer* No

Frick, that was Joey despairing that his baby girl's been dragged back into the Ink Dimension and praying for her to be safe and Nathan Sr. interrupting him to say that she won't be, wasn't it?

Grayscale (w/ sepia drawing of Audrey): One moment drew with ink, the next I feel it coursing through my veins, I look around to see, reanimated dreams, that festered into frights that never drained Sepiatone (drawing of Audrey): This portal to the past, has morals I could pass, these monsters justify the wrong, in hopes to find their song, knowing it's already gone Grayscale (w/ sepia drawing of Audrey): Catch you in the credits, captivation to this black and white, just don't feel right, yeah, when the shadows grimace, all it takes is an *highlights with a golden glow* enlightened eye, *back to grayscale* to see that I don't belong

This could be Audrey singing about getting sacrificed to the ink machine… or it could also be… Joey describing the day his human body died and he woke up in his cartoon world that was warped from paradise into prison by Nathan Sr. and he was never able to fix… He's also describing how Nathan Sr.'s manipulation and abuse fudges up his victims' consciences, using empathy to make them believe they'll be relieving suffering, creating great art, and/or achieving greatness, so that they think they're in the right committing atrocities… and how he didn't want to continue the cycle of abuse/trauma with his daughter… He even seems to be pointing us to the drawing at the end of the credits – which I'll come back to at the end of this analysis – saying it's unfair that he's the only one who can see his truth in the grayscale, and asking us to look at his story through a new lens…

Grayscale (drawing of Dapper Bendy): Oh can't stop for breath, in a world that leaks with death, I stick out like a stain that won't wash out, creatives always said, work can't go to your head, but never said that they'd go for your throat

He's literally confirming that Nathan Sr. sees him as one of the “stains ready to be cleansed away” *cough liabilities in need of disappearing mafia-style cough* in Wilson's “none of this ‘makes sense’” rant, confirming that this rant was indeed a riddle trying to tell Audrey about Nathan Sr.?? And then seems to be quoting something Henry and others might've said to him when he/they noticed that the studio chapter of their lives seemed to be changing him, and then explaining what it felt like when Nathan Sr. started villainizing him, causing people who he thought cared to turn against him…?

Grayscale (camera pans over to show a drawing of Freaky Teeth Bendy in a mirror behind Dapper): A cartoon made to dance, had finally got a chance, to never be erased again, now I have been condemned, to the marks from my own pen, catch you in the credits, captivation to this black and white, just don't feel right, when the shadows grimace, all it takes is an *highlights with a golden glow* enlightened eye, *back to grayscale* to see that I don't belong

He's confirming that he thought he'd escaped Nathan Sr.'s clutches only to find himself trapped in them again by his own creation?? And then back to pointing us to the credits of BATDR, saying it's unfair that nobody else can see his truth, and asking us to look at his story through a new lens…

Sepiatone: Passion amassed all our pass time distractions, to fight for their rations and live a tortured life, but the reels just repeat, lost the chance to redeem, when corruption’s defeated, remembrance always dies, yet even when memories fade, your legacy carries your fate, the devil may reach for my heart, *highlights with a golden glow* but I don’t belong to the dark

This sounds like he's describing what Nathan Sr. did to all his victims now trapped in what should've been their salvation, again… Confirming again that the End Reel and the Memory of Joey are evil and it was good for the Memory of Joey to be crushed and bad for the loop to restart… And then we seem to have Nathan Sr. bragging about the fact he's turned Joey's baby girl against him, so he won't win even if he kills him??? But then what seems to be Audrey providing her much more positive side of the story, that she's trying not to lean on her dad's maladaptive coping mechanisms… I'm coming back to that, I'm coming back to that. I'll wait.

Grayscale (w/ sepia drawing of Audrey): Catch ya in the credits, captivation to this black and white, just don’t feel right, when the shadows grimace, all it takes is an *highlights with a golden glow* enlightened eye, *back to grayscale* to see that I don’t belong Sepiatone (drawing of the Bendy): (Oh no), to see that I don’t belong, (black and white, it don’t feel right), to see that I don’t belong

Let's do some more examination on the fully animated version, which seems to provide further insight:

youtube

The beginning seems to be confirming that it's Bendy singing for the majority of the song, though it tries to make it look like the “no” is coming from Bendy… highlighted by a switch to sepia, as if we're only seeing it that way because our perception has been altered. Then it seems suggested that it is Audrey who's singing the “one moment drew with ink, the next I feel it coursing through my veins,” except… “I look around to see, reanimated dreams” is accompanied by what looks like footage of BATIM Chapter 2… which is weird… and suggests that maybe we're seeing Henry and/or Joey's memories… *Stares at my notes on Audrey's parentage* Then, “that festered into frights that never drained” is accompanied by all four Butcher Gang members appearing around Audrey… *Stares at my notes on reality editing and children of the Machine* And then “this portal to the past” is accompanied by a shot of the “again & again, around & around” hidden message from BATIM, “has morals I could pass” a Bendy statue from BATIM, “these monsters justify the wrong” a Searcher wrenching a door open to attack, “in hopes to find their song” a Lost One throwing herself against a wall and looking sad, “knowing it's already gone” Dapper Bendy looking at the toy train in his lap all alone…

The first chorus, “catch ya in the credits” is accompanied by Audrey and Dapper Bendy doing a handshake like they're already best pals and teammates, “captivation to this black and white, just don't feel right” the pair walking together to the library in BATIM where Henry saw his first vision that wasn't triggered by passing out from a magic-induced headache or doing something you don't do in a normal playthrough (which suggests that this might've been a point where the script was changed), “when the shadows grimace, all it takes is an enlightened eye to see that I don't belong” Audrey looking at a copy of TIOL (I probably don't have to reiterate, but I'm gonna: the biggest source of info on Nathan Sr.'s abusiveness towards Joey), then Bendy narrowing his eyes and looking over at a projection of the hidden messages from Henry's cell in Allison and Tom's hideout, *stares at my notes on these being evidence that Henry and Allison's story retcons are blatant lies* followed by shots of Carley the fourth Butcher Gang member, several Lost Ones who seem to be sitting at school desks in front of the ink messages Grant scrawled all over the walls of his office in BATIM, *stares at my notes on how the children of the Machine seem to be tryna tell us that Mr. Gray/Grey is being written into the story as a decoy villain partially through highlighting how Nathan Sr. changed Grant's story to fit this pretend history* Porter (one of the most critical parts of arousing suspicion that he and Heidi aren't Audrey's siblings, the Memory of Joey/Nathan Sr.'s just tryna make Real Joey look bad), an empty music studio, and Wilson with the invisible ink messages “who is the man behind the monster?” and “you bring death” behind him, which suggests that… maybe a large number of the secret messages we found in BATIM, even ones we thought were just jokes (as many assumed The Mug and the Maiden was), were… being used as riddles by him… Omigosh, guys, read these in the (general) order we encounter them with the idea that – no matter who actually wrote them – Wilson could be using these to talk to us/himself, tell stories, etc. in mind (there's actually way more that sound very, very him, but Tumblr's image limit, so I'm only putting highlights from the beginning and ending here):

This feels like a description of the events of DCTL (especially considering the fact that Wilson used the widow – a “she” – in The Mug and the Maiden to symbolize Nathan Sr. Secret messages relating to Twisted Alice could very well be being used to talk about him… I wonder if Twisted Alice's line “I see you there. A new fly in my endless web” in BATIM was a reference to Nathan Sr., as well? Seeing as Wilson used the King Widow and Lord Amok to tell us that the Memory of Joey is either Nathan Sr.'s puppet or Nathan Sr. himself)…

And then a description of Joey's guilt spiral and calling Henry for help only for his dearest friend to be murdered by Nathan Sr., then Allison trying to be there for him and also getting murdered by Nathan Sr., but Joey being blamed for both incidents just like every puppet always gets blamed for everything that Nathan Sr. orchestrates… Y'know, all that stuff with Sammy and now with Henry's secret messages would explain why it was specifically Henry's axe and seeing tool and a record in the contraband display case, wouldn't it—? Did the Keepers put them there under the Memory of Joey/Nathan Sr.'s orders, or was this another of Wilson's attempts to call our attention to what he was trying to say (“guys please I'm trying so hard but my effing dad keeps silencing me, I'm literally begging you to look into Sammy and Henry for the love of all things good”)…?? Mm! I'm vibrating, again. Anyways, “a cartoon made to dance, had finally got a chance, to never be erased again, now I have been condemned, to the marks from my own pen” is accompanied by a shot of Dapper Bendy gripping his head and looking at Audrey in distress as he melts, then reemerges from the puddle as Freaky Teeth Bendy, the hidden message depicting the soulless Bendy's monster horns and claws that should be around the Bendy clock in Boris's hideout in BATIM behind him…

“*Panting* When you animate, it's so much more than just motion. It's a way of life, an art, a passion. *Crazed giggle* Each tiny movement is an *growly* emotional trigger to the audience. Get it wrong, and you will lose them. You must live the characters to draw them. You must feel the motions in your mind. *Pitch raises to be like the giggle again* Act them out around your room. Today, I'm a clock, a dancing timekeeper. *Giggles again* Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. *Giggles* Watch my movements. *Growly* See my frames of animation! I have so many characters to animate yet. Thousands of frames to go. *Giggles again, but sounding on the verge of tears* But for now, I'm just a clock. *Giggle, sniffle* Tick tock. *Giggle, sniffle* Tick tock. *Sniffly gasp, leading into a crazed laugh that almost sounds like sobbing* Hahahhaha!” ~ Bill Danton, Bendy and the Dark Revival, “Dancing Clock” audio log

Oh, honey… Danton (sorry, sweetie, I gotta refer to you with your surname to avoid confusion) is a personification of the part of Bendy/Real Joey that's in agony playing the villain again postmortem, unable to free himself from Nathan Sr.'s sadistic script even now and, worse, made the key to the resets, isn't he…? Oof… Then, the second “all it takes is an enlightened eye to see that I don't belong” is accompanied by a shot of Wilson and Betty followed by shots of the Memory of Joey in red lighting, Henry in green lighting, Twisted Alice, a Keeper, and the Bendys in black-and-white before they're swallowed by sepia lighting.

“But the reels just repeat, lost the chance to redeem” is interestingly a cut from Bendy saving Audrey from bleeding out on the floor after killing Shipahoy Wilson for ripping her legs off to… the Memory of Joey (I checked, that’s definitely his watch and pinstriped suit) standing looking at Norman’s projector head that we use to reset the loop… *Stares at my notes on the Memory of Joey wanting the cycle to continue being a very bad sign* Ouch, the “when corruption’s defeated, remembrance always dies” line being accompanied by Henry and Audrey-in-Bendy’s-body nodding at each other before resetting the loop hurts so bad… Y’know… now that this brings it up… the parallels to the soulless Bendy saving Henry from the Projectionist only for him to go after the End Reel… which Bendy stole from the vault and hid in his Throne Room… Is this saying that Real Joey was trying to break the cycle through Bendy by making him steal the stupid reel (which might suggest that the reason Henry had a vision when Bendy saved him was because Norman wasn't supposed to be able to see him and Joey briefly connected to Bendy to rescue his friend, now that I think about it), the audio log that came with it was basically the Memory of Joey before Nathan Sr. died and was able to physically manifest in the Ink Dimension…

“It's simply awe-inspiring what one can accomplish with their own hands! A lump of clay can turn to meaning… if you strangle it with enough enthusiasm. Look what we've built! We created life itself, Henry! Not just on the silver screen, but in the hearts of those we've entertained with our fancy moving pictures! But… when the tickets stopped selling, when the next big thing came along, only the monsters remained. Shadows of the past. But you can save them, Henry! You can peel it all away! You see, there's only one thing Bendy has never known: He was there for his beginning, but he's never seen… The End.” ~ (The Memory of??) Joey Drew, Bendy and the Ink Machine, Chapter 5

…created in order to push Henry to reset the loop while making Bendy look like the villain (and indirectly confessing to orchestrating the deaths of so many – Henry included – under his true identity [Nathan Sr.] and what he was planning on the Ink Dimension coverup for Henry's death being?? Please tell me everyone's seeing that line's similarity to Wilson's “None of This ‘Makes Sense’” riddle, the epilogue of TLO, the “Wilson Trying to Make Audrey Into Shipahoy Dudley” scene, and the “Joey's False Confession to Buddy” scene), just like how he did to Audrey coming in with his love-bombing her and making Bendy look like the bad guy for crushing him?? I— holy— woah… oh my…

Audrey: I'm scared. I don't know what's happening. The Memory of Joey: The past doesn't define you, nor the present! In the end, all those years ago, Joey Drew finally succeeded! He created… life. But Audrey, you're so much more than that. You were his family, his daughter. My daughter… and I love you so very much. The Ink Demon: Be quiet. The wretch is mine! The Memory of Joey: Remember who you are, Audrey. Remember! The Ink Demon: Your words are wasted! The failure of Joey Drew dies here! . . . The Ink Demon: *Crushes MoJ with their right hand* Audrey: Noooo! The Ink Demon: *Throws MoJ in the ink* The future is sealed. *Puts their right hand on the floor and does nothing else, as if he just wants to rest* Audrey: *Turns their head to look at the End Reel* The Ink Demon: What do you think you're doing? Audrey: *Picks the End Reel up with their left hand* I'm starting over. The Ink Demon: What? Audrey: This… is the end.

This scene was literally Real Joey fighting to claim his daughter as his effing daughter and break the time loop cycle while Nathan Sr. sneakily directed her attention and affection towards himself to save both his own skin and the accursed cycle!! 🤯 Nathan Sr. has fricking manipulated the script so much— this makes Danton's audio log twenty times more upsetting…!

The “your legacy carries your fate” line is interestingly accompanied by a shot of Audrey and Shipahoy Wilson, possibly alluding that they could fight against Nathan Sr.'s machinations together? And then Audrey says the “but I don't belong to the dark” line back in her office, and the door behind her opens to reveal Dapper Bendy in a grayscale version of it before we're pulled back into the sepia where we see a shot of the soulless Bendy from BATIM for the “catch ya in the credits” and Freaky Teeth looking around like something's wrong for the “captivation to this black-and-white just don't feel right” lines.

“When the shadows grimace” comes with a shot of Shipahoy Wilson, “all it takes is an enlightened eye to see that I don't belong” a shot of Tom pointing behind us where we turn to see Allison Angel and then Henry. Then, that final “to see that I don’t belong, (black and white, it don’t feel right), to see that I don’t belong” line is accompanied by shots of Audrey falling down the elevator shaft like a rabbit hole, Freaky Teeth touching her shoulder and head, and, finally, a shot of Audrey in front of the cork board from Joey's apartment with the items from it that correlated to the ones used to turn on the Ink Machine (including another copy of TIOL!!) floating around her…

Anyone notice that this drawing from the credits of Daddy and Daughter drawing together in their apartment is the only one that's in black-and-white? I dunno about y'all, but this all feels a little too on-the-nose to just be a coincidence…!! 👀

And, finally, everyone probably already knew about this one, but I think it's important to look at this official BATDR song through a new lens:

youtube

“Come what may, I'm watching over you, when darkness comes closing in, I'll turn that black sky to blue, I'll always guide you, protect you, I'll never forsake you, you know my heart is always true, so no matter the odds, what lies between us, I'll always be here for you, lost in the shadows, I'll be your light, shining your whole life through, so no matter the odds, what lies between us, I'll always be here for you

I'll always guide you, protect you, I'll never forsake you, you know my heart is always true, so no matter the odds, what lies between us, I'll always be here for you, lost in the shadows, I'll be your light, shining your whole life through, so no matter the odds, what lies between us, I'll always be here for you”

…Fudge nuggets, y'all got me crying, again. 🥲 This is supposed to be a song that our potential Cyclebreakers can sing to each other, including Allison and Tom as pictured in most of the video, Joey and his baby girl as that Bendy-and-Audrey drawing in the middle might be implying, and so on, isn't it? 😭💕 *Deep breath* Anyways…

In conclusion: I do think BATDR is the end of the original story.

I feel like future games will probably focus on what on Earth happens when the children of the Machine move on, what with Gent's return teased in the post-credits scene. But at any rate, while maybe the final story might not have been quite what they originally planned and has changed a few times while BATDR was in development limbo, I wholeheartedly believe that Nathan Sr. is still very much the true villain of the entire Bendy series so far. He's just sticking to what he's good at and staying the heck behind his beloved curtain, pulling everyone else's strings… And I know I said in my initial reaction that the default ending didn't feel like the true one due to all the things that didn't make sense, but now that I've put all my other thoughts into words and mulled things over more, I wanna leave you with this thought:

“We’re ALWAYS free to choose. To believe what we want to believe. But when you step back, when you really look at where you've been, and the things you've done, your past will come… to devour you. *Bendy's growl echoes in the backround, as if another memory*” ~ Audrey Drew, Bendy and the Dark Revival, intro (emphasis added)

“You must be really lost to be asking me for help.” ~ Henry Stein, Bendy and the Dark Revival, Chapter 4

Audrey: Dead end! Now what? Henry: Need some help? Audrey: Henry! You came! Henry: Some battles are worth fighting for… Even a million times. Come on! I found a projector up ahead! Run for it! The Ink Demon: This realm is mine… and the cycle will continue! Audrey: Well then, we'll just have to do better next time.

“My father once told me, that just because we’re born of darkness… doesn’t mean we belong to it. We’re always free to choose. And here, at the very beginning, there’s a choice to make. My father’s cartoon world was now mine. To rule, to watch over, and to protect. I can make the cycle more bearable for my friends inside. But as for me, I’m the first of my kind. Born of ink, but living in flesh. Joey’s world is escaping into ours. So, what’s next? Who can really say?” ~ Audrey Drew, Bendy and the Dark Revival, outro (emphasis added)

I… don't think the default ending is about all the other ink creatures literally escaping into the actual real world with Audrey— except for her fellow children of the Machine, who already exist in-between the two worlds, belonging to both and neither, thanks to their ghostly origins, and consequently can cross over just fine if they so desire. I think it's much more about her choosing to A: acknowledge and accept the Joseph Dempsey (aka Dapper Bendy) part of her dad's story – that while he made mistakes, he did in fact love her and was trying his best to make sure she'd have a better life than he did – remember the memories that she'd suppressed through her dad's Illusion of Living coping mechanism and allow herself to grieve for him and embrace what's left of him, B: possibly get the truth of what Nathan Sr. did to Joey, Wilson, and everyone else out into the world?? That's another copy of TIOL that she's holding!! And C: reject (or “banish away,” as Bendy/Real Joey said in his “The Beginning” and “Something Familiar” memos) what she, like her father, thought was her only option for survival – becoming a monster – after seeing the creature she became torture and eventually kill a being with the face and voice of her loved one (making her realize that this was just as bad a road for herself as it was for him), and to break the cycle of trauma/abuse by taking control of, especially, the real-world memory part of her father's creation (mayhaps it's actually another of those “many wires” mentioned in A Theory about Spaces? It's not quite the real world, but it's also not truly the Ink Dimension…) to make the fact that they're all still trapped in the loop more bearable. Even if they still have to relive many of the events we've seen, maybe she can eventually figure out how to do things like let Henry visit Memory Linda (yes, she gets the honor of dropping the “the” and “of” in the moniker), who may still exist within the Real-World Memory Space, and so on. Maybe she'll even be able to get through to Wilson, someday, and they can rule the Ink Dimension together?

It's not perfect, they're all gonna be affected by what happened to them forever, like trauma survivors in real life. But they're gonna manage. Those who are willing are gonna do what they can and make the most of what they have, do their best to heal and move on. Honestly, even if there isn't a secret Grayscale Ending (which I do still really hope there is— Wilson and Joey deserve better than they got in the default ending and I want so badly to make Nathan Sr. face more-permanent justice)… I think that's a pretty beautiful way to have handled it.

To Read the Original Analysis/Theory: Part One • Part Two • Part Three • Unexpected Part Four

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oceangirl24 · 11 months

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I'm sleeping....🤫

🍓 What’s a fic you’ve written you feel is underrated?

🍎 Is there anything you straight-up won’t write?

🍏 Is there something you overuse, whether it’s a certain phrase, trope, or piece of punctuation?

🫐 What’s your favorite underrated thing in your fandom? (A ship that only you seem to write for, a character there’s almost no fics about, a trope that criminally hasn’t been written yet, etc.)

You sleep the same way I do! lol

Thanks so much for the asks.

🍓Hmmm, this is a hard question. Recently, I think it's still A Boy and His Teacher's Motorcycle. Overall, probably As It Began which is still on FFN and I highly doubt I'll ever bring it over to AO3. From a storytelling perspective I think this is one of my best.

🍎Anything that is graphicly violent or smut. Neither of those appeal to me to write about. Especially within my current series as I'm trying to keep it as close to canon as possible. I had a few fics in the past that were very dark (for me) and I honestly don't care to revisit the head space I needed to be in to write those.

🍏Found family is by far the overused trope. XD I've also noticed that eye rolling, heavy sighs, and arched brow get used a lot throughout my series. lol

🫐Ooo, that's a good one too. I almost started to say I'm the only one who writes my ship, but that's no longer true.

Topanga, I think, is still very underrated in the fandom. I don't think anyone has ever taken her and given her own story or at least made her the lead. I'm guilty of that too although I do try to flesh her backstory out a bit more in AiP and give her time without Cory in the short stories.

#boy meets world fanfiction #ask game #my answers #sneak peeks

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cowboycakes · 2 years

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hey sheppie, can you tell me some things you love about johnny joestar 🎤

finn. you shouldn't have asked (yes i'm going to tell you so many things i love about johnny. thank you for asking i love you i squealed when i saw this.) but, like, don't feel obliged to read this. i am in love with him. i am obsessed with him. you've been warned.

tw: my opinion and my own (dumb, prob wrong) interpretation of johnny is in here. like lowkey johnny discourse. this post is kinda sad too. mentions of mental illness and (jjba canon) violence/death. also me gushing about johnny obviously.

SBR SPOILERS!!!!!!

#. johnny is so beautiful. like he has the most breathtaking face ever (esp in official art and towards the end of sbr. official art of johnny is what broke the camels back and made me watch jjba.)

#. prettiest when he cries.

#. i relate to him, and his character makes me feel less alone. he's sad and i am too. it was refreshing to see a male character feeling emotional and defeated and explicitly showing it instead of keeping a straight face. i enjoyed seeing a character who feels perpetually guilty and seeing how that guilt intrudes his mind constantly, to the point that his guilt physically follows him around (as danny the mouse.) he's ashamed and he hates himself. and every time he'd break down from said guilt and shame and self hatred, i would be like "no! its not your fault! don't cry!" and that helped me reflect on my own life... sometimes life hands you shit cards, but that doesn't make you deserving of it. and the human spirit is still built to overcome it. johnny reminds me of all of that.

#. cowboy! yee haw!

#. i love his storyline. i loved how much backstory araki let us see (though reading that shit was painful.) and i love love love johnny's monologues throughout SBR, especially how his narration at the beginning parallels his narration at the end. way to crush my soul.

#. i know he's kinda framed to have "righteous" goals... but imo he's amoral and most of what he does is out of self-interest, and i like that about him. only time he breaks away from that mindset is when someone he cares about is in question.

#. he's a nervous lil guy. i like nervous guys.

#. kissable face. cutie patootie wanna snuggle him. he just looks like he's good at cuddling and he's lowkey wearing jammies. the other day my irl friend was like "johnny looks like he's wearing a onesie" and that's kinda right. his clothes look soft i wanna put them on.

#. he’s got the hottest poses sorry i don’t make the rules. he's always arching his back n spreading his legs n shit

#. we are both horse girls.

#. he's OP as fuck. AND he's willing to throw everything away and sacrifice himself to achieve his goals, which was extremely exciting to watch. like every fight scene with johnny in it had me so hype. like the FUCKING SCENE WHERE JESUS SHOWS UP AND JOHNNY USES HIS NAIL BULLETS ON HIMSELF. one of my fav scenes ever.

#. LOOKS SEXY WHEN HE'S MAD <3333 and when he's not mad he's just being cute. he's so damn cute.

#. hates the american government.

#. dude's kinky!

#. i love his relationship with gyro. canonically, i don't know what it is. i do believe they loved one another, like so so much. i think they had what love is at its core: devotion, loyalty, sacrifice. and they both had goals consuming them the whole time, but their love for one another ultimately outlived those goals, and johnny's love for gyro outlived gyro himself. the way that gyro's last thoughts were of protecting johnny, the way johnny prayed for gyro's safety and it was all in vain, the way johnny ended up carrying the wrong corpse "home." all of it is absolutely gut wrenching and i cry about it daily and it makes me love johnny's character even more.

#. i love his sarcasm and deadpan expressions

#. HE WEARS BLUE LIPSTICK N BLUE NAILS ARE U KIDDING ME!!

#. TUSK!!!!! tusk. the cutest ever. that's my baby. and the way Tusk is named after a song from my favorite band... Araki did that for me and only me. i love that tusk evolved as johnny's character developed. i love how johnny freaked out when tusk first appeared. like dude chill that's just a little pink guy.

#. i love his name. jawny.

#. johnny showed concern for lucy when barely anyone else did. and lucy deserves the world. so.

#. stupid little hat with stupid little hair horns

#. fat booty.

#finn i love when u call me sheppie thats so cute #this is my formal apology for writing all of this #johnny <3 #my opinion #shepinbox #moots <3 #sbr spoilers #steel ball run spoilers #jjba spoilers

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glossytoji · 3 years

Text

King's Concubine (18+) - Chapter 1

(Mini series)

Themes (and warnings): smut. threesome. degredation. gore. death. mentions of cannibalism. reader attempts to devirginize herself with a wine bottle. mentions of (non-canon) character's death. Sukuna. MINORS DNI.

Sukuna x F!Reader

Oc: Akira = Reader

[In where Ryomen Akira -one of the concubines of Ryomen Sukuna's harem- has remained invisible at the King's eyes, until the death of his favorite concubine...]

note: hi! I've been rearranging the paragraphs since tumblr has been glitching and shuffling them on my end. 😭😭

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Prelude II

Chapter 1 - the king’s darling

Sensual moans echoed throughout the king's secondary chambers. No one is yet to witness the king's actual bedroom but might as well call this very room as his main since he often spends his night here for a good fuck— to be fair and honest, everything belongs to him, as far as his eyes would take him and anything beyond, it is still his.

"My king, we are not w-worthy of your attention." Mitsuki whined while Sukuna harshly bucks his hips inside his whore while Rhee continued her ministrations to Mitsuki's nipple— sucking on it while while the other pair is being squeezed by her fingers. While simultaneously abusing her cunt and chest, Mitsuki's back arched. There's no place in her that the king's big and fat cock couldn't easily reach. Sukuna then harshly shoved Rhee off Mitsuki's form then proceeded to choke Mitsuki's neck.

"Mhmmm..." Sukuna hummed as he studied Mitsuki's red face struggling for air.

"M-my k-kin—" she struggled, her voice wheezing while she tried to remain awake, the burning in her core and her restricted airways was about to drive her feral as her king repeatedly abused the same spot. Rhee remained kneeling beside Mitsuki's but not soon after when Sukuna's third arm flopped her on her back, immediately plunging two of his thick fingers in her which made her gasp and squirm. Sukuna was precise in his moves almost as if his hands have minds on its own. It's been weeks, since he was able to cum properly. He was sure that he would crack the whore's hips before him but he didn't care, he was desperate for his own release.

His thoughts turned red, he was pissed that Usagi had to die, now no one would please him as much as she used to— he didn't give a fuck about some random slut, but Usagi, was crazy about him, submissive in the right ways until her ambitions made her delusional. She professed her love to the king but what irked him more is her desire to be his queen. No one is in his level, how dare she, a mere cum rag suggest such, as if they are equals? Isn't that treason to the king?

Eating her for dinner was not even pleasant nor appetizing at all, his face soured at the memory— he couldn't forget the bland taste of her flesh. Usagi died a meaningless death with a life as useless; as he believed. He remembered how riled he got as he watched the life fade from her eyes right after he ripped her from limb to limb but it was not enough, he wanted to do it all over again, wake her up from the dead with his reverse technique yet he got carried away— killing her in an instant.

"AHH!" Mitsuki screeched as she felt her pelvis crack which jolted Sukuna from his thoughts. Rhee was even curled to the side clutching her lower half while she bit her lips to stop the painful moan from escaping. Sukuna realized his third arm was a bit bloody. He harshly pulled himself out of Mitsuki.

"Get out." He hissed. Rhee hurriedly aided Mitsuki up. Sukuna is pissed and was not able to find his release. His thoughts was all over the place as he just heard of the news of how sorcerers from all over the territory have banded. One of theses days, he would have to skin and burn sorcerers alive in front of their clans and family— the only true good thing that he could anticipate, along with the healthy and tasty meat from their descendants, it would surely be a feast. He smirked at the thought.

It is said that whoever becomes queen would have full authority over the garden. How ironic, the very place the previous king and queen died— when Sukuna high-jacked the palace— gave solace to Akira, as the remnants and rule of the previous kingdom remained evident at the queen's garden. Chills run through her spine, would she be left alone with the king? She was sure that she won't remain a virgin after tonight's dinner... she finds it repugnant that the king would be her first, is there any other way?

Akira remained pale in front of her vanity mirror while Yuna fixes her hair. She was summoned by the king and is expected to look beyond ravishing as she will accompany him for dinner in the majestic garden. The garden in the imperial palace contrasts the overall aura of the palace. In there, it was always bright and it is clear that whoever took care of the garden did a great job to make it seem homey, as if it does not belong to the king of curses. The only positive thing in the palace would suddenly seem awful to her just because she had to spend her first date — as Yuna would say— in the supposedly queen's garden. It was said that the king has never stepped foot in the garden, of course, plants and flowers would be the last thing in his mind as a being who is driven by power and murder.

Adorned with the most expensive clothing and accessories, Akira snuck her way to the imperial's cellar and left as quickly as she arrived. In her hand, is a luxurious wine that has remained sealed for over a hundred years. She scowled, out of all the wines, she just have to get a very luxurious one. Would he notice?

She has now knelt inside— in the middle— of her big bathroom, opening the cork with nervous breaths. Is she trying to get drunk before meeting the King? Well... she momentarily stroked her clit, hoping to be aroused as she angles the opening of the bottle to her entrance. Her hand was shaking. She has asked for a cucumber yet it arrived sliced leaving her with no choice... she plans to take herself before the King does.

Wouldn't this break in me? She asks herself. She hikes her dress up and attempted to slide herself on the bottle yet stopped before her pussy lips would touch it. She was nervous, she then inserted a finger in her then another to prepare herself; she knew it's a bad idea since she felt dry at all. She wanted to cry, there's no way the king would be her first and would be the one to break her hymen. Although she knew that her worth is not on her virginity, the mere thought of being fucked by the devil representative repulsed her at all. She held her breath. She was sure, that she would slide it inside her. She positioned herself in a squatting position while holding the wine bottle, with her on her tiptoes. She shut her eyes as she starts to push;

"Hey! Yo—" Aiko paused, her eyes as wide as the dainty saucers as she watched the woman before her.

"Ahh!" Akira screeched, in shock and embarrassment.

"What were you doing?!" Aiko hissed as she immediately marched towards Akira's crouching form, Akira fall flat on her bottoms, with her legs remaining wide, exposing her freshly shaved cunt.

"What are YOU doing?!" Akira argued, pointing out that she is trespassing in her chambers.

"Were you about to— what the fuck?" Aiko hissed in realization and horror with her typically foul mouth.

"Get out. Get OUT!" Akira hissed in panic, her eyes as wide as Aiko's previously were. She immediately stood and shoved Aiko out of her large bathroom.

"Stop whatever you're doing. The king wouldn't appreciate it—"

"Y-you wouldn't tell him right?" Akira worriedly asks, this time biting on her fingers.

"I wouldn't... you did not really... right?" Aiko awkwardly asked, looking anywhere else but her as she tries to erase the memory of Akira's bare pussy.

"No..." Akira mumbled, relieved yet annoyed that she had stopped before she could even start.

"Yuna said you were at the wine cellar. I came here thinking you'd like to share." Aiko nonchalantly spoke, her efforts of dismissing the earlier incident was quite evident.

"As you can see... I love wine. Unlike Yuna, the rest of the ladies-in-waiting are snitches. You're fucking lucky." Aiko added, while studying the interior of Akira's chambers, obviously still avoiding her face.

"Uh— you can have it." Akira gulped as she suddenly shoved the unsealed wine to Aiko's chest, which made Aiko snap her head to Akira's attention. The memories of her pussy lips gliding at the mouth of the bottle returned to Aiko which made her distort her face. Akira's face flushed in embarrassment, she immediately pulled the bottle to herself but before she could entirely take it away from Aiko, Aiko's grip tightened.

"I—" Aiko paused to clear her throat.

"I'll take it." She continued as she harshly pulled it away from Akira's chest. Akira held her breath in embarrassment, hoping that the ground would swallow her up already, it was clear to her that Aiko was already thinking about the repugnant memory.

"Wait! I'll wipe it— clean it for you!" Akira immediately argued in shame.

"AH! You didn't have to say that! Of course I'd do that! You think I'm a fucking pervert?" Aiko hissed, shutting her eyes tight when Akira addressed about the earlier incident.

"Of course not! I- how about I'll get you a new one? Huh? That would be better!" Akira ranted, her hands have increasingly felt cold in nervousness; with the situation before hand and with her following dinner with the king.

"You don't have to." Aiko mumbled as she walked towards the doors to Akira's chamber.

"Huh? But—!"

"Just shut the fuck up already!" Aiko hissed as she rubbed her temples.

"I won't tell anybody about this... as long as I get to keep this." Aiko said as she gestured towards the red wine.

"And... good luck with your rendezvous with the king..." Aiko added in whispers but Akira heard her perfectly well. The door then followed suit, closing after Aiko's figure slipped out of her chambers.

Not a moment later, Yuna barged in with a smile on her face. Which made Akira realize that Yuna knew about Aiko's arrival. Akira groaned as she witnessed Yuna's grinning face. Yuna must have felt happy to see her lady finally hanging out with some of the concubines yet little did she know about what transpired just before she came in.

"My lady! Good news! The king is in a good mood, you will just be fine. Just remember what I told you earlier okay?" Yuna gleefully added. In contrast to Yuna's aura, Akira's spirit's slumped more as she realized that her rendezvous with the king is fast approaching. Of course Yuna is excited, since she roots for her lady and for the king's growth in their relationship. While Yuna feels guilty for praying to another god than his king, she still did so; praying for her lady's safety and for her king's patience and adoration for Akira.

"Let's go! The king's waiting at the garden!" Yuna exclaimed with the same amount of energy as earlier. Akira glared towards her direction, highly believing that Yuna should be on the date instead of her.

"Wait— you! Weren't we supposed to be their first—"

"It's alright! Trust me! He is in a very good mood! I just came from there." Yuna interrupted as if she's a giddy young child who can't wait to arrive at the amusement park.

"You what?" She mumbled to herself, confused as to why Yuna just came from the queen's garden.

"How close are they exactly?" Akira mumbled to herself more as she suspiciously eyed Yuna.

Akira clenched her fist as she stopped outside the entrance of the queen's garden, with Yuna following her trail. Her heart tripled in speed— as if it wanted to escape her body— as she eyed the King's intimidating figure standing within the garden, as if he is actually enjoying the scenery before them.

As her trembling legs brought her closer to the king's presence, she remembered what Yuna taught her.

"Your majesty, I apologize for my tardiness." Akira stiffly said as she curtsied as low as possible. She realized that the king's figure is now in front of her, as her eyes now stared at his feet. She struggled to maintain her position as her legs refused to stop trembling. Akira mentally hissed at her cowardice. To her surprise, the king gently took her left hand in his big ones as he pulled her figure to a standing position.

"Look at me." He softly yet firmly commanded which made her slowly crane her neck as she searched for his face in his towering figure. Her eyes momentarily widened in confusion as she figured the domestic smile on his face. She felt her sweat dripping in her hands and thighs in nervousness. She gently pulled her hand away in fear of angering the king with her sweaty hand yet his grip remained firm and instead walked her to the table they would be dining. Her eyes widened in awe this time, the garden was well prepared and the table before them truly feels like a date. If it weren't for the monster beside her, she would surely indulge at the feast before her.

"How's your day?" He asks, as he gently tuck her in to her seat. Akira cleared her throat before answering, her eyes following his figure that's now sitting across her.

"It went well, my king..." she mumbled then slightly flinched at the embarrassing memory.

"Is something wrong, darling?" He asks in his thick and sultry tone.

"N-nothing at all, your highness!" She immediately replied, too jolly than she usually is which made her cringe.

"How— how's your day, your majesty?" She hesitantly asked. It was Yuna's advice to ask him that, yet Akira was very sure to herself that the very question is a set up to her death. She gulped in anticipation. His lips stretched to a wide grin, exposing his fangs in the process.

"You're too sweet, my darling." He said; a chuckle rumbling to his chest. Akira eyed all the food before her, it was nothing that she has ever tasted before yet one thing caught her eye, it was the (your favorite food).

"Your mother prepared it for us." Sukuna suddenly said as he noticed her eyes lingering at the nostalgic delicacy. She wanted to cry and run far away from the palace just to reunite with her family but she held the urge in. She wanted to ask him if her mother is around and if she could see her yet once again, she held the urge in. The farther that she is from her family, the safer they are and their village.

"Thank you, your majesty." She truthfully said, despite of her disgust with the being before her, she was somehow thankful with the ounce of consideration but she refused to think ahead, she didn't know the king that well to understand the motive behind his actions.

Their dinner together went on while Akira remained silent and only speaking when spoken to. Her breath would hitch everytime the king's stare would linger over her. She dreaded for their meal to end as she didn't understand what's waiting ahead of her.

"Come here." Sukuna said, patting his thigh. Right after she patted her mouth clean with the cloth prepared for such, she immediately trudged her way towards the king. She realized that she felt sleepy from her fullness and from the wine they had just consumed. Unlike before, she immediately plopped on his lap without an ounce of hesitance.

"Did you enjoy it?" Sukuna asks, nuzzling his face to the side of her face, his breathing hitting the shell of her ear. Goosebumps overwhelmed Akira's skin. She felt her body and face go warm, igniting a forbidden burn at her core. Her cunt squeezed as she felt his hand trace her inner thighs. His face dipped to her neck as he peppered gentle kisses to her neck.

"Should we do this often?" He whispered against her ear, gently biting at the shell of it which made her gasp and squirm in his lap. An arm immediately locked her in place.

"I'm not worthy of your time, my king." She said, her breathing evidently becoming uneven. A gasp escaped her lips as his fingers found her clothed clit, he motioned his fingers in gentle circles against her clit which made her squirm more, her head falling back against his chest. Contrary to her typically distant look, a sensual expression painted her face which made the King's cock rock hard. There are times when he thinks about what her face would look like if she were to submit to his ministrations and the sight before him exceeded his expectations. A palm to her face encouraged her to look at him, the sight of her gasping luscious lips made him push his tongue inside her mouth.

"Hmmm..." he hummed against her lips as he continued playing with her clit. Her lips gasp open as she felt him tore her underwear, his fingers now toying with her bare cunt. Sukuna grinded his cock against her clothed ass as he felt her suck his tongue in desperation. His fingers now traced her slit towards her entrance which made her buck her hips towards his huge palm. The fourth arm snaked within her dress to grip her breasts. She moaned, lost in pleasure as the king slides a single finger within her, pumping sensually slow which made her impatiently buck her hips against his long and thick finger. She felt her body quiver at the sensation she is experiencing all at once. A finger in her tight and wet cunt, a tight grip across her stomach, fingers squeezing her chest and her nipples, while his mouth sensually peppers kisses in her neck, surely living a golden mark on there. She was immediately yanked to straddle him. Her visions got slightly blurry, her low alcohol tolerance finally sinking in to her. Forgetting her fears and worries. She immediately crashed her lips against his which caught him in surprise at her sudden behavior. A devilish chuckle escaped his lips. As if desperate, she grinded her bare cunt against his clothed cock, which made him chuckle with his tongue deep in her throat. He tightly gripped her bare ass, pushing her more to his cock while she desperately grinded for her release.

"You want my cock in you darling?" He asked, her breathing slightly uneven as he detached his lips from hers. The sight of her was plain lewd. He then pressed a thumb through her lips which made her eagerly suck the life out of it.

"Would you look at that?" A smirk of disbelief crossed Sukuna's face.

"Aren't you just a whore afterall?" He added while now gripping her hips away from his clothed cock, watching her desperately hump the air with a whine escaping her lips. A boisterous laugh escaped his lips, his eyes remained amused at the scene before him. He immediately plunged two fingers in her core which made her arch her back as moans escape her lips. He knew he'd love to hear that sound again which made him curl to the spot that he knows all too well.

"Say my name, darling. Tell everyone who is making you this dumb whore." He growled against her ear which made her moan.

"My king~" she whined as she hurriedly buck her hips against his fingers, chasing her release.

"My name." He growled, pulling his fingers away from her cunt which made her eyes glossy from the sudden loss of pleasure.

"Sukuna-sama~!" She whined.

"Please." She panted, grinding on his open palms.

"As you wish, darling." He chuckled, rapidly plunging two of his fingers in and out of her cunt with an inhumane speed. His lips immediately clutching at her breasts. He knew she was cumming as he felt her cunt tightening against his fingers— the mere tightness on his fingers had brought wonders to his cock. He immediately placed her on the table where they just dined, not giving a care about the expensive chinaware shattering at the floor. Her back now hitting the vacant table, arching as he sensually suck and bit her nipples, reducing her to a dumb mess as he rapidly pummelled his fingers in and out of her.

"What a pretty face and a pretty pussy. All for me. All for your king." He comments, as his hard cock brushed against her thigh.

"Cum for me." He commanded and just like that, her body shook, squirting at his robe and palms while the white and sticky substance dripped her squelching cunt. What a lewd sight indeed. Tempted by the oozing white from her cunt, he immediately dipped his head, a wide lick catching her cum before it drips down the table.

"So sweet, my darling. This is what the king should be tasting." He comments, lapping up her wetness. As he pushed his tongue in her cunt, she jolted harshly slapping and pushing him away.

"I'm—" she panted, her chest tightening in realization. When his tongue dipped in her cunt, she remembers how the concubines' claimed that he had never done that; slowly realizing how she lured and tolerated the devil. A scowl was suddenly on Sukuna's face, then replaced by a deranged smirk. He pulled her towards him with her ankles, the meat of his cock now slapping her thighs.

"I'll fuck you hard and you will regret your audacity." He growled, his deranged smirk still intact. Her panic-stricken face was suddenly replaced with terror.

"Stay away! Don't touch me!" She shrilled as her breathing ragged, her attempts of pushing his burly figure were futile yet he didn't stop her. Her legs suddenly trembled, contrary to the sensual desires, her legs trembled in fear. She has slapped and insulted the King, no one has probably ever done that, no one would probably dare. She awaits her death. Despite her surrendering knees, she pushed herself off the table and covered her chest and looking much disorganized compared to how she neatly and elegantly arrived. In dread, she dragged herself out of the queen's garden, waiting for the final blow that would summon her to her death and probably to hell for ever allowing the devil to caress her.

She's now trudging towards the left wing of the palace, surprised and trembling that the king has not yet burned her and torn her from limb to limb. Fear took over her, the king must be plotting something worse than death. Her breathing staggered across her chest, she felt like sobbing. He wouldn't rampage on her village right? Or probably feast on her mother who he claimed that had prepared for her favorite dish? Yuna was suddenly there, her eyes bulged to saucers to see the distraught and seemingly ruined lady. Akira's heart clenched as she felt the remains of her cum sliding down her thigh, she's disgusted by herself. Yuna was worried and suddenly distraught as well to see her lady like this. What could have gone wrong during their rendezvous? Yuna thought.

"Oh my— my lady!" Yuna rushed yet before she could touch Akira, Akira pushed her form away.

"Don't. Touch. Me." Akira growled, her eyes staring at the tiled floor as she walks towards her chambers.

"My lady—"

"Just shut up!!" Akira yelled, fury evident on her face.

"You deserve to die! How could you offer your loyalty to someone like him! How could you worship someone like him! A monste—" Akira's rants were interrupted when Yuna jumped towards her and clamped her palm over her mouth.

"My lady— please don't finish that." Yuna breathlessly interrupted, as her own fragile heart pumped against her chest. What her lady said was treason, they would be killed if they were heard. Yuna apprehensively looked around and trembled in fear when she saw Uraume to where they previously stood— at the entrance of the left wing. Uraume suddenly left, as if their purpose of being there was over.

He was left standing on the queen's garden with his cock out in the open. Memories of when he was human suddenly surged at him— encouraging his melting patience. He was angry and pissed at the puny human's audacity. He flipped the table they were dining in and without bothering to tuck his cock in, he walks towards the long corridors of the palace planning to head towards the concubines' common room for his release yet before he could further trudge towards his planned direction, he found a woman who is already bowing towards him— it seemed that she was cleaning the corridors. Without hesitating, he harshly dragged the woman by her arm.

"Master S-sukuna!" The servant shrilled in terror. He was losing his patience and the way the servant moans in pain— due to the sudden pull— annoyed him.

"I'll fucking kill you." He growled, pushing her head at the carpeted floor, lifting her ass as he torn the clothes that covered her lower half. He wordlessly plunged his cock on her already glistening core, the scowl on his face deepen.

"What a fucking whore. Already wet and at her king's mercy." He growled, increasingly snapping his hips in a brutal manner as she limped on the carpet, her mouth wide open and saliva dripping out of it. Her king is splitting her in half with how huge his cock is, she was terrified yet delighted that the king has chosen her. Some of the servants are actually plotting to gain his affection, what's better than being his concubine right? They won't have to work hard until their hands are filled with callouses, all they have to do is please their handsome king.

"M-my king~!" The servant moaned, something within Sukuna snapped. That line was not supposed to leave her lips, his darling was supposed to be moaning that right now. The servant's cunt tightened around the scowling king's cock, he knew she was cumming and he is disgusted of having to resort to a mere lowly woman. He was supposed to be having the time of his life drilling his cock deep in his darling. He then gripped on the servant's neck.

"Hmm, you filthy being. You like that? I suppose that my darling was just an ungrateful bitch huh?" He growled, as he maintained the brutal thrust of his hips, hitting the servant in all the right places.

"S-she doesn't deserve you, m-my ki-ng." The servant stammered in between moans. His grip tightens around her neck.

"Hmmm... who do you think does?" He challenged, as if looking for a reason to snap her neck.

"I-I DO! I DO, MY KING!" The servant screamed, climaxing on the king's cock without his permission.

"I will serve you fore— AH!" Her screeches were interrupted, as he pulls out. He is disgusted that she cummed at his cock. How dare she. Yet as he pulls out, her body thuds on the floor. He had snapped her neck, her sensual eyes fading to a distance, a distance that will soon summon her to the other side. Ambitious people, people who think that they are worthy of him are the most repugnant for Sukuna. No one is worthy of him and of his presence. He is a superior being that could instantly sink the whole territory in the snap of his fingers if he wanted to, how dare a mere and puny human think that she deserves him?

Aiko leaned in her back comfortably against the huge couch within her chambers as she propped her feet up the coffee table. As if lost to a random memory, she immediately chugged down the bottle directly her lips, sighing at the distinct taste that slid down her throat. Her lips once again touched the lips of the bottle with an arm now propped behind her head; her thoughts lead her back to the earlier incident with the king's darling. She slowly gulped the wine down, face distorting as she felt something salty in the other end of the rim.

"That's weird." She mumbled, her face scrunched as she now stared at the bottle's opening. Her eyes suddenly bulged in realization.

"Fucking shit! That disgusting bitch!" She hissed, now harshly wiping her mouth as she realized the salty substance probably came from Akira's cunt. She then proceeded to wipe the bottle, her brows furrowed as she realized she forgot to wipe it clean before chugging it down her throat. It's been a while since Aiko started drinking from the tall bottle and she knew her face got warmer than the previous minute. The bits of salty yet acidic taste lingered on her tongue, Aiko knew the substance blended very well— too well with the wine. She cleared her throat as she felt her cunt go warm at her lewdness. She hesitated to indulge yet she did so, vowing to bury her secret along with her fingers within her.

Next: Chapter 2 - Sweet wine-ght

#sukuna x you #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader #sukuna x oc #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna au #ryomen sukuna imagines #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk ryomen #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #glossytoji.writings #ryomen sukuna smut #sukuna x reader smut

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rosiesbizarreadventure · 4 years

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An Analysis of Gon’s Parents and Their Identities

Gon’s parentage is one of the more speculated aspects of the HxH universe. Though it’s widely accepted that Ging is one of (if not the only—see Pregnancy Stone theory) Gon’s parents, speculations have gone wild in an attempt to figure out who the other is. After meticulous research, theorizing, and discussions with my friends, I’ve figured out the identity of Gon’s other parent.

Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson.

Hear me out. Though it may seem far-fetched that The Rock not only exists in canon, but interacted with Ging and participated in the conception of Gon, there’s a lot of clues surrounding it that reinforce this theory.

1. Togashi Supports Mpreg in Canon

As we know via the Pregnancy Stone card, men being pregnant is not only a plausible concept, but is actually confirmed. As seen on the card, it states that if it is “held without releasing for one month, this 3kg stone will make the holder pregnant regardless of being male or female.” It’s a popular theory that Ging used this card to conceive Gon, and reinforces the idea of Gon being the child of Ging and Dwayne.

2. Gon’s Incredible Strength, Senses, and Nen Ability

It’s well known throughout the series that Gon is incredibly skilled, strong, and has finely tuned senses. There’s one explanation: skills inherited from Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson. First, there’s Gon’s incredible strength. Even before learning nen, Gon is ridiculously strong, with a high endurance and the ability to perform great physical feats. This is most likely explained in his other father, Dwayne’s, professional wrestling and football career. Next, Gon’s talented nose. He is able to smell an incredible amount of things, even finding Leorio during the Hunter Exam through his cologne alone. Think about this: Dwayne’s catchphrase. Can you smell what the rock is cooking? Coincidence? Definitely not. Finally, take a look at Gon’s hatsu ability. Jajanken—rock, paper, scissors. Not only is one of these three literally named ‘rock’, but it’s definitely the nen ability he prefers out of the three. This can be implied to be a natural tendency to feel close to his father, Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson.

3. Were Ging and Dwayne in Love?

This is something that can only be speculated on. Both Dwayne and Ging respect mass strength and ability, something both men share. Additionally, looking at @telehxhtrash ’s post about the pregnancy stone, she writes “when a person and a rock love each other very much”, which could be a direct reference to the passionate romance between the two. As far as their romance, it’s up in the air, but I know my favorite ship is Dwing.

4. The Physical Similarities Between Gon and Dwayne

The pictures speak for themselves. Gon’s lips are much more similar to Dwayne’s than Ging’s, as they both curve upwards as opposed to Ging’s more smirk-like smile. Additionally, while Ging’s brows tilt at angles, Dwayne’s are straight. Add the two of those together, and what do you get? Gon’s arched brows.

In summation, the only logical explanation is that not only is the Ging/Pregnancy Stone theory legitimate, but it’s the only explanation for Gon sharing so many traits with famous actor, Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson. However, instead of using a mere stone to conceive Gon, Ging went above and beyond with not just any rock, but the rock.

#hxh #hunter x hunter #rosie made another meme and no one is surprised #kind of meme #dwaynetherockjohnson #can you smell what the rock is cooking #gon definitely can #hxh meta #ging freecss #gon’s parents #togashi supports it #so meta that it’s satire #but also possible who knows #hxh theory #don’t make fun of me for this ok thanks

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revalise · 4 years

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After the Sun [M] | 03

Pairing: Chrollo Lucilfer x Fem. OC

Genre: Romance and eventual smut

Rating: M

Words: 3500+

Notes: I'm having a little hard time with the characters because this fic is forcing me to created too many OCs to fit a character because of they do not fit any canon characters from the anime.

This is probably my least favorite chapter and I did have a hard time writing this because of my writer's block. I started writing this around the end of August and finished it only last week.

But anyway, we move to my favorite parts starting from the next chapter! I have to say that this is my favorite work though, so I may or may not be paying attention more to this.

Thanks to Risa for beta reading this chapter again!

Check the updated Spotify playlist and give it a follow if you want to get a better idea of the fic and just listen to good music! /hj

Masterlist | 02 | 04

Chrollo Lucilfer gets everything he wants, when he wants—even if it means undergoing extreme measures. Nothing bothered him, until an aphrodite, Astra Gerber, appeared one night and stole from the infamous thief. In return that Chrollo doesn't report her, he strikes a deal. But it could be more than what Astra bargained for.

FOOL’S GOLD

Astra’s phone rang continuously from the nightstand as she laid in her bed, asleep on her stomach, arms wrapped around the side of her head. Soft, comfortable, and clean white sheets kept her from waking from her slumber.

No, she hadn’t woken up from all the chaos that awaited as the sound of her ringtone filled the entire room. Rather, she had woken up to a loud banging on the door of the hotel room.

She kicked away the comforter that covered the sheer nightgown that wrapped her body. Hissing under her breath with closed eyes, willing herself to fall asleep once more. But the banging only continued, loud and louder until she had no other choice to get on her feet, open the door, and let out a stream of vicious curses at the source. So she wore her irritation on her face, stretched in all the edges, lined with her features that screamed beauty all throughout.

Astra grasped the metal handle, the coldness biting back on the smoothness of her skin. Then a familiar, vexed face met with hers.

“What have you done?” His strained voice erupted against the room. He hadn't waited for her to invite him in. No, he walked past her the moment she opened the door.

He was clad in purple-worked wonder, though a bit too fancy and too flashy for the morning.

“What have you done?” Satotz repeated once more as he sagged on the red ottoman.

Astra crossed her arms, arching a brow and turning to face him. “What do you mean what have I done?”

“Miss…” a timid voice said from beside her. Too timid, too small, and all too shy.

She shot a side glance at the source, revealing Khara. Astra’s brow rose upward, “What?” she snarled.

***

Khara blinked at the anger and irritation that seeped from Astra’s tone. It took all she had to stop herself from staggering backwards and to appear unintimidated, but it was all too hard for her—all too hard since she’d started working with her.

In truth, Khara looked forward to working with celebrities and being their assistant. And she's been excited to work with Astra. But at Astra’s first wave of a hand, she commanded her to do things she wasn’t sure were included in her job description. Or if it were, it consisted of driving half-across town for the food Astra wanted, subject to her cravings, and coming back to the packing and darkening lights of the set as the staff shut them close.

Astra would snap her fingers once, and Khara would be inclined to come rushing forward in hopes of avoiding the unnecessary lashing out of the lady. She was only a few years younger than Astra, but sometimes, she wondered if she were the older one.

Khara handed a newspaper to Astra, fighting the shudder that shook her hands violently. Her head aligned with the level of her chest as she bowed low and extended her hands. Despite all her efforts, it still showed, making Astra snicker and roll her eyes in response.

Astra strode towards the couch beside Satotz, sitting casually and gracefully, and ignoring the poor girl that was left just outside the door. Khara didn’t say a word, but her face contorted in embarrassment. Her short, black hair and bangs—that she got on a whim because she felt old—kept in the way of her sight. She blinked twice before inviting herself in, but as she did, the familiar perfume she’d memorized all too well invaded her nostrils.

“Good morning, Khara.”

Khara whipped her head around as her heart hammered in her chest.

“G-Good morning, sir,” Khara stuttered, earning a subtle chuckle from Wing, who just so happens to be Astra’s brother.

As rude and as bold as Astra was, Wing was the complete opposite of his sister. He talked with grace and utmost respect, bred like that of those who grew up in their father’s mansion. The way he talked, as Khara would have described it, was smooth and quiet. Polite.

He was very handsome. Tall and lean with raven-black hair just like his sister. Dark brows that accentuated his eyes. Those eyes. Khara swallowed.

One slow, deliberate examination was all it took for Khara to determine the hard muscle that lay underneath his clothed arms. But somehow, he’d always leave his shirt untucked.

“You don’t have to call me, ‘sir,’ Khara. Just Wing will do,” he flashed his white teeth in a smile.

“Okay…” She blushed at the mention of her name and hesitated, “...Wing.” She smiled, and she hoped it didn’t come off forced and awkward.

If Wing found it indifferent, he didn’t say anything. Instead, he only reached a hand over, “Let me help you with that.”

That was when Khara realized the paperbag of coffee dangling from her fingers. Quickly, she shook her head, “It’s okay! I can do it.”

He gave her a friendly smile, “No fair maiden should be carrying anything at all.”

Khara swore, she could have died right then and there. Could have. Only if the sharp memory of Astra making her carry her entire luggage didn’t obliterate her.

At the sole thought of Astra, she yelled from inside the room with utmost impatience, “Khara, did you get my coffee?”

Khara paid a quick glance at Astra, who was eyeing a magazine in her hand as she sat alone on the big, red velvet couch with gold wooden outlines, her feet resting on the coffee table that stacked the same fashion magazines she’d been reading. Completely ignoring Satotz who was massaging his temples from the seat beside her.

She gave Wing a tight smile before rushing over to Astra and opened the small lid for her. Astra paid her no attention as she sipped her coffee.

***

Wing invited himself into Astra's room. The first to notice him was Satotz, who widened his eyes at his appearance. Immediately standing up to greet the young lad and shaking his hand, the other clapping on his shoulder.

“Good morning,” Wing greeted.

“Yes, yes. Good morning,” Satotz smiled in return before beckoning Wing to take his seat, even dusting off the cushion with his bare hands.

Astra paid her brother no attention as she scanned the magazine that rested on her thighs. Wing braced his forearms on his knees, giving Astra a polite smile, “Good morning to you too, Astra.”

She didn’t even bother to look up at her brother when she replied curtly, “What’s good about the morning?”

Satotz could only bite his lip in nervousness as he shooed off Khara, making her scoot over.

Oh how interactions with Astra bothered her so much.

Fortunately, Wing was unlike his sisters. Perhaps it was because he was a man and had no interest in the drama surrounding their family, but whatever issues Astra had with her family, he stayed out of it. Women and their dramas.

If Satotz could properly put it into words, Wing was probably the only one in the family who could stand Astra. Even when she had her series of attitudes.

He only smiled, proceeding with another question, “How are you?”

Astra raised her head this time, brows creasing as she gave Wing a look that basically said ‘Why are you asking the obvious?’

“Woke up a bad bitch,” Astra said as she shrugged. “What’s new?”

Satotz issued a rather nervous laugh, hoping to snap Astra out of her misbehavior, “Astra just woke up. That’s why.”

Wing turned his attention to Satotz, seemingly unbothered by Astra, “May I ask your business with my sister, Satotz?” he asked politely.

Satotz felt a faint warmth in his chest, touched that the younger Gerber remembered his name. As he recalled, Astra’s family scorned the thought of show business. Therefore, he wasn’t well received in the family though he promised to answer their questions whatever it was.

But the calls stopped two years ago, when Astra found herself in too many dating scandals. Astra never asked, but Satotz knew she was curious if her father ever called to ask about her.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, switching to a rather serious tone as he pulled his phone from his pocket and displayed a picture of Chrollo and Astra looking a little too friendly—way too friendly. “This has been all over social media, tabloids, and insiders.”

***

Astra took a good look at the headline, reading loudly for them to hear, “Astra Gerber with another guy?” she almost yelled when she said the penultimate word.

She creased her brows as she took the device, reading the entire article, “And what is wrong with that?”

“You just had a dating scandal last month!” Satotz exclaimed.

She pinched her nose with her fingers, “It’s not my fault they love to start rumors and men love to jump on it.”

“And how come I don’t know any of this? It doesn’t benefit anything. Not even promotions,” Satotz added, ignoring her remark.

“Not all,” Wing grinned with an underlying meaning that piqued Satotz’s interest, tilting his head to the side, beckoning him to keep talking.

“Actually,” heturned his body towards Astra, “Dad sent me here to invite you to dinner tomorrow.”

“Dinner?” Satotz asked.

Wing nodded, “He didn’t say anything else, but it seems he’s interested.”

***

Astra’s heart pounded mercilessly. Her Dad wanted to see her? It felt unreal, but she didn’t say anything. She pretended to be interested in the comments instead, snorting and sneering at some of them.

[+128, -19] what’s new lol

[+154, -98] I feel bad for these people. Just a dating scandal and everyone’s at it like they killed someone

[+92, -23] right? lol if normal people can do it too why not them

[+19, -2] ew

She arched her brow on the last one before typing a comment in reply.

“Hey, don’t say anything! That’s my account!” Satotz tried to reach for his phone but Astra brought it up higher.

I’m sorry your screen is so reflective, she typed. As soon as she hit ‘reply,’ she took notice of the comment posted right underneath the one she replied to.

[+429, -19] i feel bad for all the lipstick that guy had to consume… he doesn’t deserve that ><

[18, -1] LMAOOOOOO

Astra would never admit it, but she almost laughed. Satotz thought she might reply to another comment and swiped the phone out of her grasp, reading the comment for himself.

He couldn’t help but cackle, almost choking on his coffee. Khara peered from his side, taking a peek at the device.

“Now that is funny,” Satotz laughed.

Khara grinned shyly, “Is it? I guess it is.” She tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Yeah,” Astra crossed her arms and gave a sly smile, “but if I find that person, they’re dead.”

Khara remained silent throughout the whole conversation.

***

It was still too early for Chrollo to inhale his second stick of cigarette as he looked over the city from the tall building where his empire stood.

He wore his three-piece suit as he held the cigarette with his right hand, the other tucked inside the pocket of his slacks.

From this distance, Chrollo could feel how far he'd come from the slums of Meteor City. He was no longer that boy who scraped off whatever could be salvaged from garbage.

Chrollo Lucilfer was now a bachelor. Rich and young. Just one snap of his ivory fingers and whatever he wants is his. Everything he did was calculated. Careful and clever. He couldn’t care less about arriving at his own judgment day, but he would never want to endanger his friends.

But last night was a mistake.

It took all of Chrollo’s self-control to pull away. The moment he felt something inexplicable was the moment he realized there was something wrong with him.

Usually, he gave the ladies gifts to keep them from complaining once he lost interest. But that night, he realized how genuinely he wanted to give Astra something.

He puffed out smoke when he recalled her words. He had pulled away and she wore that sultry smile. That sultry smile and that mouth that needed reminding of where it belongs.

“You be very careful,” she said slowly as she ran her hands down his blazer, straightening it. “I like you. And you see,” her eyes met his, challenging and batting those long lashes, “I have a habit of always getting what I want.”

Chrollo reached for the silver necklace he usually had around his neck, only to feel its absence. And he remembered that he still has yet to obtain that necklace back from Astra.

The door groaned as it opened and Paku’s voice echoed through the big office, “You should see this.”

***

Astra was already an hour late for dinner when she stood right outside the manor. Her family’s chauffeur took her red Bugatti to the parking lot when she stopped in front of the big, carved double doors embellished with golden markings that extended from one side to the other.

Fortes Fortuna Adiuvat was engraved in stone against the header, clean and written in cursive.

She licked her red lips as she smiled, remembering the meaning of what her family believed in for so long, “Fortune favors the brave.”

Even in the darkness, the manor shone brightly with the unnecessary lights as if it dared to rival the stars. She circled her fingers around the metal handle, flexing, until finally pushing it open.

Astra roamed her eyes around the interior. The first thing she noticed was how much none of it seemed to change. The house was designed with white and mahogany. A little too old for her liking, but everything about it screamed ‘old money.’

“Welcome home, miss,” Zeno, lowered his head at Astra as she entered.

Home, Astra snorted, laughing at the idea. Nah, not that.

She masked her face with merriment, the corners of her red lips twitching upwards, “Old age suits you perfectly, Zeno.”

Zeno's face was lined with wrinkles—a lot more than how she used to remember. His hair had turned silver, hunched shoulders, eyes a little watery, and the bags that rounded them looked saggy.

Even in his old age, she could still point out how he was her father’s favorite. She didn’t know exactly why, but Zeno had always been around her father. Always.

A compliment teased along Astra’s tongue regarding Zeno's loyalty to his father, but she bit back on that action. It wasn’t about Zeno's loyalty to her father, but his loyalty to her grandfather.

“Heh,” Zeno huffed, his face concealed with neutrality. Despite his old age and the difference in appearance, eloquence impacted his voice, not an ounce of fragility coming from the old man. “I see you’re still the same as ever.”

He turned to the side, extending a hand sidelong, “This way, please.”

“If you’d please,” Astra curtsied, mimicking Zeno’s formality only to tease.

Astra walked her way with the majordomo. Occasionally, she stole glances from the interior, comparing and checking how each used to be from the last time she remembered. She stalked past the elegant, absurdly expensive pianoforte in the hall. Shining jetblack in color with outlines of gold in its edges. A memory crossed her mind of playing with its keys and how her piano teacher used to yell at her for not understanding the lesson sooner.

A child from a rich family should be able to play at least one instrument.

Then she paced through bigger chandeliers as Zeno stopped along the opened double doors to the dinner hall, keeping his gnarled fingers clasped together as he stood upright.

“Thank you,” Astra mouthed as she entered, earning a terse nod from Zeno himself.

Martin sat at the head of the long, rectangular table—accented with a velvety red linen—to his right was his wife and Astra’s stepmother, Emilia, followed by Anais then Margaux, while Wing sat on the opposite side. Astra took notice of the empty seat beside her father on his left and right beside Wing.

“Oh, there she is,” Anais, her stepsister, jeered, rolling her eyes as soon as she spotted Astra.

Anais was the eldest in the family. And she had always been mean to Astra. A few pranks here and there that servants in the manor often felt bad for Astra. But one summer night after spending a whole year with Zazan, Astra pulled her big sister’s hair and Anais learned to keep her distance.

Astra simpered, her red Loubotins clattering against the marble floors.

Emilia scoffed at the scene and Astra’s swagger, crossing her hands. As if Martin could sense an insulting remark from his wife, Martin spoke, “Astra, you sit beside me.”

Astra almost stopped on her feet, surprised at the offer, but she knew all too well not to let go of the chance. Besides, she had a lot of covering up to do after being so obvious of how she shuddered in Martin’s presence. She had to scratch that truth out.

“Why thanks, Daddy,” her tone was honeyed, teasing even, as she kissed her father’s cheek before slipping into the chair.

She eyed the clean plates in front of her before her brown eyes flickered over Anais, meeting her dark gaze before she broke it with another roll of the eyes to which she only smirked at.

“So what’s the big occasion?” She whipped her head at Martin, flashing him a big smile that boasted her perfect, white teeth.

“Can’t I invite my daughter over for dinner?” Martin’s voice was dry but the usual tone he often used when trying to intimidate someone was present in it. He kept his gaze on the empty plate laid in front of him, taking the silver utensils from a housemaid

“Aww,” she teased, bracing her forearms on the table. She gazed up at her father with a snakelike smile that painted her face, stretching her sensuous red lips. “Is it that time of the year where you complete your bucket list?”

Martin glared at her while Wing stifled a laugh from his seat. Margaux only reached for her glass of wine, sipping quietly.

“You’re still as rude, as ever. I see,” Emilia said, narrowing her eyes at Astra as they sat across each other. “There are some things that never could be changed from the slums.”

Astra eyed Emilia, taking in her perfectly tied blonde locks and intimidation in those green orbs. But she merely smiled and said, “You say that like I didn’t live in a villa named after your husband before this family took me under their wing.”

Emilia set her utensils down, so harshly that the plates rattled, “You are a child born of wedlock,” she drawled.

“Actually,” Astra clasped her fingers together to rest her chin, giving her stepmother a teasing grin and flashing her perfectly white teeth, “I’d rather you call me a love child.”

“That is enough!” Martin yelled, his voice deep and threatening before he shifted his gaze over to his angered wife. “Emilia,” he said, a little softer but reprimanding.

It was a little odd that Martin came to Astra’s defense. Though it perplexed Astra, she didn’t ask.

Martin’s usual punishing brown eyes were soft when it met with Astra’s. Those same brown eyes were the definite proof that she was his daughter. But despite the softness he tried to show, there was still that seriousness exuding from out of it. Business. Formality. Transaction.

“Astra,” Martin dabbed a cloth over his lips before setting it down. “How are you?”

Astra’s hands found its way to the utensils, “Fine.What else?” She said as a matter of fact.

“Attention seeker,” Anais muttered, giving Astra a conspirator’s grin before she took a bite.

She only chuckled, unaffected and amused, “If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be a celebrity.”

“I heard from Satotz that you’ve been quite free lately,” Martin interrupted.

“Yes,” Astra pricked the steak with her fork. “I’m sort of on a vacation.”

“I see,” Martin replied. It took half a minute before he followed, “With Lucilfer?”

Astra remembered that she got two things from her father: those brown eyes and his iron will.

The iron will they both have to get whatever they want.

“Oh, is that what this is about?” The amusement and arrogance vanished in her eyes as her tone dropped.

“We’ve been trying to get Lucilfer on our side for about a year now. This is an important matter.”

“But he’s still so young,” she reasoned. If she remembered it correctly, young men don’t hold much importance until they’ve proven themselves—and that only happens when they’re as old as her father.

“But he holds some sort of importance,” Martin waved his hand. “And we need him.”

A warmth that swelled from her heart began to burn in her chest—a jealousy for a man she didn’t even know. She didn’t know exactly why her father needed him, and why he was so eager to. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

But if having Chrollo Lucilfer meant having her father, then she’d do everything in her power to make him hers.

Astra said nothing as she set her eyes down on her plate. As she realized that this wasn’t about her.

#hunter x hunter #chrollo lucilfer x oc #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo hunter x hunter #chrollo lucilfer x reader #hxh #chrollo hxh #chrollo lucilfer smut #chrollo lucilfer fanfiction #chrollo lucilfer hunter x hunter #revalise #after the sun #after the sun revalise #hxh fanfiction #hxh fanfic #fanfiction #chrollo x reader #phantom troupe #phantom troupe hxh

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d-pennants · 4 years

Text

Through the Moon Instagram Live

Partial transcript of the Instagram Live with Justin Richmond and Aaron Ehasz. It was only posted for 24 hours and a lot of stuff was talked about. I tried to copy the answers as close to what was actually said, but I won’t guarantee I didn’t mishear or miss stuff. I just focused on the stuff about tDP.

No S4 announcement today.

Do you have a favorite character? Are you allowed to play favorites? JR: Yeah. I definitely have characters that I like more than other characters, but I’ll never admit who they are. [laughs]

Fine, how about hints about S5 then?

AE: Justin and I were working on a scene this morning, a scene in which someone makes a sacred promise to Bait. Hope that’s not to big a spoiler.

[Explaining about Through the Moon which is out today (Oct 6th) Shout out to Xanthe Bouma & Peter Wartman, who will be there for the AMA on Friday. And shout out to the team at Scholastic.]

[Technical issues made the audio break up while JR was relocating. I couldn’t catch what the actually questions were for this little bit, but I caught some of the answers.]

Question about Zuko’s VA Dante Basco

AE: He’s amazing to work with. I’d definitely be happy to work with him.

Question about Callum’s Mage Wings

AE: I’d just get mage wing out even just to go to the bathroom at night if I were Callum.

Question about Runaan

AE: I don’t know. That’s a mystery. Runaan is certainly in the magical cursed coin in some form. But I don’t know what he’ll do or if he can survive it. But that’s a story we’ll be certain to tell.

[JR relocated & AE had to log out and rejoin, which fixed the issue.]

Are there other graphic novels coming? Is Through the Moon part of a series with an over arching plot?

JR: Hopefully yes. Hopefully we get to do some more with Scholastic. This is a standalone. It is part of the core story of the Dragon Prince. It counts as canon. But there’s not a sequel to Though the Moon.

AE: We would love to do more graphic novels. We are actively talking about and planning it. Definitely in the cards. But not necessarily an over arching story.

Asking about Janai’s brother?

AE: We’re going to find out about Janai’s brother for sure. He’s a really cool character, a lot of fun.

What do Moonshadow elves do during a full moon? Do they just become invisible.

AE: It’s not just invisibility. It is a stealth mode. I think we talk about it as like they’re almost partially slipping into a “Moon dimension” that partially obscures how visible they are. But also their physically is maybe changed at bit so they can partially materialize for a split instant to do damage, then they’re phasing out. I think they’re phasing in and out of some kind of Moon dimension. So it’s partially invisibility, but there’s also some defense and fighting stuff that happens.

What does Moonberry juice taste like?

AE: In my mind the things that are conjured are some kind of juice blend. Mulberry juice, pomegranate. Justin talked about a bit of cran involved? But I always think mulberries.

JR: Try mulberry juice. Mulberries have like the weirdest, coolest taste. If you haven’t tried it you should do it.

AE: Not ignoring S4 questions, but we just don’t have a good answer. We are working on it. But we don’t have a S4 date. We getting things moving in a good way and we’re excited but we won’t have the information on a date for S4. We really appreciate you being patient for that. Don’t have any age criteria that we can reveal right now.

Will there be outfit changes for the dragon squad?

JR: There’s already some in the graphic novel. Rayla gets some pretty great pyjamas.

AE: They’re just going to rotate outfits. They’re just gonna trade clothes. You should see how great Soren gonna looks wearing Claudia’s clothes. How Callum’s going to look squeezed into some of Ezran’s outfits. Everybody’s just gonna try on each other’s stuff.

JR: I like it. Too bad that actually 3D doesn’t work like that, where you just trade outfits. Because it’d be hilarious. Yeah, of course, people are going to change outfits. There’s going to be some cool new stuff to see. Absolutely going forward.

Is Callum close to obtaining any other arcanum / going to learn any other arcanum in the future?

JR: No spoilers, but there’s little bit of a hint of some of the answer to this in this graphic novel, so you should check it out. I don’t want to spoil anything. I think Callum fascinated by all the arcanum. He’s not just limiting his interest to Sky.

AE: If you’re a betting person, isn’t Callum’s going to be the first human archmage. A little bit trolling, but yeah, he loves magic. He’s fascinated. But he’s groundbreaking. He’s doing things humans haven’t done before and his potential is limitless. May not be S4, may be S17 at that point.

Will there there be more Sarai? I really want Callum and Ezran to visit her memorial statue.

JR: That would be a beautiful moment. That’d be great, that’d be pretty cool to see. There will be some more Sarai, we’ll find out more about their family. I’m not sure how much we’re aware, but Sarai is certainly not gone from the series. You’ll see Sarai again.

Is the Key of Aaravos actually the key of where he was imprisoned?

AE & JR: We can’t tell you.

JR: We don’t even know. We haven’t even discovered the answer yet.

AE: We know! Actually, that was one of the first things we knew at the very beginning. We’ll get to it.

Is the Sun arcanum the only one that can heal? Or maybe the Ocean arcanum can heal as well/or to?

AE: Great question. Yes. I suspect there are healing abilities possible through different primals. Ocean is a perfect example. I think it’s likely different kinds of healers that call on different energy to restore life and health to those who are injured or sick.

Could original characters introduced in the graphic novels potentially make it into the show?

JR: Absolutely. It’s a huge universe, so we won’t hold back if we think somebody from a graphic novel or the game will fit into the show in the right way, of course we would do that. One of the cool things about working with all the same team is that stuff like that can happen, because we can control all of it. Which is amazing. It’s a great feeling.

AE: There’s a character we’ve talked about for a while from the video game and recently that character finally had their moment in the show. We wanna see different ways to access the world and characters.

JR: Also we’re working with Fandom on a tabletop RPG so that can go another way. You can see characters coming into the show.

Do we have to read the graphic novel before we watch S4?

AE: I don’t think we should say too much. You don’t have too, but everything that happened in the graphic novel happened before S4, it really happened. So can probably infer some of it, but best experience will be read the graphic novel. Get yourself up to date.

How will Zym progress throughout the seasons? Will he grow up and learn to talk and how to manage his powers?

JR: I don’t want to say too much. Zym is going to grow along with the other characters. He’s not static. He’s a puppy, he’s a little baby, and he’s growing up.

AE: We’ll see Zym growing up more for sure.

Will there be more Gren content?

AE & JR: Yeah! [Laughing] AE: Of course. JR: How could there not be? AE: Didn’t we announce already that season 5’s Book 5: Gren? JR: Books 5 through 14 is all Gren. Then we’ll come back around to the other arcanum.

Will we ever get to see Ellis and Ava again?

AE & JR: Maybe? Probably. JR: Not 100%

How did the idea of making the graphic novel come about?

JR: Couple of things. We were talking to Scholastic and they were saying “what if we did this thing together” and we were fascinated by that idea. We’ve always been interested in comics. It sorta came up very naturally with them. And then we started talking about the story, Aaron and I, that could fit in here with the writers and stuff. I felt like a natural thing. That’s how I remember it - Aaron may have other memories of it.

AE: I think that the whole dream of this partnership with Scholastic has been to serve the community by being able to continue tell stories in the wider world of Xadia, through graphic novels, and novels and other books. That part of why we’re so excited about this partnership. It’s so much more depth and insight into different characters parts of the world that we may not have time for in the 22 minutes on Netflix. So the partnership with Scholastic is perfect for deepening and expanding those stories. That’s what it comes down to.

JR: They introduced us to Xanthe and Peter, who just absolutely crushed it.

AE: Yes. [Name?] is still at Wonderstorm if someone asks. It’s still happening. JR: Yes, I talked to him yesterday. He absolutely still here. Xanthe and Peter, we got introduced to them through Scholastic and they just absolutely knocked this out the park. It was a joy to work with both of them and what an amazing job they both did on this. We’re super excited to have gotten to work with them on a graphic novel.

AE: More shout outs to Xanthe Bouma and Peter Wartman.

What did Aaravos say to Khessa?

JR: We can’t say. AE: We can’t, but Janai is wondering that too. And we’re excited about it. It’s weird - I’m not being helpful, but it’s a good question. I may not be giving a satisfying answer, but it’s a good question.

How does Janai know Aaravos spoke to Khessa?

AE: She might not have seen it, but she’s going to find out about it.

Someone asked about the Orphan Queen.

AE: We love the Orphan Queen and there are more references coming seasons 4 and onward. It’s a story I’ve always wanted to tell. We think it will be a great movie someday, maybe. The story of the Orphan Queen is certainly relevant to the story and the saga as it’s unfolding now. It’s a cool story we wanna tell.

We know only some Skywing elves have wings, and not all Sunfire have fire-mode, but what about Moonshadow elves. As they can only use their powers once a month, rather than at any given moment, is it an ability all (or at least most) of them have or is it just some of them?

AE: I think it’s one of those things where Moonshadow elves are in tune with the Moon primal, and one of the very powerful skills that a Moonshadow elf being in tune with that arcanum can master is moonshadow mode, that makes you an excellent assassin, so they evolved this culture that does some of this stealthy, assassin work. It’s certainly possible that there are other powers and abilities that come from connecting to that arcanum that can be directly realized - that a Moonshadow elf might be able to manifest. So you may see some of that in the future. Maybe you have some ideas for your fanfiction or your cool art to show some of those powers, but the powers and abilities really come from them being attuned to these primals and some of it comes naturally and some it comes with training and bringing out the ability to do the special thing. I don’t see why it’s limited. In learning, for example, that Sunfire elves have at least two abilities that can connect to the arcanum is part of what may help understand that.

Do we read fanfictions?

AE: Yes and no - not so much. We highly encourage it and we love people do it. Every once in a while we get someone saying “you gotta look at this, it’s so charming” or “oh, this is so cool.” Or someone will bring something to our attention. There is some really amazing work out there and there’s some writers who are terrific. But as a rule I don’t think we do it regularly when someone says “check this out”.

Will there be more dark mages?

JR: Yes. You will see more dark mages, 100%. But I don’t want to say any more than that. AE: It’s interesting too. This is one of the great things about Scholastic partnership again, that there’s this sort of interplay about things you find out in the show and I think at least one of the dark mages is very significant. The first time people will hear about that person will be in Book 2: Sky the core novel. That’s someone who plays him in the story, in the saga, once the series comes back. But yeah, there’s a very important dark mage who will come up in that book.

Did Aaravos create dark magic?

AE: No, it was discovered not created. Did Aaravos turn them onto it or help them discover it? That’s very possible. Whether Aaravos played a role in developing their ability to do dark magic. Exploring the possibilities of dark magic.

Will we meet other types of dragon and/or archdragons?

JR: 100% yes. Dragon’s in the name. We’re bound by oath! AE: There will be dragons.

Is it possible the dragon king will unfreeze?

AE: Should we not answer that? I feel like it’s possible, but I don’t want to encourage or get anyone too excited. I think being turned to stone is a pretty dismal fate.

Can elves do dark magic?

AE: Can we just say yes? JR: Absolutely. Elves can do dark magic. Totally possible.

How do you go about populating Xadia with cities and landmarks? Do you have the landmarks and find places that fit or did you have the shape and find things to fill it? Or mixture of both? JR: A bit of both. There were some places we’d talked about and generally knew where it is or what this place is going to be. But some of it, when we saw the first version of that map, and the details, we were like “oh my goodness,” there were some obvious things we wanted to put in there. Then there’s some easter eggy stuff that just fun.

Do we think Claudia deserves a redemption arc?

AE: Why does she need a redemption arc. Why are you judging her? What has see done that requires redemption? She’s pretty much in the clear. JR: I’m insulted for her. (laughs)

Is Corvus’ middle name Dennis?

AE: Do you want it to be Dennis? JR: It can absolutely be Dennis. No reason it can’t be. I think I know where this comes from. There was a running gag in the writers between Devon and myself where we call Corvus “Dennis Trackerman.” There was a whole thing. It went on way too long. AE: We hadn’t named him yet. JR: We were talking about if there were a whole family of Trackerman, cousins and it went on way too long. I think his middle name could absolutely be Dennis. AE: Seems right to me. JR: So it’s official - Corvus Dennis Trackerman.

Is there a certain reason Rayla is scared of water and if there is will we find out more about it in the show?

AE: I think there may be. We may find out more about it. Part of it is because of the way she’s wired. I think she’s great at running through the trees and balancing and doing the things she does, is she senses the stability of the earth beneath her, the amount of stability or flexibility of a tree limb or side of a cliff. She’s very sensitive and in tuned. I think when you take someone like that and put them in the water, I think it - whoosh - overwhelms them. It alarming. Some of it’s a little physical, but I suspect there may have been something that happened. She certainly brings a sense of emotion around it, feels like it’s beyond discomfort. JR: I feel like there was a tra-

[There was a bit of a pause so they ending up talking over each other. AE starts asking the next question while JR gets cut off].

Someone asked if we can learn the backstory on Ethari?

AE: I know that there’s a beautiful story about Ethari’s birthday on our website that can give you a glimmer. But I think that’s something I would love to hear. I’m sure it’s something that Devon and Ian - perhaps Neil has thought about.

Do you think you’ll explore Callum’s dad or is he not important to the story?

AE: I think it’s possible we’ll learn more about Callum’s dad in the sense of the role he played in Sarai’s life and Callum’s own life. Hopefully in one of the books that comes out. JR: Yes, he is important. He’s foundational to how Callum became Callum.

Will the Dragon Queen in more involved in Season 4?

AE & JR: Yes. Dragons.

Is Rayla the main character of the story of Through the Moon?

JR: It’s Rayla focused, but it’s like the show, there’s various non-Rayla bits. But if I had to pick a main I’d say yeah, Rayla. AE: Probably ask Xanthe what she thought about that question.

Do we see more Crow Master?

JR: We can never get enough Crow Master as far as I’m concerned. If the show was just the Gren and Crow Master show I feel like we can make some stuff happen. We’ll definitely see more of him.

AE: Yesterday we were working on a Crow Master scene, and the writers were like, do we need it, and like, It’s a Crow Master scene!

Is it canon elves have 6 toes?

JR: I think they have 4 toes, right? AE: I’m not sure what happened there. I think that’s an oops someone made. I suspect they have 4 digits per hand or foot.

[Side note: I think Jack DeSena was talking about 6 toes on Zoom into Xadia]

“Gren” is that the main spinoff?

AE: We were gonna a have a spinoff that was just Gren, like the character’s life. Even if it was just mainly Gren enjoying the morning and getting ready for work and winding down at the end of the day and possibly waking up in the middle of the night, thinking about things and going back to sleep. Cause, things will be fine.

Will the history of Xadia’s splitting be important in the future?

JR: Yes, absolutely. That event is crazy important in terms of the history of the continent. You may not see more of the actually event of it, the getting split, but it’s a huge deal that matters a lot.

Soulfang serpents feed on the souls of their prey, does that make them a Moon primal creature?

AE & JR: I think that’s right. JR: And they’re terrifying.

Does Bait have a middle name or a glowtoad tribal name? They’d love to see how Ezran found or got Bait?

JR: I think we’ve said Ezran got Bait from Harrow. Harrow gave him Bait. Glowtoad tribal name is some sort of grunt noise that’s specific, it’s pretty funny to think about. Also, how would you know which is the tribal name and which is the middle? I guess they’d know. It’s only for glowtoads.

Will we see how people react to Rayllum or elf/human relationships in general?

JR: Yes. It could be a huge thing in the show. Human and elf relationships are a big deal, absolutely we will see that stuff going forward. Yes, you will definitely see that stuff.

How long did it take from conception to production for Through the Moon?

JR: I think it was about a year / nine months. To go from story idea all the way to finished. AE: If we’re talking story idea it’s almost a year and a half. It’s a lot of work. We worked with Peter on a number of drafts and outlines and scripts. Then with Xanthe for quite some time.

What is the time gap between the comic and season 3?

AE: Couple of weeks? JR: It’s pretty short. It’s almost immediately following season 3.

Is Opeli actually Soren and Claudia mom, but they don’t remember her?

JR: No, she’s not. But that would be kinda funny. AE: Do you maybe ship Opeli & Viren a little bit. JR: That would be a pretty funny relationship.

The time gap between Through the Moon and Season 4?

AE: Can’t say. JR: You’ll find out in season 4. Lots of weeks.

How long does it usually take to animate a scene?

JR: That’s a pretty variable answer. The way it works is; we write a script, it gets recorded, there’s a bunch of 2D passes where we do storyboards and animatics and those are all hand drawn, and that takes weeks and weeks of time. At some point that’s approved and it gets handed off to the animators. In our show we do 3D animation with a sort of 2D sheet or look to it. So 3D animators would get that animatic, and they’d be handed a shot. Sometimes, depending on how complex the shot is, there’s sometime multiple animators will work on a single sequence. If there’s a lots of stuff going on with multiple characters you’ll get more than one person working on a shot. But it totally depends how much facial animation there is, how much action, how much running around, if they’re standing or talking. It totally depends. There’s a sort of variable number of seconds the animator can do a week. There’s not like a hard or fast answer here. Sometimes if it’s simple they can animate maybe 20 seconds a week, if it’s crazy complicated they may be doing half that. On average, it on the 20 seconds a week range. But wildly variable depending on the shot and what happening.

Is there a bigger world out there or is Xadia all there is?

AE: There’s some stuff on the periphery of the map that is part of a bigger world. But the main focus is this continent. It’s where the key action is. I think there are things on the periphery. We sometimes do jokes the Avatar world is on the other side. JR: If you flip the world over.

Are the elven face marking henna tattoo or are they permanent? JR: They’re more like henna tattoo. AE: Depends on the culture. There are probably some elven cultures where they more permanently tattoo some of the marking and they’re some where they’re more temporary makeup. But I think we’ve said for the Moonshadow elves it’s more like henna. Semi-permanent tattoos.

Will there be more Queen Aanya?

JR: Yeah. AE: I hope so too. JR: I love Queen Aanya. She’s awesome and a very exciting character. Also she has the coolest bow ever and I want to see more of that not matter what.

Aanya/Ezran friendship?

AE: I want to see that. We talked about that. JR: We can’t talk about that yet, but yes.

Who is the best fighter in the show?

JR: I don’t know if there’s a best fighter. There’s a lot of awesome fighters in the show. AE: Rayla and Soren both have different fighting skills. Corvus has different set of fighting skill. They’re all great fighters. Amaya’s incredible. Actually, the answer might be Amaya. If I had to put an answer on it. Just fundamentals. That be my answer. JR: That makes sense. I agree. I bet Soren would disagree.

Do you guys ever play D&D after work?

JR: Yes, we have a whole D&D crew after work. We love Dungeons & Dragons. We love Tabletop RPG We play all kinds of board games, not just Dungeons & Dragons. We had a whole series of board game nights - when we can be at the office - that were really fun. Continue that when we can all get back together. Played some virtual version too since Covid.

Will we ever see Villads again? JR: I don’t know if we should answer that one? AE: I think so, yeah. JR: Also, Villads is the name of a person who worked on the show - he’s an amazing director. AE: Not just a person, the supervising director of the show. Wonderful leader. Inspirational. JR: And a big sailor.

Then they wrapped up. Thanks, shout outs, reminder of AMA etc.

#the dragon prince #through the moon #tdp lore #Q&A

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sephiwhore · 3 years

Note

Ok but literally all the cyberpunk oc questions? LETS GO CHOOM!!! -thosetwistedtales

Bet you didn’t think I’d actually do it >:3 Okay well I technically didn’t, I did skip some of them cause I couldn’t think of anything, I’d already answered it, or the answer was just “no”.

Without further ado I present, All The Questions about Tess, answered under the cut!

— BASICS

full name: Tess Valere

birthday: She has no idea, and for most of her life she didn’t even know birthdays were a thing

gender and pronouns: Female, she/her

nicknames or aliases: V (obviously), her surrogate brother called her Tessa

sexuality: a big ol bisexual

ethnicity: a big ol white girl

affiliations [corporation/gang/themselves/etc]: she grew up on the streets of Heywood, so certain Valentinos would help her out now and again. She’s nowhere near loyal to them, but she’ll try to avoid killing them during jobs

what languages do they speak?: English, conversational Spanish, and she knows a handful of Japanese words

— PERSONALITY

alignment: Chaotic Good, but she dabbles in Chaotic Neutral

color(s) you associate with them: cyan and black and after Johnny comes into her life, red

theme song: Unbreakable by Fireflight

what heavenly virtue would you assign them? Humility

what deadly sin would you assign them? Wrath

what is their biggest strength? Sheer fucking perseverence, mostly fueled by spite

what is their biggest fear? Losing the people she loves, because throughout her life those have been few and far between and she’s lost a good number of them

what is their biggest weakness? Again, the people she loves

are they confident in their abilities? Oh you bet your ass she is, so confident that she stormed Arasaka Tower with nothing but her revolver and her cyberdeck

what is their opinion on cybernetics? They’re a necessary evil. Her brother dealt with cyberpsychosis so in a way she resents cybernetics, but she also knows that you won’t get far as a merc in Night City without a few implants

do they have a good sense of humor? Yes, very dry and sarcastic

how do they cry? When she cries it’s either from rage or panic, very little in between

how do they laugh? Quite subdued, usually the most you’ll get out of her is a hearty chuckle. Very rarely does she go into a full laughing fit

do they smoke? She started smoking after Johnny popped up in her head cause she felt bad for his situation (after she stopped hating him anyway) and figured she could give him this one thing. And now she smokes like a chimney.

do they drink? She’s been dealing with alcohol dependence and borderline alcoholism for half of her life

what kind of drunk are they? As she drinks more it progresses from pretty chill, then VERY affectionate, and then Fightey

do they take any drugs? She knows how she is with alcohol so she avoids drugs like the plague

— COMBAT

preferred weapon: For close/mid-range, a nice beefy revolver (Overture) or Johnny’s Malorian. Long range, a sniper rifle.

combat style [stealth/melee/brute force/etc] Depending on the environment, it’s either stealth with a silenced pistol and lots of quickhacks, a John Wick style headshots-galore shootout, or sniping from a distance

primary stats [ex: intellect] Intelligence and Reflexes

biggest weakness in combat: She sometimes forgets to watch her back, and tends to ignore injuries and see the fight through when retreating would probably be the best course of action

threaten or charm? Depends on the target, she’s great at both

lethal or non-lethal? For corpos, the more malicious gangs (Tygers, Animals, 6th Street), or anyone who has hurt innocents, full lethal. If she’s just infiltrating a warehouse full of workers, non-lethal

leave quietly or send a message? She sends a message WHILE leaving quietly

strategy or improvise? Improvise

— APPEARANCE

hair style and color [is it natural? do they change it a lot?] She has synthhair so she can change the style and color at will (I have no idea if that’s how it actually works but I say it is) but she usually sticks to come kind of short sideshave/undercut in some shade of blue.

eye color: Natural eye color is green, but she usually has black scleras with a red circle

height: I had her at 5’8 until yesterday when I realized ya know what, I want a tall girl. So she’s 6 feet.

describe their body type: Skinny, small tiddies, but still fairly curvy

describe their style: Dark colors, leather jackets, lots of boots (also Johnny’s tank top and aviators)

do they wear makeup? Very smudgey eyeliner. Her upper lip is tattooed black and she usually leaves the bottom one bare

tattoos? any significant ones? Lots of tattoos that I haven’t figured out yet, except fir a modified version of the Valentinos neck tattoo, the V being to honor her brother Ven (she took on the name V to honor him too)

scars? Random ones here and there from random gunshots, stabbings, and other work-related injuries

piercings? A bunch that I can’t remember off the top of my head

cybernetics? Gorilla arms, the charge jump ankle ones, eventually she gets synth lungs as a preventative measure cause of the whole smoking thing

— FAVORITES

favorite place in night city: The streets of Heywood because they’re home to her, despite all the awful memories growing up. After Johnny comes along, she starts to like high places, and she loves to hang out on the patio outside Kerry’s house

favorite tv show and/or movie: She loves horror movies, except ghost one cause she doesn’t believe in ghosts so she just finds them dumb

favorite vehicle. do they prefer cars or motorcycles? Vastly prefers motorcycles, she hasn’t really driven a car much since she was a teenager. Her favorite is Jackie’s Arch.

favorite food: She sees food solely as a source of fuel, she will eat whatever is easiest

favorite drink: Tequila

favorite song: Black Dog :3

favorite type of weather: She LOVES the rain (but the water kind, not the acid kind)

favorite radio station: Vexelstrom, and then Morro Rock cause Samurai :3

favorite pastime: Working out, shooting ranges, Jackie and Vik got her into occasional boxing

— RELATIONSHIPS

what are their parents like? what kind of relationship do they have with your character? She had no memory of her parents and assumes they’re both dead

do they have any other family members? what kind of relationship do they have? She has a “brother”, who she knew only as Vendetta (or V). He found her on the streets and took her in when she was 10, and raised her from then on until he “died” 12 years later. Their relationship was great, despite the fact that he was not a very nice person to everyone else but her.

who is their closest friend? Of course Jackie, and then Kerry (and Johnny ofc)

who are their other friends if they have them? Nope! :D

what are their exes like? any significant ones? She’s never really had a serious relationship, mostly just flings and acquaintances-with-benefits

are they in a relationship? with who and how is it going? Johnny! And it’s uh. Well, ya know.

who are their enemies? She has a passionate hatred for whichever corpo makes cyberpsychosis medication, and for Max Tac cause she sees them as responsible for the loss of her brother. And of course Arasaka.

have they ever lost anyone important to them? Her brother, Jackie, Johnny

would they betray their own morals for their loved ones? Abso-fucking-lutely

have they ever sacrificed something for someone they care about? if so, what? In one of my two canons for her, she gives Johnny her body

— BACKGROUND

where did they grow up in night city? if not from night city, where are they from? The streets of Heywood, then in a shitty apartment in Heywood

how would you describe their childhood? Miserable

were they well-off, poor or somewhere in between when growing up? After Ven took her in, they did have an apartment but because he needed monthly baloperidol (cyberpsycho meds) injections, they were quite poor

what kind of education did they receive? The only real education she ever got was “how to shoot a gun”

what is the biggest lesson they learned growing up? Everything and everyone in the world is going to try its best to destroy you. Destroy it first.

what is their happiest memory? A few weeks after Ven took her in and and it finally hit her, this was real, she had a home, someone that cared for her, and she never had to go hungry again,

what is their most painful memory? Watching her brother, in the middle of a psychotic break, being gunned down. After that it would be saying goodbye to Johnny (in the canon where that happens)

have they kept any meaningful mementos from their past? One of the revolvers she owns was given to her by her brother, and all of her piercings and a couple of her tattoos were done by him so they’re mementos, in a way

is there anything they would change about their past? She would do anything to save her brother.

#themechaneer #ask game #oc: tess valere #oc: vendetta

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kai-n-ali · 4 years

Text

In the Fields of Asphodel (My Regrets Follow You to the Grave) | Chapter Three

Eleanor Blum didn’t know what to think of this man, this Peaky Blinder devil that made all of Small Heath cower before him, this almost-stranger with his dead wife and dead stare, but she wished he’d stop showing up at the flower shop she worked in. And that he’d stop looking at her with those blue eyes of his.

Follows aftermath of Season 03 throughout Seasn 04. Tommy x OFC.

Warnings: Depictions of child abuse, antisemitism towards OFC (slurs), canon-typical violence, canonical deaths, sexual themes, etc.

Word Count: 12K

Chapter One ❀ Chapter Two

Ao3 ❀ Wattpad

Chapter 3: Celandine (Joys to Come)

She met her uncle for the first time barefoot and half-feral, wearing old blood on her fingers and streaked across her dress.

When they called Eleanor down to Headmaster Grafton’s office, her fingertips were still tender from embroidering dresses at the local dress shop earlier that morning. She rubbed them against the pleats of her skirt as she took the stairs two at a time, willing the sting away. Having left her shoes somewhere under her bed, still caked in mud from the rainy day, her big-toe poked out of a hole in her pantyhose and hit the wool carpet with every step. It scratched.

When she was younger, maybe eight or nine, the sight of the big oak door with its perpetual dust settled into the engraving of Mother Mary would’ve made her break out into a cold sweat, a phantom sting of leather hitting raw skin making her spine stiffen and her eyes water.

But she was thirteen now.

It sent a jolt through her system, seeing the door already open. Usually, the headmaster made all the girls knock before entering, waiting until they started to shift on their toes or rock on their heels. He liked spending long hours complaining to all the teachers, disparaging the young orphan girls’ lack of discipline. Sometimes, if he caught them fidgeting too much, he’d rap their knees with his cane.

Once, when she had been sneaking to the kitchen for a quick snack—she was the favorite of the cooks, but don’t tell anyone—she’d seen him frothing at the mouth over when one of the girls got snot on his new coat, due to some awful crying jag earlier that afternoon. His face had been a very fierce shade of red, she recalled, as he’d paced about in one of the empty classrooms, hands flicking about. The color disguised the faint pockmarks on his cheeks and the paleness of his complexion. Eleanor preferred it. He looked more… human, that way. It was nice knowing he bled like any other man.

Today, however, the door was open. Inside, sat the headmaster with one of Eleanor’s least favorite teachers, Sister Sarah, whose lips pressed into a smear of rosy pink rogue as soon as she caught Eleanor at the doorway, barefoot and with smudges of rust smeared down the cream of her skirt. She liked to say the lip color was all-natural, but Eleanor knew better. Across from them, in an over-large chair of what she knew was buttery-soft leather—she once got in trouble for curling up and falling asleep in it at nine-years-old, near delirious from a nightmare of her dead mother and having snuck out of bed and hunkered down in the unlocked office—sat a man she’d never seen before, his back to her.

The headmaster was a man with light hair and even lighter eyes—this chilled, near clear grey—with a thin, cruel mouth. Slim in that fashionable way wealthy people always were with pearls dripping down the languid lines of their throats or Patek Philippe watches wrapped around the delicate curves of their wrist bones. Eleanor was envious—they never had any awkward bits, no hollowed cheeks that looked scooped out with a melon spoon, no knees that stuck out in knobs of bone under paper-thin dresses.

“Anne,” Headmaster Grafton beckoned, hand waving her inside. Eleanor bit her lip to avoid doing anything stupid, like curse him out or attempt to deck him, and felt the familiar sting of her front teeth sinking into the torn skin. Her knobby knuckles weren’t very good for punching, unfortunately, quick to bleed with the semi-fresh welts stretched across them from Sister Martha, the only teacher who still rapped her with the leather strap when she got an answer wrong. The only teacher who ever called on her anymore.

It said something about her that Sister Martha was perhaps her favorite person here.

Grafton clucked his tongue, waited until she stood across from his desk, hands folded in front of her. She kept her eyes on the carpet, this fluffy, garish thing the color of blackberry wine, and his eyes on her forehead seared into her skin. “Anne,” he said again, and it made her want to tear at her hair, or maybe his eyes, those cold eyes—because, yes, Anne was her middle name, her mother’s name, but it wasn’t fucking hers. And she’d stopped biting at her nails, recently, and they’d grown long enough to do some damage if she tried. She could do it.

Eleanor, apparently, was too Jewish of a name, and while none of the staff or teachers could do anything about her last name, as full-on kike as it was, they could switch out Eleanor for Anne. Saint Anne, at least, was the mother of Mary.

Eleanor, christened Anne, baptized anew.

(There were nights when she was laying in her bed, still damp from when one of the older girls had dumped buckets of ice-cold rainwater into the sheets—or on one particular occasion, from being freshly scrubbed of pig’s blood from the butcher’s a street over; the stains never came out—where she just repeated her name in her head. Over and over again. Mouthing around the syllables, tasting them on her tongue just so she remembered. Just in case. They’d scrubbed out the Yiddish with lye soap, the language of her mother, but her own name she’d keep.)

The next bit of what the headmaster said sounded off to Eleanor’s ears: a record scratch, a jerk of a needle. Nothing but a string of words. And now her eyes were on this stranger.

Even sitting, he seemed towering to Eleanor, a looming presence—a well-built man going soft in the middle. He looked like he could snap Eleanor’s wrist with the press of his pointer finger and thumb, but when she risked a glance at his face, swiveling her neck very covertly, his face was made up of long lashes and crinkles at the corners of his hazel eyes. On his head was a shock of red hair, left wavy rather than gelled back slick and going strawberry blond at the temples. His cheeks were peppered in white-as-snow stubble. This man could’ve been ancient as time itself or, maybe, thirty-five—Eleanor didn’t know.

But what caught her attention most was that word the headmaster said—that word. Uncle. Your uncle. This strange man with too-expensive clothes and a floral lapel pin, this was her family, her kin. Eleanor spun on her heel, away from Grafton and towards this new man, this silent man whose brown leather loafers must have cost more than her entire wardrobe.

“You’re Ma’s brother?” she asked, unable to believe it. Even through the blurred memory of her five-year-old self’s eyes, her mother had been a woman made up of dark colors, brunette curls near black and skin that tanned brown in the sun. This man was all light, all pale gold. But it was the only explanation that made any sense.

She’d seen a photo of her grandparents once, obviously red-haired despite the black-and-white, and thought maybe that explained it. Though they had possessed much darker complexions.

Her uncle—her uncle—blinked. “No,” he said, short and to-the-point but not cruel, and his voice was feather-soft. There was an odd lilt to his voice she’d never heard, a funny way he spoke his vowels. “Your father’s brother, actually. Will Connolly.”

An Irish last-name if she’d ever heard one.

Eleanor stared at Mr. Connolly. “My mother was a whore,” she said, tone gone flat between grit teeth. Grafton hissed. Sister Sarah snapped out a sharp “Anne!”, but that wasn’t Eleanor’s name, so she didn’t respond. On the fine-boned features of her so-called uncle’s face, she looked for any traces of shock. There were none. Not even a furrow of his faintly-lined forehead. “How d’ya know I’m his?”

Mr. Connolly only smiled. “You may not see it, but we look a lot alike, you and I. I haven’t a doubt.” She opened her mouth, shut it again. She couldn’t find the words. “He passed, unfortunately. Last summer. But he wanted to know you. Make things right.” At some point, Grafton opened his big mouth again, and some sort of grown-up talk ensued, but Eleanor couldn’t get herself to focus, couldn’t rip her eyes from this stranger’s face.

She tried to be sad—hearing that this man, her father, was dead.

But her head was stuffed with cotton; her very system gone numb.

In a flash, the headmaster’s hand white-knuckled her shoulder, his form too hot along her back, and Eleanor went very still. Felt her limbs lock into place. Her heart stuttered. “Be good, dear,” the man said, and his tone was saccharine, sticky sweet as a bubblegum cigarette. She didn’t answer, didn’t breathe, and in a moment, she heard the click of Mrs. Lynch’s sensible shoes before the door shut behind them both with a heavy thud. Eleanor’s eyes flinched closed.

After a breath, or two, and a silence so heavy it weighed down her shoulders, she sat in a recliner across from Mr. Connolly, crossing her legs at the ankle as she slumped into the velvet material. She could be a lady when she wanted to be. But one foot couldn’t stop tapping against the carpet. The one with the bare toe. Eleanor took in a deep breath. “It’s lavender, isn’t it?” she asked, abrupt, and he arched a brow at her, leaning forward, hands propped up on his thighs and elbows bent. “That pin.” She gestured with the jerk of her chin.

He laughed. It was a low sound, rumbling deep within his chest. Warm. “Keen eye. Aye, it is.” The tied sprigs of lavender were delicate for such a large man, the feathery fronds rendered in silver, and the whole pin perhaps smaller than the stretch of his thumb. It really was beautiful—she wanted to sketch it with the charcoal pencils hidden beneath her mattress. “It was me mother’s.”

Even more embarrassing, she wanted to hear that laugh again. He hadn’t been laughing at her. It hadn’t seemed unkind at all.

But when she looked up from a scab at her knee, she saw his expression didn’t look like he wanted to laugh much anymore. His own gaze was glued at a spot by her right wrist, and for the first time, the man that was probably her uncle looked rattled. His jaw clenched. His eyes perhaps a bit wide, blue and brown and green. There was a flush to the tops of his cheekbones that hadn’t been there before.

She took a quick glance down, then darted back up to stare at him again. Her sleeve had ridden up.

Eleanor bit at her lip. He saw. It didn’t matter. It didn’t.

(“Little pig,” one of the girls said, almost loving, almost fond as she held her down into the dirt and muck of the backyard, and another pressed the glowing eye of her cigarette into the skin of her forearm. This girl’s hair was in pretty blonde braids, frizzed in the summer humidity, and her grip was tight on her wrist. The cigarette steady between her fingers. The flesh sizzled and sizzled while she held it there, and Eleanor thought of the mud caking the back of her hair and of the blue of the sky and of how much she didn’t want to cry. While they laughed and laughed and laughed.

But, no, it didn’t matter now. It didn’t.)

Eleanor tugged down her sleeve without looking away. The thin, healed skin of those circular burns disappeared behind the stained cuff of her dress shirt. Say something, she thought her eyes might have said when they locked with his, and her skin felt like it was burning all over again, hot and too tight. I dare you. Mr. Connoly’s lips pursed. Then he opened his mouth.

“Anne,” he started. And didn’t seem capable of saying anything more.

If she squinted, he really did look like her a little—in the straight arch of his brow, the curve of his top lip. The own red of her hair. The freckles across his nose bridge were fainter than her own, but the shape of the nose itself was the same. A fair counterimage, masculine where she was either soft or gaunt. “It’s Eleanor,” she said after a beat, and her voice sounded strange to her own ears, like from somewhere far away. She flexed her toes against the carpet. Knew there was no place to hide. She’d corrected him—this stranger that wanted to take her across the sea, this man who, from the sound of it, wanted to bring her home with him.

To her eyes, the hands resting on his pressed trousers seemed the size of boxing gloves.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, got stuck in her throat. She swallowed around it. But all Mr. Connolly did was cock his head, just so.

“Eleanor?” he asked, and his tone was mild as milk.

“My name,” she explained.

He sounded puzzled. “But they call you Anne?”

Eleanor shrugged, picked at a run in her hose. “Because it’s my middle name,” she said. Because they’re bastards, she thought. “But I wanna be called Eleanor if I’m comin’ home with you,” she told him, pushing onward. Maybe she was imagining it, but she thought the corner of his mouth quirked, just a little. “Not Ella or Ellie or anythin' like that.” She paused. “Please.”

And the stranger that was her uncle smiled, wider than before. “Call me Samuel, then.” And he reached out to offer his hand to shake. She leaned forward to take it. “Eleanor.”

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

After a month at Sam’s home—what the few staff there dubbed Narrow House due to its long and low layout—Eleanor made her first grave mistake.

Narrow House was the most strange and most fantastical place Eleanor had ever stepped foot upon. While it was in Chelsea, London, a place with a good bit of bustle from the glimpses she’d catch outside the car window, the sycamore trees that sat shoulder-to-shoulder at the front of the house cut off the outside world, blanketing the whole place in shade. It felt like a place for the fae. Not for man. The first two weeks of near silence she experienced, only disrupted by the rustle of leaves and the static hiss of cicadas, had left her jumping at every sound at night, curled up on top of her covers and hiding her face in her knees. Waiting for the monsters to come.

There weren’t any, of course. She should’ve known better—she wasn’t a kid, anymore.

Or maybe they were very shy monsters. Either way.

Truthfully, Eleanor couldn’t recall her reaction towards the place when she first stepped into the house, just the feeling of Sam’s hand settled feather-light between her shoulder blades. The way her eyes were welcomed by warm hues of gold and cream and deep red. A few leafy plants draped over a table just at the entryway; senses itching, she wanted to touch the waxy film of the heart-shaped leaves but flexed her fingers instead. There’d been a similar plant on Sister Agnes’ desk; it had always looked so parched.

(By the time she hit ten years old, she’d mastered the art of tip-toeing on her stockinged feet, having learned which floorboard squeaked, which route ensured the most carpet coverage. There was a single board in the main lobby that shrieked a blood-curdling sound if you hit it with your big toe just so—she’d learned that the hard way.

At night, when all the other girls were pretending to sleep, too afraid of a lashing to even breathe out-of-turn, Eleanor would go to Sister Agnes’ desk with her cup of water, steps hidden amongst the cacophony of gasps. Walking in wide sweeps over the creaks and sighs and moans of the wood and never spilling a drop.

The nun called its sudden revival an act of God. Maybe it was cruel, but she let it die after that.)

The entryway was dotted with chairs stacked high with pillows and throws, and through the open doorway to her left, she caught a flash of what could have only been a chandelier, though she’d never seen one outside of a magazine, all delicate cut crystal spiraling down, hung over a long and dark dining table that seemed to stretch into infinity.

Before she could absorb any of it, however, an electric jolt of fear overcame her, stole the breath from her lungs. A giant mass of dark fur appeared from another room, launching itself in her direction. Eleanor went rigid.

Trapped between her uncle’s hand and this eldritch horror, there was nowhere to turn.

“Sweet-Pea,” Sam said in a stern voice she’d yet to have heard from him, one that came from somewhere deep in his chest, and she flinched so hard she thought her bones must’ve ground together.

But he needn’t have used it, because the shadowy figure had already sat back on its hind legs right at her feet without any prompting, slobbering globs of drool onto her patent leather shoes and looking up at her with big, patient eyes. Its tail beat against the ground.

“Hi, Sweet-Pea,” she said, faint. The big dog near came up to her chin. She had to yank back her own hands when they automatically reached out to pet it—its coat looked so thick she thought that once she buried her fingers into the coarse curls, they’d be done for. They’d sink so far in they’d never come out again.

“He’s still a puppy,” Sam said, sounding apologetic. Tall and skinny with paws too big for his stick-thin limbs, and no longer a blurred-out nightmare created by his quick scamper towards her, the only thing frightening about Sweet Pea was his magnificent height. His teeth were exposed in a doggy grin, tongue lolling as he panted. “He gets excited.” His hand moved from her back to her shoulder, giving an awkward two pats that made Eleanor go even more still. He dropped his hand fast. The next words came out soft, a gentle nudge, “You can pet him if you want.”

And so, she had, resting a tentative hand on his head. His fur wasn’t very soft, she found out, but the feeling of his head butting against her stomach for more attention made a smile bloom on her face before she could bite it back.

Later that day, she’d met the rest of Sam’s pack. Besides Sweet-Pea, his Irish Wolfhound, there was Fennel, a Spinone Italiano; Ginger, a Border Terrier; Lady Susan, a Scottish Terrier; Cricket, a Rough Collie, and Billie, an English Water Spaniel. Though she’d asked after the breeds—more to be polite than anything, because men always seemed to get so worked up over their dog breeds, or at least the headmaster had—all the names spun around in her head, muddled and mixed. Though, Billie’s name was impossible to forget from the start: the stout pup with his chocolate fur was as round and fat as a sausage link, and as soon as she’d offered the little guy a treat, he’d nipped it out of her hand and rolled over for a belly rub.

Very quietly, she’d whispered an “I love you” to her new friend—because how could she not?—and she’d ducked her head at her uncle’s chuckle.

It was still a really nice laugh.

They’d spent a good twenty minutes where Sam would drop treats into her palm to bribe the dogs with, showing her how to make them roll over and sit, to beg with their paws up and to run circles and other tricks. Eleanor learned a lot in that short time. That Lady Susan had a very imperial look to her whenever she demanded treats, arching her head and narrowing her eyes as if to say: “Well? ”. That Fennel had a love for licking between toes, as she’d left her shoes at the door. That Cricket’s fur felt like a cloud. By the time they were done, her clothes were littered with dog fur, white and brown and black stuck to the grey of her dress.

Her uncle had also promised a tour and an introduction to some of the staff, but one look at the overwhelmed expression on her face once they’d hit the sitting room, full of ceiling-high bookcases and couches that could seat a small army, and he offered to show her to her room instead. Her head still spinning over the fireplace as he guided her up the stairs. He left the door cracked open before he left.

“Come get me if you need me, yeah? I’m just across the hall,” he’d said, and she’d nodded like she’d meant it. He didn’t look convinced. “Bathroom’s the door next to this one,” he told her, a wrinkle to his brow, and was gone with the pad of footsteps on hardwood.

That night, she’d slept on top of the covers of a bed that could’ve housed four or five of her fellow orphans. Afraid to disturb that array of artful pillows at the top of the bed, she curled up at the bottom in a tight ball. Velvet and silk and in colors she’d never thought she’d be able to touch with her own hands. She still wasn’t sure she could.

The summer night meant it wasn’t even that cold.

That night, Billie hopped up onto her bed while she laid with her eyes wide open, listening to the wind whistling through the trees, feeling ungrateful and homesick and wanting the midnight roar of Brooklyn’s streets. Wanting her mother. He’d pressed his wet nose against her cheek, and she’d cried into the soft, downy fur of his chest until her eyes grew so puffy, she had no choice but to close her eyes and sleep. Eleanor was only glad that Sam couldn’t hear her. She’d mastered a silent cry years ago. It had taken a while, but she’d learned.

(You see, the headmaster liked to watch. Until it got boring. He’d bring the nuns in to witness. Maybe he spoke—she wasn’t sure. Her knees dug into the carpet; she could feel the indents form on the scraped-up skin there, red and raw and irritated. Bits of fluff sticking to half-formed scabs, still gooey with tacked-up blood. And the belt buckle clinked with every swing. It made more noise than her. One day, she promised herself, she wouldn’t even cry at all. The headmaster liked to watch, so she bit at the inside of her cheek until she bled, until salt and snot ran down her chin and dripped onto that hideous fucking carpet, the color of blackberry wine. Until it got boring.)

But it was different now, weeks later. Eleanor had learned the layout of the place, the few staff that her uncle kept around the house. And she knew his habits—what he liked. What he expected from her. As long as she was good, he’d keep her around, and maybe he’d even end up liking her a little bit.

She’d done so well until now.

It’d began over breakfast, a butter knife dripping marmalade hovering over her burnt toast as her uncle set down the newspaper in a rustle of pages, peering down at her through the thin frames of his spectacles. There was a sense of finality in her uncle’s expression that made her mouth go dry. A scraping sound reverberated throughout the kitchen, knife on toast.

Eleanor didn’t feel so hungry anymore.

It was a shame, too—she'd only just started allowing herself these bits of extra luxuries. Climbing under the covers at night. Picking a mint leaf off the plant in their windowsill to taste. Taking the dogs on a walk without asking for permission. Drawing a bath instead of washing up with the sink and a rag. Running her fingers along the spines of Sam’s books, instead of just using her eyes.

Marmalade. She liked it when the bits of rind stuck to her teeth, chewy and sweet.

“I think it’s time we get you a new wardrobe,” Sam said, and she felt dread wash over her, settle into the chinks of her armor. She knew what that meant; she knew what he was going to say. “I called the family seamstress”—and who the fuck has a family seamstress, anyhow?—“and she agreed to come over today to get your measurements.”

Eleanor opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “You don’t need to do that. My clothes are fine,” she said, voice low, and hoped the defensive bite in her words was heard only by her. No such luck. By the wrinkle that formed at Sam’s brow, that wasn’t the case; if her tone hadn’t alerted him, the way her hand shook the triangle of toast in her grasp was clue enough. The toe peeking out of her stocking met the hardwood of the floor as her whole foot began to tap against the surface in a full-blown jitter.

Sam seemed to piece together his words very carefully. “Eleanor,” he began, and Eleanor’s knees were shaking so bad she feared rattling the table with the force of it. When he got serious, his speech went much more formal. “I am your guardian. I know... you feel as though you don’t need new things. And I’ve held off for all these weeks. But being as I am in a place to provide you all the luxuries in life, I feel as though getting you clothes that do not have holes in them—and aren’t several sizes too small, at that, clothes that actually fit —is more than reasonable.” This had to be the most she’d ever heard him speak in one sitting. His eyes were roving her face, but her face was already directed towards the poached egg on her plate, not him. “D’ you understand?”

Eleanor nodded. Her cheeks blazed.

Sam let out a breath she hadn’t realized he’d been holding in the first place. “Alright then,” he said around a sigh. Like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders after her compliance. Like her opinion had mattered to him. “Good. Mrs. Davies’ll be here at two. Eat your breakfast now, eh?” There was a smile in his voice when he said it, but she scrambled to shovel in the remains of her breakfast anyhow, gulping orange juice and scraping the runny yolk off her plate with the crust of her bread. Smearing marmalade across her face in her gusto. He didn’t say it like an order. But just in case. Her stomach churned.

Orange peel was still stuck in her teeth when the sun hit her face, fifteen minutes later.

It was always coolest out in the early mornings, so that’s when Sam (and now her, it seemed) did the garden work. This was his normal morning routine, he’d explained to her, until the winter frost made it near impossible to go out until midafternoon when the sun was at its height. The mist felt like a balm to her frayed nerves, brushing against her skin; the morning dew coated her shoes in a gloss. Taller blades of grass left wet trails on the stretch of tights over her ankles.

Autumn was just beginning to touch the trees, glimpses of ochre and pinpricks of cherry red among all the green like a child’s finger-painting. The white stone pathway was framed by heather growing taller by the day, sprigs of pinkish-purple, or lilac, that tickled the pads of her fingertips when she brushed through them. Though, she and Sam kept having to replace their mulch whenever the dogs dug it up. Said path led to a man-made pond stocked with fat, happy koi; they nibbled at her fingers for food when she stroked her hands through the water. She wasn’t sure how long she spent knelt by the pond in the first few weeks, just watching it ripple under her hands, disrupting lily pads that were sent bouncing on the waves

Sam had cut her some of the heather to hang upside down in her closet, bundled up with dental floss and left in the dark on a clothing hanger to dry out. It didn’t have much of a scent, but its color had made her eyes sparkle at the very first sight of it. She couldn’t wait to hang it in her room; maybe on one of her bedposts, if it didn’t shed too much.

Besides helping with maintaining the heather, she also pruned the asters planted in clusters out in the sunlight, placed close to the patio furniture. She liked the touches of yellow and purple at their centers best. “You could press one, if you like,” Sam told her one day in early September when they’d just began to bloom. She hadn’t been able to tear her eyes away. “I could buy you a book for it. You could collect any you want.”

Eleanor hadn’t responded, wondering if it was a test—ribbing her, attempting to trip her up into asking for too much—but she hadn’t needed to speak a word. Her uncle plucked a flower from its stem, bright white against the tanned calluses of his hands, and held it out towards her until she offered up cupped palms for him to drop the bud into. It landed center face down.

“I’ll get you one,” he had said as if that transaction settled it, simple as that, and now, weeks later, a leather-bound journal rested on her bedside table. Parchment paper was tucked away in one of the drawers, though she wasn’t allowed to touch the iron without permission.

This rankled at her, sometimes. She’d worked as a seamstress’ assistant, for God’s sake, but Sam insisted, and Eleanor didn’t dare protest. In any case... It felt. Nice. To be worried over.

Among Sam’s backyard and dedicated garden, there were countless other flowers Eleanor had gotten acquainted with, though their names she had yet to quite master. White and pink autumn crocuses, she could identify without a pause or hint of self-doubt, but the miniature yellow blooms with their outreaching pistils she could not, for the life of her, recall any details of. Just that they liked hugging warm walls in the winter, shielded from the biting cold.

Currently, Sam was ruining the fine wool fabric of his trousers, knees sinking into the damp earth, checking on his radishes with careful touches. He patted the spot at his side. Eleanor rushed to kneel. His smile was a small one; she was graced with no baring of teeth. No threat. Not bite. Just a smile. He offered up the bag of mulch at his other side. “They’re not retaining moisture,” he explained, in that voice he often used when instructing her in any way, patient and steady with little variation in tone. No abrupt rises in volume that made her skin prickle with nerves. “Mulch will help with that. But we’ve gotta keep it a real thin layer, y’ see, like this.”

Eleanor heaved in a breath and let it escape in a little puff of air. “Why thin?” she asked, tentative, and watched her uncle’s eyes light up.

“Good question,” he praised, and Eleanor felt her ears burn, felt her cheeks pull with a reluctant grin. Sam grinned right back. “If you’ve got too thick a layer, it’ll keep any water from getting in, from reaching the roots. Ruin all your progress then, won’t it?”

The rest of the morning passed in this manner, checking all the plants, watering and pruning and patching up holes in the mulch from overzealous paws, before the housekeeper, Ms. Catherine Moore, let out the dogs at 11 AM sharp, a pitcher of what looked to be lemonade in hand. Eleanor inwardly cheered: lemonade was her favorite. The dogs chased each other throughout the garden, nipping at their siblings’ tails and rolling in the dirt. From where Eleanor now rested, sweat beading her brow as she took cover beneath the picnic table’s umbrella, Cricket trotted over, resting her head on her grass-stained knee with a flick of her mane and a small yip escaping her mouth. Eleanor dug her hand into the scruff of Cricket’s neck, offering a scratch—that fur was still cloud-soft.

From the corner of her eye, Eleanor watched Ginger, unkempt and often indifferent towards the other dogs, make straight away for Sam. He was lounging in a chair opposite to her, nursing a cigarette; the strands of his hair unshaded by the umbrella lit up a striking red-gold, like fire woven into thread. Her hair never looked so brilliant. “Little monster,” he greeted with a smile, inviting the dog onto his lap for pats. “I know it was you, digging up the mulch. Menace that you are.”

Ms. Moore reached them then, pitcher clutched in one plump fist close to her chest and two glasses pinched between the fingers of her other hand. The ice rattled within its glass container, sloshing the juice near over the brim and swirling the ladle in the pitcher ‘round and ‘round. Up close, Eleanor saw bits of fruit suspended within, sliced strawberries and what looked like quartered peaches, dying the drink more orange-pink than yellow where they settled at the bottom.

The pitcher, then the two glasses, were set against the patio table, cushioned with a pinky. Ms. Moore was a woman even older than her uncle, perhaps sixty years old, with a crinkle-eyed smile that she shot at Eleanor right now, head ducked under the umbrella to escape the sun. She pulled from a pocket in her apron two straws.

Eleanor took one when it was offered to her and watched with eager eyes when Ms. Moore began filling up a glass, holding the ladle still to avoid spillage; the housekeeper then used said ladle to spoon out several more pieces of fruit, slipping them into the glass with barely a splash. “Here you are, Miss Eleanor. You look parched.” She clucked her tongue, and the fine wrinkles around her mouth creased deeper. “Samuel, now y’ know I told you to get that girl a hat, didn’t I? She’s goin’ t’ burn right up at this rate.”

She’d never heard anyone else ever call her uncle Samuel, but being as Ms. Moore had worked for the family since Sam was in diapers, Eleanor imagined she was the exception.

In any case, Eleanor didn’t think she’d burned in her whole life, spending hours beneath the rays of the summer sun, skin growing darker and darker still. New freckles peppering her skin. But it was sweet—that she cared at all. She hid a smile behind the brim of her glass.

The few hours left until the arrival of the seamstress blurred by, her nose buried in a book that Sam recommended for her, a collection of short stories. Her fingers were coated in remnants of juice, having reached into the glass to pull out chunks of peaches, syrupy and dripping. They stuck against the pages if she lingered too long. She was more than halfway through “The Yellow Wallpaper,” wondering at what that smooch must’ve been that the protagonist was seeing, wrapping about her room and marring the paper that was driving her so mad, when Ms. Moore came back again, an odd look in her eyes when she peered over at Eleanor, squinting in the sun. Sam looked tense. His eyes flickered to Eleanor.

“Mrs. Davies is here, Samuel, in the parlor.”

And oh. She’d forgotten. She’d forgotten all about the seamstress.

This was where she mucked it all up.

A subtle shiver taking over her fingers, she tucked her book beneath her armpit before wiping imaginary crumbs off her skirt. Eleanor took a very deep breath, one that rattled in her chest. Mustering up a smile for Sam, one that felt like an open wound stretched across her face, she sat up. Her chair pulled up hunks of grass as she pushed it back. “You don’t need to come,” she said, tried to mean it.

Sam just shook his head. “It’d be rude of me, not welcoming a guest. And Mrs. Davies is an old friend of me mother’s, besides.”

Mrs. Davies was a small and squat woman in her late fifties, shorter even than Eleanor, who stood just a few inches below five feet at thirteen. Her cheeks were round and pink, her hair a dark blond. Barely greying. Her skin looked almost leathery, and those round cheeks pushed her eyes shut with the force of her smile. All smile lines.

“Oh,” she gasped, as loud as a gunshot even across the room, and only the pressure of Sam’s hand at her back prevented her from flinching back and away. Her voice was fairy-soft, airy and light. Like it could just float away with the wind. “She looks just like Winnie! Your mother had the same nose. And her hair, Samuel,”—yet again, with the Samuel, was that an old lady thing?—“such a lovely shade of red, it is.” That bright smile was spun her way. Sam slowly inched her forward, bit by bit by bit, until she was a mere handshake away from the older woman. “We’re going to have such fun together, dear. Every girl deserves pretty clothes.”

Eleanor didn’t know what she deserved, but it didn’t feel like this, trapped in the too-hot room of her uncle’s parlor, baking from the heat radiating off the fire-place. Those red bricks of the mantle, she knew, would be warm to the touch. Trapped in this room, to be poked and prodded. Left exposed. Don’t be so dramatic, she scolded herself.

This is what her uncle wanted.

And shirts that fit would sure be nice. No snags. No missing buttons.

Her uncle’s hand was heavy on her shoulder, this barely-there pat; she was ready for it. Didn’t flinch. There was a smidge of satisfaction burning away in her chest at that. “I’ll be just outside, then. Put on the kettle,” Sam said as if trying to reassure her, and he held out a hand for her to place her book into. With one last pat, a little stronger this time, he was gone with the click of the door behind him. Instead of looking at Mrs. Davies, she traced with her eyes all the titles on the bookshelf behind her instead.

She didn’t seem to mind. Out of the corner of her eye, Eleanor noticed the length of measuring tape curled around one wrist. “Alright, sweetheart, we’ll get into all that you’re lookin’ for—oh, I can just imagine you in dark green, you’d look so sweet, or some rose. So precious! But first, I really do need your measurements.” She beckoned Eleanor closer still, to where she was standing in the middle of the carpet, her little brown heels set against the cream with its deep red patterns, vines and roses twined into diamond-esque shapes. Eleanor tried not to drag her feet.

She was right in front of Mrs. Davies, now. “Thank you, ma’am, for agreeing to do this,” Eleanor said, because she could be a polite little girl if people let her be.

Mrs. Davies cooed. “Marge is perfectly fine, dear.”

“Thank you, Marge.”

Marge stroked her hands up and down Eleanor’s arms from shoulder to elbow, like soothing a startled animal, and Eleanor felt her whole body lock up in reply. “Alrighty now,” she said, and her voice really was just like a fairy, “let’s get to it.” Eleanor tried relaxing at the sweet sound of it, uncoiling her tense muscles bit-by-bit, starting with her toes and finishing with her shoulders. Best to start small and build up. Marge kept pushing onward. Hands still on Eleanor’s arms. “Take off your clothes for me, Eleanor dear.”

Static.

“’M sorry?” Eleanor asked, and her voice was not her own, something stretched thin and alien. The hands were gone, now, and Marge was unrolling that measuring tape from around her wrist. For a moment, Eleanor just counted how many times it unwound: one, two, three, four, five... Quick, practiced jerks that she missed if she blinked too slow. Six, or seven?

“Well, I’ve got to measure you, don’t I? And all that extra cloth gets in the way. We want these to fit you nice, with just a bit of growing room.” Marge went on to mumble something about “Samuel needing to fatten her up, just look at those boney arms,” but Eleanor’s ears were roaring, louder and louder and louder. She couldn’t hear a thing.

She couldn’t think; she couldn’t think; she couldn’t think—

Eleanor must’ve said, “Okay,” must’ve agreed, because her hands were moving on their own accord, reaching up to undo the first button of her blouse without needing any guidance from her mind at all. But they shook so bad, these tremors that jerked at her fingers and strained her knuckles, that she couldn’t get the button free from the loop. Her breath rasped in her throat, coming quicker and quicker: it was like breathing through a straw. She squeezed her eyes shut. It was just a fucking button, just a fucking button.

(Whenever Grafton got irritated, truly irritated, he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. This awful, wet sound. He did that now. Eleanor kept her eyes on the carpet, traced the pattern there with her eyes over and over again. Counted how many loops there were in a sequence. Sixteen. It was an ugly fucking carpet, she thought. She thought that every time. “Shirt. Off,” he said after he was done clicking, and she undid her buttons one-by-one. She did not raise her eyes to the belt. But still, her chest tightened with the anticipation of it, the slap against bare skin, and she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe.)

She couldn’t breathe.

If she saw the scars—if she told Sam, he wouldn’t want her anymore. Just seeing the burns trailing up her arms made his jaw flex, made his eyes go all dark and wet. She’d saw. It’d upset him. He wouldn’t want her. Eleanor gasped for air, moved her hand up to her throat like she could somehow coax out the breaths trapped within in. She couldn’t breathe.

There was a concerned sound, this slight lilt of a question being asked. A shuffle. A brush of air. And then, there were hands on her arms again.

Eleanor flinched so hard she swore it must’ve wrenched her shoulder out of socket.

The hands left, but it didn’t matter. Eleanor sank to the floor, knees-to-chest, and clapped her hands over her head. Watched the world fall in a blur of colors, even behind closed lids. Like a flicker of flame, red and orange and terracotta. “Samuel,” and this she did hear, high-pitched and hysterical, sounding far off even though it must’ve been shouted right in front of her. Must’ve been screamed to be heard through the water and sludge, the mud that clogged her ears, her throat. “ Sam! ”

There was a bang. The rattling of hinges. “Fuck,” a man’s voice said, and Eleanor thought she must’ve recognized it. Curled up as she was, all the soft parts tucked away, it was easier to focus, a little. “Get out, Marge. Go,” and there was an unsteady pause, “go and turn off the stove, please.”

In response, there was a click of the door shutting once more. And footsteps, sharp and clear before becoming muffled by the carpet, sounding off closer and closer. It was followed by the creaking of old knees. She smelled Sam’s cologne, woodsy and a little sweet. Like vanilla and cedar. But it was so safe, curled up in the dark of her knees, so she just tightened her hands over her head.

A sigh, soft but close enough that it ruffled her hair. “Eleanor,” Sam said. “Eleanor, love, what’s wrong?” She’d never been called love before.

“Please don’t be mad,” she whispered into the skin of her knees.

“What? ”

“Please don’t be mad,” Eleanor gasped, ragged enough that it scraped, and felt the tears welling up in her throat. Salty, like sweat and blood and other unpleasant things. She swallowed them down. “I’m sorry. I tried to be good. I’m sorry—I’m sorry.”

“Eleanor, no, no.”

“I’m so sorry. I-I, I—” She choked on her own breath, coughing and sputtering.

“Hey, hey,” he shushed, and she could hear the fluttering of his clothes, the shifting fabric of the light cardigan he wore. “Just look at me, okay, love? Please just look at me.”

Her arms ached, and her head pounded from the stress of holding back tears with nothing but a fraying strength of will. She let her hands fall from where they, without her knowledge, hand become entangled in her hair. Her scalp stung. “There we go now,” Sam said when she peeked out from behind her knees, raising her head to meet wide, concerned hazel eyes. There was a sheen of sweat on his brow. “There’s my niece.” Eleanor shook her head, though at what she didn’t know, coughing again when she tried breathing in.

“Whoa there. Just breathe with me, okay?” And Sam took in a deep breath, holding it in before letting it out again. Eleanor found her attention hyper-focused on the rise-and-fall of his chest. “In through the nose,” he said, “and now out through the mouth.”

She wheezed on the first exhale, but by the third, it didn’t hurt much anymore. Sam looked almost boneless with relief. Eleanor stared down at her knees, felt her bottom lip begin wobbling. A damning tell she couldn’t shake.

“Eleanor,” he breathed out, sounding like a deflating balloon, and her eyes shot up to look at him again. She would never get sick of hearing her name; she wondered if that was why he said it so often. “Eleanor, you don’t have to be sorry, okay? Not at all.”

Eleanor shook her head, violent enough that her curls went flying. She had to clear her throat to speak, and her voice came out hoarse. “But I think I upset Mrs. Marge.” That damn fucking lip wobble again—it made her feel five-years-old; it made her feel small. “I was bad.”

Seemingly speechless, Sam stared at her, knees on the carpet and hands limp at his sides. He was making that expression she’d feared before, where his eyes went all dewy, and he looked, for all the world, like she’d socked him in the jaw. Wounded. One of his hands, massive enough that it could wrap around her wrist two, three times, reached out. Up towards her face. Eleanor flinched her eyes closed. He sucked in an audible breath.

This was it. This was it.

But Sam just placed a hand on her cheek, cupped her jaw. His palm was softer than she thought it’d be, even with the callouses. It made Eleanor feel strange. Warm. If she pressed in closer, she worried the touch might burn her.

(“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, young lady,” Grafton said, and his fingers had a tight grip on her jaw. She looked. She thought his eyes were very grey, and she didn’t want to think about what else she thought.

Later, when she was in an empty lavatory, scrubbing at the crescent moons on her palms with soap that stung, she thought back to that moment, when his hands were on her chin, thumb and forefinger pinching the skin there. His nailbeds were well-maintained. Clean, pushed-back cuticles. Her mother had always taken good care of her nails. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, young lady,” he’d said, and she had thought his eyes were very grey. She had thought that if he moved those fingers any higher, she’d bite them clean off, bite through blood and bone. She wondered if she’d done it, if she’d be picking his veins out from between her teeth right about now.

Eleanor ended up throwing up in the sink. God, hopefully, no one heard.)

“Eleanor,” her uncle said, like trying to call to her from underwater, and she blinked. Couldn’t remember where she’d gone. “Eleanor, I’m never going to hit you. Not ever, y’ hear me?”

And Eleanor said back, instant, “I hear you.” It was what she was supposed to say.

Sam’s brows furrowed. “No,” he insisted. Brushed a curl from her eyes with a finger. It had a half-healed cut from what looked like garden shears. “I feel like you aren’t understanding me. Even if you think you’re bad—and you’re not, Eleanor, you’re not. But even if you ever are, I will never hit you. Do you hear me?”

“I hear you,” she said, and she almost believed it, too.

Later, she told Marge that she’d like a green dress, maybe, if that was alright. And that she enjoyed mother-of-pearl buttons. Marge said she could have whatever she liked. She got measured in her shift, and Sam lounged on one of the couches, reading from a large tome with deckled edges. And it was alright. It was all alright.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

She wore that green dress when she met her father’s wife for the first time with her two children—her half-siblings, she couldn’t comprehend it—in tow. Whenever Eleanor felt her nerves start to rise, her palms start to itch, she’d trace the daisies Mrs. Marge had embroidered on the sleeves and breathe a little deeper, a little steadier.

When Sam had come to her, hands wringing nervously in the doorway of her bedroom, she hadn’t known what to think. Learning that her father had been married when he was with her mother... Well, that hadn’t been a shock. Married men had laid with her mother all the time; she may have been only six years old when she’d been taken to the orphanage, but she hadn’t been stupid. Or blind. She knew the look of a wedding ring, even if her mother had never worn one herself.

Learning that Sam wanted her to meet her late father’s family, his wife and his children... That had given her pause. Eleanor had stared at him, aghast, mouth agape; her attention entirely torn away from the journal in her lap. Her pen, still pressed deep into the paper, left a spreading stain over the dot of one of the i's, a black cloud of ink. She’d been practicing her cursive, the careful loops of it—Sam was in the process of picking out tutors for her, and she’d sworn to whatever higher power there was out there that she would not be an embarrassment—but how ugly her uppercase S was no longer mattered.

“Sam, they’ll hate me,” she’d blurted, digging her fingers into the fabric of her comforter. Sam had looked at her then, the agitated fidgeting of his fingers slowing to an abrupt stop, and he’d strolled over to sit beside her before she could barely blink.

“It’s impossible to hate you,” he said, which Eleanor knew to be a lie. “And if they tried, they’d be out of our house, wouldn’t they? Just like that.”

And so, here they were.

Josie Connolly was a woman who loomed over everyone around her without even trying, easily above six feet in her lace-up boots, and made all the taller with her hair piled high on her head, its color so dark it was near black. Like Grafton, she was thin in that fashionable way, slim wrists encased in lavender gloves and the curve of her cheek both sharp and soft, silk over steel. She peered down her nose at Eleanor from where she stood behind Sam, near hidden in his shadow. Sam stepped forward to take her coat, and never, never had Eleanor felt so exposed from one pair of grey eyes, so stripped down and flayed. Which was saying something. “She looks more like you than Will,” was the first thing past her lips, the slim line of her eyebrow raised in some sort of amusement gone sour.

To be fair, Eleanor thought, being faced with your dead husband’s infidelity would make anyone bitter.

Her uncle’s smile was a brittle thing. “Josie, good to see you. As always. Hello, Junior. Hello, Lottie. Merry Christmas.”

That’d been another thing Sam had fretted over—whether a Christmas dinner would insult her Jewish sensibilities. Like she hadn’t grown up in a Roman Catholic orphanage. Or, perhaps, she noted, an amused curl to her mouth, that was why he asked at all. He always got scowly at the slightest mention of her time there, though he tried his best to hide it.

It’d been almost cute, watching him leap up from the edge of her bed to pace the length of her bedroom, flinging his hands about in endless motion, his sleeves rolled up and the freckled skin of his forearms stark against the background of her dark green walls, recently painted. It was one of the first times that Eleanor thought they really looked related, like kin. The way he puffed stray strands of hair out of his eyes, his wrists too busy lolling this way and that.

“You’re laughing at me,” he accused, once he’d paused long enough in his rant of telling her, for the fifth or sixth time, that her comfort was paramount, that they could schedule a different date—that'd it’d been Josie’s idea, anyhow, not his own—to actually take a good look in his niece’s direction. He sounded very pleased.

“I’m not,” Eleanor protested, but she was still smiling. “Christmas dinner is fine, Sam, honest.” In truth, she’d liked Christmas back at the orphanage, if only because the sisters were nicer that time a year, less likely to strike out with the leather strap. Christmas cheer and all that. Besides, Christmas dinner was almost always more delicious than any other meal of the year, more plentiful: potatoes and chicken, green beans fresh from the market. One year, they’d even got slices of pumpkin pie. Christmas time was very kind to orphans, even Jewish ones.

It hadn’t compared to making latkes with her mother for Chanukah—her mother had never allowed her to grate the potatoes, and she remembered, even now, watching with saucer-wide eyes as the pile of shreds grew and grew and grew, a small mountain on their kitchen table. The smell of onions caramelizing in Bubbe’s cast-iron skillet, the promise of them being jammy and sweet, almost buttery on her tongue. The bubbling of the vegetable oil on the stovetop. She’d scoop applesauce onto her mother’s latkes, heaps and heaps of it, until Anne scolded her for the mess. Withholding laughter that glittered behind her eyes. “You can’t fit all that into even your big mouth!” Her fingers had always been so tender, wiping at the applesauce oozing from the sides of her mouth, down her sticky chin, that the memory of it all always made Eleanor want to shut her eyes, to wrap her arms around herself and lean into that great love again, even if only the remnants of it.

Not to mention the honey and apples on Rash Hashanah, the perfect treat to her five-year-old eyes and tastebuds. And challah, eggy and so, so sweet: sweet as everything was meant to be in the New Year. The bread perfectly round, braided by her mother’s careful hands. Its top always so crunchy. Her mother hadn’t been a religious woman, not at all, but “Food is the language of love, my sweet, and our family has passed onto us so much of it.” No, Christmas couldn’t compare.

But maybe all Christians were kinder on Christmas, even to the bastard children of cheating, bastard husbands too dead to curse their names. The thought perked her up. It felt like a silly hope, but one she was willing to cling to. “Besides,” Eleanor told her uncle, giving him her most nonchalant shrug, like the thought of meeting the family of the man she hadn’t been good enough for didn’t send a chill down her spine, like it was better than fine, “it’s just a dinner.”

Just a dinner, indeed.

The kids behind Josie were perfect and pretty in the way that made Eleanor’s teeth clench, that made her want to tuck her hands behind her back and scratch at the half-healed scar tissue, scaly and ugly, that stretched across her knuckles. She did not do that.

The younger one, Charlotte, shot her (their) uncle a smile—there was a gap where one of her canines should’ve been. She looked like she belonged in a Monet painting, all strawberry blonde hair and soft pastels. Up close, Eleanor noted her eyes were the palest shade of green she'd ever seen. “Merry Christmas, Uncle Sam!” Their chins might’ve been the same, she thought, as she tried not to fidget when those pale, pale eyes fell on her face.

William Jr., sixteen, was a carbon copy of his mother, already towering over all of them, even Josie, with skin so light it was translucent. “Merry Christmas.” His voice was nasally from what was probably a cold, if the red tip of his nose was any indicator. He didn’t look at her at all, trained his gaze studiously on Sam, on his mother, on the wall coat rack where he placed his winter jacket. On anything that wasn’t her. It wasn’t subtle.

“This is Eleanor,” Sam said—like they couldn’t have known. Abruptly, he was behind her again, his hands curled around her shoulders; his presence warm at her back. It was almost baffling, how quickly Eleanor eased under his touch. Felt some of the tension leach out of her. She’d been grinding her teeth without even noticing it; her gums felt tender. At least I’m doing it with you, she thought. At least it’s you. Josie’s eyes were narrowed in on her. Her own gaze trained on the woodgrain of their floor, Eleanor straightened her spine and choked out some form of a hello, pleased to meet you. And steeled herself for the rest of the day. You’ve got this.

There was one thing she could say about the whole affair: dinner, at least, was delicious. Her plate was piled to the point of excess by Sam, slabs of dark turkey meat, stuffing and gravy, roasted potatoes with garlic, cranberry sauce, and some strange pancake-like side called Yorkshire pudding. By the time she was less than a third of the way through her meal, her fork not even scraping the bottom of the plate, her stomach had begun cramping to the point that she felt vaguely ill.

Normally, she could get away with feeding scraps to the dogs when this happened, slipping them bits of fat among other treats under the tablecloth while Sam looked the other way, their teeth closing around the food so gentle their canines barely grazed her fingers at all. But Josie didn’t like dogs, apparently, so they were all out playing under the watch of Ms. Catherine. Eleanor longed to join them. She nibbled at a Brussels sprout.

The small talk was unbearable.

“Have you gotten your invitation yet?” Josie asked her brother-in-law, cutting her potatoes into dainty, bite-sized pieces. Sam arched a brow as if to say: be more specific. She gave a light scoff in reply, popping a morsel into her mouth and chewing carefully, lips pursed, before speaking up again. “Don’t be daft, Sam. You know I mean Leo Amery’s New Year's soirée.”

Sam shrugged. He looked elegant in a way that Eleanor could never pull off. “I believe so. To be honest—I didn’t pay much attention.”

Charlotte, who had lit up at the mention of the party, made more sprite than girl from the glittering of her eyes, shot an affronted scowl Sam’s way. Her nose crinkled. “You’re so boring, Uncle Sam! It’s going to be perfect this year—Mum promised I could go. The invitation said the theme's A Midsummer Night’s Dream!” It looked, for a moment, like she was about to start waving her hands around, enthusiasm clear in the way she vibrated in her chair, but a cool look from her mother had her settling back down. Her smile shrank. Still, she pushed on, in a much more sedate tone. “Summer in winter. Fairies and magic, isn’t that fun?”

“Very fun,” Sam agreed, shooting her a smile, voice kind enough he seemed almost sincere, even to Eleanor’s ears. Charlotte smiled back, but her eyes were on Eleanor now, her head cocked to one side.

“Are you going to come, Eleanor?” Maybe she was imagining it, but the younger girl seemed almost pleased at the thought.

Josie clapped her hands, a thunderous sound that sent Eleanor into a fit of flinching. “Yes, how about it, Eleanor?” She said her name in this slick, mocking way that made her feel filthy just hearing it.

Eleanor exchanged a frantic look with Sam from where he sat at the head of the table. Will Jr., who up to this point had been silent and motionless at her side besides the steady consumption of his plate, turned to look at her with his mother’s grey eyes. Well? he asked. She opened her mouth but couldn’t find the words to speak. She could imagine nothing more hellish, dressed up just to be stripped to the bone by the sharks of London polite society.

“Eleanor’s got time,” Sam responded for her, and there was a firmness, a finality, to his reply that had Josie straightening in her seat. It was quite the feat—her posture had already been impeccable. “And if I never had to go to one of those stuffy things again, it’d be eons too soon.” His smile had an edge, and Eleanor hid her own, blotting her mouth with her napkin. “Though, fairies do sound nice, Lottie. You’ll fit right in.” Lottie beamed at him from her place beside her mother.

Whatever reply Josie had on the tip of her tongue, it was disrupted by one of the cooks trotting in, a jolly man named Joseph who clutched a large platter in his hands. Following close behind was June, a part-time maid, who darted about the table with whispered apologies as she gathered up plates and used silverware. Eleanor forked over her still overflowing plate with poorly-hidden relief. June stopped just long enough to tut at her, a smile lingering at the corner of her mouth. “You’re too thin by half, miss,” she scolded, quiet enough not to be heard over Lottie, who in a surge of passion, started regaling to Sam her recent sewing project, something about embroidering a landscape into the hem of a dress. If she weren’t her half-sister, only a year out from her father’s death and sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with his widow, Eleanor would want to pick her brain for what exactly that entailed.

“I’m saving up for dessert,” Eleanor lied with the bat of her lashes. June just shook her head and moved on to hoist Junior’s empty plates on top of the pile. Meanwhile, Joseph had sat several dishes in the center of their table: a fruitcake, a Yule log, and to Eleanor’s equal amount of dread and delight, what looked like an apple tart.

This is the end of me, she thought, eyes wide. “Thank you, Mr. Joe,” she murmured as the man walked past, and he shot her a grin before disappearing through the door with a whirl of his apron. By the time she had looked away from him and back towards the table, Sam had set a sizeable slice of apple tart right in front of her, the filling already oozing onto the plate. She shot him a look of betrayal. The corner of his mouth quirked up, even as his eyes blew wide in mock-innocence.

For a blissful moment, there was just the sound of forks hitting ceramic and a pleased hum or two. Even Josie picked through her slice of Yule log with something close to relish, patting away imaginary crumbs or smears of chocolate ganache between bites. It was almost peace, that thrum of tension from the start near silent.

Then Junior opened his mouth for perhaps the first time since they sat at the table, head twisted Eleanor’s way. “D’ you even celebrate Christmas, Eleanor?” Silence. He said her name the same way his mother did: like it was something rotten in his mouth. Like it was something to be spat out. Josie’s face peeled back into a smile.

It would’ve been beautiful if her eyes weren’t so cold.

“Um,” Eleanor stuttered and could’ve heard a pin drop. Charlotte’s head perked up in interest over her tart, and Sam opened his mouth to speak, so she pushed onward. “I did celebrate it. At the orphanage with everyone else, like I’m doin’ with you. But no, um, I don’t personally celebrate Christmas.” She thought it sounded rather diplomatic of her. Sam’s shoulders uncurled, just a little.

“Right,” Junior pushed onward, and he leaned into her direction far enough she could almost feel his breath on her face. The high points of his cheeks were very pink. “Because Da didn’t just fuck a whore, he had to fuck a Jew, too.”

Eleanor didn’t know what to say to that. It was true. Sam looked like he wanted to spit. “William—”

Josie cut in, clearing her throat and scolding, “Now, Junior, language,” but it was the most pleased Eleanor had ever seen her. Lottie looked pale, even paler than usual, slinking back into her seat, sweet tooth forgotten; she looked so much smaller than before, this girl who already had Eleanor beat by a few inches at eleven years old. That thrum rose to a near roar.

Sam scraped his fork across his empty plate, a deafening, obvious screech. It cut through the tension like a knife through butter. “I’m getting awful tired, Josie,” he said like there were several things he was getting tired of right about now. But his tone softened, directed towards Charlotte. “My old age must be catching up to me.”

Eleanor didn’t look up from the tart, uneaten, on her plate. Josie’s voice grated, smooth and polished as it was. “Well, it’s getting late.” Junior didn’t say anything at all; his eyes were still burning a spot into her cheek.

They left with the adjusting of coats and kisses and hugs sent Sam’s way, and only Lottie waving her a goodbye, a simple wiggle of her fingertips before her mother grabbed her wrist and tugged. The closing of the door sounded like a gun going off. Bang.

Staring into the empty space where they once were, Eleanor didn’t really know how to feel, her body slumping into a chair set up against the wall of the wide entryway. She sank, boneless, into the countless throw pillows, covering her eyes with the palm of her hand. Her head pounded. “You didn’t have to make them leave, y’ know. It's okay that they're mad at me.”

Sam let out a sigh that was equal parts exasperated and fond. “Eleanor, what did I say when we first discussed them coming over?”

I know what you said. Still. “But they’re your family,” she insisted, pulling back her hand to glare up at him.

“So are you.”

Sam looked at her, backdropped by the several feet long pastoral painting behind him, and must have seen something in her expression—bewilderment, maybe, or discomfort at that bewilderment—because he let out a great sigh. With a rustle of clothing, he crouched in front of her, his forearms resting against his thighs. The set of his jaw said, look at me. And so, she looked. Really looked. He still had a smile for her, small and warm.

“And I like you better,” Sam told her, eye-to-eye with her now, and his words spoken with that sort of earnestness in his voice and demeanor that he always had around her, that made her ache when she lingered on the thought of it too long. Like poking at a still-healing bruise. Eleanor tucked her smile into her hand, but it didn’t matter: he grinned back.

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

The Chelsea Physic Garden glasshouses were some of the most beautiful structures Eleanor had ever seen in her twenty-four years. The long glass panels stretched high above her head, matching on either side and meeting in the middle. Plants bracketed her and Sam, the foliage so thick it near shielded their guide from sight, a stout, middle-aged man with his eyes on his watch ever since Sam told him a verbal tour was unnecessary.

Huge benches ladened with terracotta pots, blossoming with blues and pinks and purples and reds. Pops of color so bright they were practically eyesores. She thought The Garden of Medicinal Plants’ section on herbal remedies had been her favorite, based on smell alone, or maybe the pond at the center of the garden itself, chock-full of lily pads and mosses, boggy and messy and alive, rife with aquatic life, but this, this took the cake.

Eleanor was staring, eyes growing bigger and bigger as she tried to take it all in, when Sam knocked into her arm with something sturdy. It crinkled against the sleeve of her blouse—the present he’d brought with him, tucked safely underneath his arm no matter how much she whined and cajoled. “Finally caving, old man?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Just take it, old woman.” He bugged out his eyes, all drama. “Twenty-four! Already one foot in the grave.” She ripped it out of his fingers with a bark of a laugh.

“I doubt you’ve got more than a pinky toe in yours. Gonna outlast us all, remember?”

It was his turn to laugh. “Just open it, Eleanor. Before I go greyer, yeah?”

Eleanor could live the rest of her life without another gift, but the sound of ripping through wrapping paper was still one of her favorites. All the destruction without any of the guilt. She peeled back the final layer and went still. “Oh,” she whispered, breathy, near soundless.

It was a flower dictionary, with deckled edges that fit the tips of her fingers perfectly, the leather of the cover worn and well-loved. The gilded title sent a rush of familiar fondness through her, a rush so strong she was almost dizzy. She laughed. “Where’d you find this? It looks exactly the same.” Exactly the same as the one she’d gotten for her first birthday from Sam, fourteen years old and curious about anything she could get her hands on. Sam hadn’t really seen the appeal in the language of flowers, she knew, but he’d indulged her anyway. It’d been the only thing she’d asked for that year, the only thing she’d really wanted.

She’d used it for years, a great reference for whenever she wanted to sketch a particular flower, but it’d been chewed up by Sweet Pea right before she turned eighteen years old, made a total ruin of slobber and teeth indents, the ink all smeared and the spine cracked clean down the middle. An apparently rare edition he’d scrounged up for the first time at an old bookstore in East London, she thought she’d never see the likes of it again.

“I have my ways.” Laughing again, Eleanor just shook her head, grinning so wide it hurt.

There was an odd bump between the pages, a groove where everything else was smooth, and when Eleanor went to inspect it, expecting a bent page, she found a pressed flower instead. Bookmarking a page of tiny, yellow petals and even tinier rows of font, was a celandine plant, its ruffled leaves still attached. Perfectly preserved.

“I did some reading,” he explained, when Eleanor couldn’t get herself to speak. She shook her head until she could breathe right again.

“You’re such a sap.”

He gave her that smile, the one just for her. And Eleanor tucked the book tight against her chest, holding on. She bumped his shoulder with hers. “Ready to go home?”

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