#NOTE: the pig is alive and well by the end of the chapter :D

[aliciadessendre]

SOUTH OF MIDNIGHT (2025) dev. Compulsion Games

[leviiattacks]

Two Faced | Chapter Six

↳ levi ackerman, the very person who was about to kindly behead you by a surprising turn of events manages to become your loving husband? you would be elated if this was true love, but it's all thanks to a mysterious magic spell that your life is spared. for now at least.

pairing :: duke!levi x duchess!reader genre :: royal au, angst, fluff, slice of life etc word count :: 2.4k  author note :: i have not yet proof read any of this or chapter five like i said i would, so i apologize for any mistakes. sigh im sorry for the angst in this chapter ??? T__T i suppose my own mood tends to be reflected in my writing. anyway, i’m working on requests too so if you have any feel free to send them in :D  → next part is here!!

Everyone within the estate notices the way your schedule suddenly changes, half of them have no clue what you're doing seeing as it would be unfavorable for them to be aware of it in the first place.

However, after the bitter events of your first ODM-gear session you find it necessary to tell Sasha and Mikasa the truth. It's embarrassing really, and your mind disintegrates trying to find an appropriate way to tell to them about it. Sasha especially considering you've hid so much more from her.

The thought of letting them in on your lie has crossed your mind a number of times, but the image of Levi throwing you to the floor as he shakes in simmering outrage makes itself present. He will have objections against this and if he finds out you may end up in the same vulnerable position as before.

But, you don't care. If he wants to end your life for providing your confidants with honesty, so be it. It's not as if you have much of a choice.

Mikasa is sat in front of you bubbling with rage, she's disinfecting the gash at the top of your head - it has inconveniently tainted the surface of your skin after the second time you accidentally flipped in your gear.

Her breathing is heavy, evidently leaden with acidity it's become background noise to you. You're now increasingly mindful of how she's trying her best to keep calm for you. The realization that you're a liability and a hindrance to those around you makes you wince in shame.

You may as well be considered a synonym for humiliation at this point. That's how badly you're handling everything that comes your way.

Sasha doesn't say a word as she's brushing the knots out of your hair. There's nothing more you want to do than snatch the wooden paddle brush away from her, tell her she doesn't have to do this for you or commit herself to someone as unworthy as yourself. It's shameful that you let her continue - your only reason is that making her feel uncomfortable by the action is a possibility and that is the last thing you wish for.

The corners of your lips twitch upwards but you fight the desire to laugh at your pathetic circumstances.

"We aren't really in love." You finally say it. "He's never loved me." Your voice is ragged, voice trembling, breath laboured.

"You don't need to explain." Mikasa is calm in the way she approaches it all. "All we need to know is that the Duke is a pig."

Sasha has now stopped brushing out your hair now playing with the ends of your strands between her fingers.

"We expect no explanation from you it's been a long day." She gently whispers.

"Everyone deserves to rest. That includes you." Sasha's soft voice provides a kind of comfort that consoles you the way stars provide solace to the night. Your eyes fill to the brim with tears, you've desperately wished for years that someone would tell you that and mean it and here it is. She's smiling down at you, not even an ounce of irritation present in the way she addresses the situation.

Mikasa is silently caressing the top of your hand with her thumb. They aren't outraged or resentful. Even though they should be they aren't.

Heart twisting due to the prickles of relief they've given you your shoulders slump and you give in choking down a sob.

Sasha circles her arms around your quivering form and she strokes your hair. "It was hard, right?"

Attempting to blink your tears away you feebly nod. The weight of it all being kept to yourself has been unbearable. Tolerating this unwelcoming and cynical actuality on your own has been one of the hardest obstacles to come your way. To be swept off your feet and loved with such sincerity only to then be thrown away by that man like a rag-doll. Only to be coerced into doing what he wants or to face the music and face an early death. It's truly had a deeply somber affect on you.

You take one profound breath and you begin to tell them your story.

There are moments at which Mikasa's grip on your hand strengthens in a mix of frustration and protectiveness.

Eventually, at some point Sasha tries to secretively wipe a tear away when you recount Levi's blackened, subdued gaze the day he reverted back to his old self and announced you would never be a wife of his.

It's all too overwhelming for you when you tell them you're only alive sitting in this bed because you've bartered your freedom for a chance at existence. It's always been that way, you had to give, in order to receive, but this is one of the rare occasions you don't feel that way. The beating of your heart steadies, you're thankful for the way they listen and ask for nothing in return.

You stare at them once you're finished worried that you've overloaded them with too much information, you didn't even think to believe how they'd feel associating with a speculated "witch".

"You believe me right?" Your hoarse voice is thickened with worry.

You feel Sasha nod above your head.

"We believe you."

Staring at her glossy eyes you turn to look at Mikasa, she holds your arm in place and squeezes your hand reassuringly, it's enough to convey that she too has faith in you.

The days since have been passing excruciatingly slow. The day after the ordeal with Levi you can sense the way the other cadets look at you. It's a combination of distaste and pity. They stay far away from you, don't want to pair up with you during group exercises or activities - you aren't annoyed at all. In fact it's in their best interest they stay far away from your uncoordinated stiffness.

Oluo seems to feel horrible for challenging you to use ODM-gear when your core strength was not to the best of your abilities, he mumbles an apology for contributing to the gash on your forehead but you tell him it's quite alright and you assure him it isn't his fault that you thought you would be able to master the mechanism of the gear so early on.

On one of your more empty days you finally find the time to make your pit-stop at Hange's office, knocking on their door a breezy "Come on in!" is the response you're given.

To your surprise Levi is sitting there with a map and pen in his hand. Unmoving, his attention is solely on the plans in front of him. Ignoring him you inquire what it is Hange wanted to so desperately discuss with you but they wave it off saying the issue they had has now been solved.

Turning to walk away you don't divert your stare to Levi, simply knowing he's in one piece is good enough for you.

Other than that the repetitive pattern has stayed the same. It's a cycle of waking up, skipping breakfast, training for hours on end, returning completely exhausted, bathing and ultimately passing out in bed almost as soon as you've made contact with the mattress.

Levi and you awkwardly have to share the same bedroom at the estate to avoid any rumours of a broken marriage spreading. You don't understand why it matters, the "rumours" would be factual and true.

At first he sleeps in his office using the excuse of paperwork and planning attack formations but he knows that excuse will soon run dry. Later he utilities one of the armchairs in your room and sleeps in it for an hour or two, it concerns you how he's barely sleeping now, but you aren't vocal about your worry. Last but not least today is what you call a hollow night, the other half of your King sized bed is vacant, you haven't caught a single glimpse of Levi all day despite foolishly being on the look out for him. These nights are the worst.

Silence comes hand in hand with the peace and tranquility of the dark but that isn't what you feel, nevertheless you make the effort to sleep knowing your body will thank you for it when you train tomorrow.

Just as you're at the brink of drifting softly to sleep you feel the weight on the other side of your bed shift, you nearly jolt but your body's survival instincts halt the action. Suddenly, you are eerily alert of your surroundings. This isn't Levi, he'd never dare to come anywhere near you in general, but then shock renders you in place, he's fatigued by your presence perhaps it is him and this is finally your time.

That doesn't sound right to you. Levi is a man of his word if he wanted to go through with it he would have long ago.

A warm palm embraces your cheek and you second guess your previous line of thought. Instead of Levi Is this Lev?

This confirms your suspicions. The magic has yet to fully dwindle away. It's faltering.

Eyes fluttering open with caution you want to tell him how you've missed his presence greatly for this will be short lived. Lev will come and go. Even if you know it'll only obstruct your progress you wish to tell him you're grateful for the affection he gave you when he was around, but as you open your eyes half lidded he presses you into his chest.

The pace of your heart erratically springs, his breath is tickling the back of your neck. You can hear the blood drumming in your ears.

It pains you but you have to push him away.

But when you begin to emphasize the distance between the two of you he doesn't give you the opportunity to speak again, he flares up in want and presses his lips against yours, kisses you hard. You automatically reciprocate and your nerves cause your teeth to accidentally clatter against his.

His fingers run through your hair, frantically, desperately.

You'll be scolded for this later but it's not like you care and it's not like you can talk Levi out of it now. Not when he's like this.

An uncontrolled breathe leaves you and he lightly cups your jaw slipping his tongue inside. It tastes of whisky, you immediately recoil.

He's intoxicated.

"I'm sorry. Go to bed Lev." Your plain response is enough to worry him.

He holds onto your wrists and tugs at you. "My love?" His adoring stare is enough to make you crumble.

This isn't playing out how you want, you can't do this, not right now. You refuse to make this harder on yourself. Turning around you face away from him.

"I'm tired."

But Levi refuses to make it any easier on you.

He pulls you in by the torso again, handling you like a delicate flower.

He asks again.

"Whatever is wrong? I'll handle it for you."

It's abnormal hearing him talk to you with positive regard or even offer to help you. Repeatedly you warn yourself don't give in. The pace your head throbs at is in time with your heart, you're finding hope in the hopeless if you tell him your feelings.

"My Lord. Please leave me alone. Please. When the Sun rises you will regret this, as will I." You're unrestrained in your pleading now, your wailing fills the chambers you and Levi occupy.

"Please." Your voice is straining and urgent.

Thankfully, the maid's quarters are far, they won't hear the way you cry out for him to put an end to this torturous mind game.

Face slippery with hushed tears the tearing of your heart can not be heard. Bloodshot eyes blur your vision, you can't see. You don't think you want to, not when he firmly grips onto you like his life depends on it.

Then. The air changes, he's still holding onto you but his arms stiffen. He feels the way your back shivers against his chest. How your choked, cracked gasps for breath are an indication of how he's destroyed any chances you've had of sleeping.

Wordlessly, he lets go of you. Not a single word is uttered. The only sound amongst the alienating silence is his footsteps.

You hate this.

He closes the door behind him as he departs.

No, you hate him.

An unusual amount of sunlight compared to usual floods into your room and you have to practically block it out with one of your arms. Stirring awake your eyes burn, the whites must still be raw and inflamed.

This is usually the amount of sunlight you'd expect to see midday. Stifling a yawn you look around you. Then it hits you. It's not morning.

It's midday.

Your hands fly to your mouth trying to swallow your gasp down your throat, you're in hot water. It's not permitted for anyone to miss training unless they're excused by one of the higher ups. It's not as if you've missed a hour of training either, you've missed four.

There's no way to explain this, no way at all.

After everything he put you through last night the least Levi could have done was wake you up or at least order one of the maids to do so. It's his fault you slept at that ungodly hour.

An incessant knocking begins and you're almost certain it's Levi who's come to scold you for missing training. For some reason you can't make yourself care about his possible annoyance just yet.

"I'm coming in!"

You let out a short sigh. Thank Heavens it's only Sasha.

The door flings open and she pulls you out of bed not giving you the chance to greet her good morning.

"What have you gone and done???"

Awkwardly you chuckle. "I slept in and forgot training." Her face contorts and twists not knowing what expression is appropriate to express her bewilderment.

"No, no. WHY DID THE DUKE LET YOU OFF TRAINING TODAY?? IT'S OUT OF CHARACTER."

At a complete loss for words, open mouthed all you can manage to do is clear your throat trying to keep your jaw from dropping. "He what?"

[tigerseye46]

D..... if were working with 'Pigsy was Baije' then does Wukong know? Were Wukong and Baije a thing too or is that exclusively an 'in the now' thing?

I mean either way that will be FUN to find out

TW: Death, Blood and Injury

Also Season 2 spoilers

Okay so I’ve thought about this a lot-

Thank you for giving me a chance to ramble, anon. This is going to be long

So, I would like to believe Wukong finds out eventually, either through Sandy (who I’d like to think is Sha Wujing), his golden eyes or a build up of hints. Since they’re stuck together on a ship, I think he has more time to figure it out because maybe he’s never really paid attention to MK’s friends until they had to be forced together. Or he did know before that and is just hiding it extremely well.

So for the ‘were Bajie and Wukong a thing’ I believe that even if they weren’t a thing, they at least had feelings each other that they never acted on because I am also a massive Zhuhou shipper.

Either way, it’s Wukong mourning for his lost love. We get a tragedy from two sides if Bajie died (from “To Catch a Leaf, it’s very implied something happened to him), although there are as just as much angles if we got with an alternate universe where Pigsy is just Bajie in disguise which I will elaborate on further.

If Bajie and Wukong were a thing, either married or still in the dating phase, and Bajie died, Wukong knows he has just lost the person he loved the most. Bajie’s death takes place possibly years after Wukong has already sealed DBK and has given up fighting. At this point, demons are still causing havoc and Bajie, who’s maybe matured a little bit, has decided to step up and be the hero for both of them.

Bajie, as shown in the first chapter he appears in, can fight Wukong on equal grounds but usually he does get lost in his cowardice and desire (since desire is what he’s supposed to represent) although when they do need him, he’s there.

Wukong isn’t worried about him fighting because he is strong. One day, there is word about an extremely powerful demon that people are having trouble with so they need Wujing, Bajie and some other warriors to help. Wukong feels something in his gut telling him to not let his husband go but he ignores it, the pig can handle himself. He gives his husband as much kisses as he possibly can with “Do your best, idiot. I love you.” Then he pats Wujing on the shoulder and watches them leave.

He chills on his mountain, suppressing the dread that lies in his stomach and eventually, he sees the top of Wujing’s hair and thinks “Oh, they’re back. I wonder how it went. I can’t wait to shower Bajie with kisses.” He sees Wujing’s face which is a mix of sadness, guilt, grief and anger all wrapped into one. The fish demon gets closer, holding Bajie’s body in his arms, bruises and blood present, the pig isn’t moving, isn’t breathing and Wukong feels sick to his stomach.

He rushes towards them, demanding to know what happened and Wujing explains that during the attack, Bajie blocked a blow meant for Wujing, the fish demon was on the ground when the demon was about to strike him, he was on his knees, breathing heavily and his reactions too slow to fight back. The pig gets knocked to the ground where the enemy demon hits him again and is about to give another blow when some soldiers attack him. It left Wujing enough time to go over to Bajie and try to help with his injuries but the bleeding was too much for him to stop, the pig leaves some parting words and passes away.

When he finishes, Wukong says the demon better be dead or he’ll go kill him himself, Wujing says he killed the demon and Wukong growls out a “good” and goes quiet.

He takes Bajie’s body in his arms, either remaining quiet with silent sobbing mixed in or screaming his lungs out and weeping more than he has ever before. He decides to bury his husband, aware that Bajie will be reincarnated one day, he has no idea when that will be. He leaves a small “Goodbye, my love…” as the pig is buried. And it hits him that he couldn’t protect one of the people that mattered the most to him and he decides to hole himself up on his mountain with the rest of his family occasionally checking up on him, he’s too lost in his grief to care rather they’re there or not while Wujing is in lost in his anger.

Eventually they stop visiting and Wukong believes they passed on just as Bajie did so he sets up a shrine for them.

Wukong holds on to whatever he has of them left, like the courtship bracelets. He makes sure to clean those regularly, holding back sobs as he does so, he gets defensive when anyone asks what they are, no one needs to know what those are except him.

Centuries pass and he finds Xiaotian, the perfect candidate to be successor, he watches the kid carefully, mostly focusing on him, barely taking note of the people around the kid.

So he trains him, hardly leaving his mountain, he doesn’t need to after all. Being around the kid brings him more joy than he’s felt in years but he still misses his family like crazy so he has the kid destroy the mural. It’s a painful reminder of what he has lost.

New Years comes around and we know how that whole thing goes, at the end, when Wukong is near MK’s friends, getting a closer look than he ever has before, maybe he realizes those are his family. He questions, did Tripitaka and Wujing reincarnate as well? An overwhelming feeling pops up in his chest at seeing them after so many years. When he gets a glimpse of Pigsy, he thinks “Oh my gods. That’s him. That’s my husband. He’s here, he’s alive… but he isn’t my husband, not anymore” and Wukong has got to get out of there before it becomes too much so he leaves.

And he suppresses all of it because he has bigger things to worry about.

Then at the last moment, when he finally has what he needs to defeat WBS, he flies just in time to see the kid lose to WBS and he pulls him out of there. Then he gets scolded by the man he once loved, still loves and he knows his husband the pig demon is right.

He tries to convince the others that they shouldn’t go, they’re mortal after all but they refuse and he has to bring them along. Now he and his family’s reincarnations are stuck in close quarters and he wants to get close to them again, he does but he doesn’t deserve it. He let the person he loved die and Pigsy doesn’t think that highly of him anyway so it’s better he just stay away as much as he can. Yet he’s still so hopelessly in love and he tries everyday to not wrap Pigsy in a hug and apologize, the same goes for the rest of his family.

Wujing, I mean Sandy, notices the king’s mood and asks what’s wrong where the king pushes him away, explaining how it’s none of his business. When Sandy tries to push further, Wukong shouts at him how the demon has probably never lost family and Sandy stays silent then explains how he lost a brother. And it hits Wukong, this is Wujing, actually Wujing, not some reincarnation and they hug and sob, maybe the others catch them and they don’t explain.

They’re all each other has and they cling to each other with the others questioning their new found closeness and Pigsy feels a twinge of jealousy but he has no idea why. Wukong tries to connect with Bajie while maintaining his distance because it still hurts way too much.

Now to explain, what happens if they weren’t an item. So, basically the same thing happens with Bajie’s death except they think something happened to Wukong since they couldn’t find him after he sealed DBK. Again demons are still popping up like crazy, taking advantage of the fact that the king is no longer around.

So Bajie steps up, gaining a more responsible attitude and despite, rumors spreading that the king dies, he ignores them as he believes Wukong will return one day. He gets extremely irritated when people say Wukong died or abandoned them. The same thing happens where he bleeds and dies, leaving Wujing, Bái Longma/Ao Lie and possibly Tripitaka, if he hasn’t reincarnated, to mourn (using this angle for a fic I’m working on).

Obviously Wukong thinks they’re dead and again, possibly at New Years, the king finds his family’s reincarnations and questions what happened, feeling a good amount of guilt for leaving them.

Then while they’re all stuck on the ship together or some other thing, Wujing reveals that he is still the same person and admits what happened to Bajie which just grows Wukong’s guilt and he has to stay away from everyone for a few days.

I would imagine he tries to respectfully maintain his distance from Pigsy while also trying to get closer, possibly sticking to him like a puppy. Again, does he really have the right to be near him? Because he left them and it could have been preventable if he just stayed.

The pig has no idea why the king sticks to him sometimes, he finds he doesn’t really mind it for some reason?? Also it’s easy for him to keep an eye on the king and makes sure he takes care of himself. And the king is kinda cute, he’ll admit. Wukong calls Pigsy little nicknames in his head a lot.

Wukong falls deeper in love with Pigsy, noting that no matter what life he takes on, he still loves him. Very much so and he doesn’t know how to tell him about who he once was.

In either sides, should he tell Pigsy this? Does he have a right to see Pigsy? Does he have the right to see any of them? It hurts to watch his family go on without him, but they’re happy, right? He shouldn’t interfere with their lives more than he already has. They don’t deserve that. On both, there is tragedy, longing and mourning and Wukong feeling guilty for so many reasons.

And we have the third take, the universe where Pigsy is Bajie in disguise.

Pigsy mourns Wukong like the king mourns him. Wukong is one of the few people that Pigsy has ever truly loved and vice versa. They miss each other like crazy, believing the other is dead and wishing they could talk to each other once again.

They wish they could have said something to each other, confess their feelings and maybe it would have changed something. Maybe the other would have stayed alive and well. While Pigsy’s working, sometimes it hits him that it’s better that he never said anything, after all, he isn’t Wukong, he’s not a hero, he doesn’t consider himself one. He was a slacker, a coward who did everything to cause problems and does Wukong really need someone like that in his life? Maybe that’s why he left. Pigsy ignores his good qualities from when he went by Zhu Bajie because he doesn’t think he has any good qualities.

The monkey would have rejected him, no doubt about that so it’s better he never admitted his feelings.

Time passes and he takes in Xiaotian, the kid can be good at his job, but annoyingly distracted. The kid is a big fan of the Journey to the west and a part of him feels joy as hearing someone so close to him enjoy the adventures but it’s also another reminder about all his stupid actions. Especially when Tang likes to point out his past mistakes to tease him for always getting them in trouble.

And one day, he sends MK on another delivery because he should really be working instead of listening to those stories. And what’s this, a bad review? Okay, Xiaotian needs to explain this! Where is he?

He’s about to scold him when Xiaotian reveals the staff and no, no, no, no, that can’t be Wukong’s. It just can’t be. Laugh, Pigsy, the kid must have just found a cheap imitation.

Then the kid accidentally breaks the table with it and oh my gods, it’s Wukong’s.

And Pigsy takes them to Sandy. MK believes that Wukong will be there and could the king be there? Yes, it is his home but they haven’t heard a word from him, the pig still believes Wukong is dead. There’s a small ray of hope that the king is alive.

Somehow, Tang and Sandy manage to convince Pigsy to go with the two. He grumbles about it and inside it hurts to go to the home of the man you once loved, still love, knowing that he won’t be there.

Then the fight with Princess Iron Fan happens and Pigsy believes he lost his kid as well.

And it turns out that Xiaotian is fine, thankfully. When Mei asks if MK managed to find Wukong and MK says yes, that cements it, he’s alive. And he never visited them. He tries to not clench his fists in anger and watches as the kid fights DBK.

His kid, the one he thought was dead, is now Wukong’s successor. The king let him believe that Xiaotian was dead, stupid monkey.

That night, he goes on and on to Sandy and Tang about how he hates Wukong, that’s a lie, and how the king should have told him he was okay. He manages to convince them that they shouldn’t see Wukong. If he wanted to visit them, he would have done so.

Life goes on with the pig hearing little things about what the king is doing from Xiaotian, his chest aches. He wants to punch the king in his handsome face and he is so tempted to charge up onto that mountain and do so but he holds off.

And he kinda wonders why the king left. And a thought crosses his mind, maybe it was because of him. Maybe the king didn’t want to be around him any longer and decided to leave. He knows how bad he was in the past so the king probably had enough and decided to go.

Maybe Xiaotian decides to finally introduce Wukong to his favorite people, he’s heard some thing and the kid convinces him to do so. And he meets them and they remind him of his family because they are his family including the person he loved, loves most in the world. Either Wukong knows they’re the originals or believes they’re reincarnations and how they’re so close yet so far.

Wukong yearns for that closeness once again especially with Bajie, the pig who has captured his heart even with their differences and he tries to impress Pigsy a little. Pigsy tries to keep the monkey at arms length, he is not having his heart broken again, that monkey is not getting close to his family.

And yes, I made this insanely long. Thanks to whoever reads this.

[demethinkstoomuch]

Learning To Read, Pt 6: F is for Faerghus

Chapters: 6/26 (7/26 on AO3) Fandom: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Fire Emblem Series Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Dedue Molinaro Characters: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Dedue Molinaro, Gustave Dominic, Original Characters, Rufus Blaiddyd Additional Tags: Pre-Canon, Canon Compliant, Grief, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Angst, Fluff, Tragedy of Duscur, Racism, Developing Feelings, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Blue-Lions Typical Mental Illness

Summary:

A series of 26 alphabetically-titled vignettes examining the period where, in the wake of The Tragedy of Duscur, Dimitri taught Dedue to read: a time in which they learned about each other, and the rules of their relationship, perhaps more than about books.

Read on AO3!

A is For Ambiguity

B is for Book

C is for Commendation

D is for Dining

F is for Faerghus

The woman who called herself Cornelia Arnim considered this whole affair to be something of a fiasco, even if the potential for instability from the regency council was immense . But the council was giving her a headache. It was just a cold room full of sycophantic pigs snorting the air at the smell of fresh slop. They weren’t terribly interesting as puppets or tools, the newly-minted regent and his collection of cronies. They couldn’t even recognize that they were pigs, and wasn’t that just sad? None of them were grand noblemen; the room didn’t have a Fraldarius or a Gautier, or even just an equal in terms of clout. Also, at least one of them — one of the regent’s drinking buddies (which described about 2/3rds of the room), a minor noble who’d run in Rufus’ circle since his own academy days — seemed unaware of the fact that she was not there for his personal amusement.

But she smiled sweetly at him from across the table, and tried to think of how best to use him. Cornelia Arnim’s body had its advantages as a lure, at least, even if the fish weren’t the ones she was hoping for. If she needed to get anyone that way, it’d be the man himself. She’d been planning that the Agarthans would have owned Faerghus by now, using the dear ickle prince’s secret stepmother, wise and noble, stepping into the limelight for the first time. Obviously not the real thing, she was much too whiny and sentimental, depressing and depressed — and this was Cornelia’s opinion as the woman who had had to lure in Patricia. It had been stunningly easy, which had made the plan seem viable. Patricia had wanted so terribly to see her little girl again; she’d offered that wish for Cornelia to use however she liked. They’d spoken with other nobles, ones who were so wildly ambitious that they dreamt of freezing time so their precious kingdom would always be theirs. Ones so hungry they wanted to devour the land. They’d promised Patrcia she’d get what she really wanted, if she was only willing to take a little risk.

The plan had been, obviously, that Patricia would never see her little girl again. Or anyone else, for that matter. The attack from the nobles’ henchmen went off without a hitch. They’d even kept the prince alive, if only just, which would have made things easier. (Now, she wasn’t sure if it was something she wanted. He might have to be neutralized somehow, was the thing.) But after they’d walked Patricia away from the carnage and killed her in secret, that was where things went wrong. Because those moronic soldiers showed up, some detached battalion catching up a little too late. Their absurd vengeance culture rearing its head like a bunch of sharks smelling blood in the water. That pathetic Gustave had arrived too early. They hadn’t had time to get their Patricia ready for her miraculous survival, and so, Patricia simply had not survived in any form. All they had to show for it was the slaughter of an entire town and a sizable power vacuum currently being stuffed with hot air. Which wasn’t bad, necessarily, there was some quality chaos and a lot of raw material, but it was second place. But there were advantages.

Such as the scene playing out before her right now — once you tossed out the more worthless parts, like 90% of the animals littering this room. One of the more studious members of the council — it paid for anyone important to have at his command some little man with nervous energy, bookish disposition, and the patience for paperwork, and Rufus for the time being had this one — was explaining a situation. The son of a minor nobleman had been, according to contacts with official church messengers sent to observe and aid while the kingdom was in this transitional stage, found to be involved as a conspirator in the Tragedy. This was, and about half the room knew it, not remotely true.

“Your Highness,” asked the obligatory bookish man to the regent, “What would you like to do concerning Lord Lonato’s son?”

“...They say he was involved in the king, my brother’s, murder, do they?” asked Rufus, lifting his head from his hand, and sitting back upright in his chair. He was popular with women for a reason, besides his loose spending — the Blaiddyd men bred tall and prone to tapering appealingly from strong shoulder to toned waist, and Rufus had kept himself in that same shape as he’d entered into his early 40s — his face was lined slightly, marked at his eyes and the corners of his mouth with the careless smiles of an adult life lived with abandon. His hair was warmer than his brother’s or nephew’s, not cool blond that had darkened from an infant ice-white, but a vividly red-gold color that blazed thick and sunny all throughout his life. 

“That’s as they report,” answered the man. “They are, of course, offering themselves as aid in the matter of capturing him, while we’re so short-handed.”

“Let them, then. I’m sure their information is accurate.” Rufus brought his chin back down onto his hand. Of course, Cristophe Gaspard had nothing to do with any of this. About half the room knew it, and some of them were so faint of heart they looked shocked or appalled. What precious little cowards. Cornelia made a note about them for later. 

“My lord,” said one, tentatively. “Lord Lonato was once a knight in your service, was he not? As his lord...” 

The other half of the room, the half that didn’t know, looked righteous, and one of them answered first in defense of his lord.

“If Lord Lonato allowed his son to contemplate such monstrosity, then he has betrayed both his lord the archduke and his lord the king; what he ought to do is take revenge into his own hands!”

“I intend to. But not concerning Christophe.” Rufus looked only like he was shoving away a boring chore. As it was: this would let the church think they were busy with something, that was all. “We have more significant action that must be taken than to concern ourselves with him.”

“Ah, yes. Lord Kleinman has a report, Your Highness. It appears emissaries from Duscur’s council of aldermen have come to him seeking peace terms.”

“He should have sent them on to me, not a report.” Rufus glowered. “I am regent.”

“He already knows your answer though, right?” said one man with too much of a smile. He chuckled. “He’s the one dishing out the punishment. You can’t possibly go and fight yourself.”

“I can!” Rufus snarled, pounding the table with his fist. Papers and mugs of beer shook as the whole structure rattled. That was why they couldn’t just replace a Blaiddyd — even the crestless ones had surprising strength. And the ones with crests were beyond even that, monsters in human skin. Their experiments, Solon had told her, were showing real results now, but they weren’t going that well . Rufus’s strength bristled under his shirt-sleeves as the old nerve in him, one she’d have thought killed by drink and sex, reeled as it was struck. “I can, and so I must, or none will believe it of me!”

Everyone was silent until he sat back down, drained his beer and handed the tankard to a servant to have it filled again.

“His part in this measure may be great, but he must remember who has the crown’s authority if he is to receive the crown’s reward.” His cheeks were just the tiniest bit flush when he proclaimed that, the color fading slightly in the next moment.

“Ah, my lord…” said a secretary, who’d been standing by the door with a look of apprehension.”Prince Dimitri has been outside for some time now, demanding to see you. Again. Should I let him in?”

A few people made pitying noises. Rufus dug the heel of his palm into his forehead, preparing himself for what was to follow. He had been avoiding the prince’s efforts to speak to him seriously for some time now. Since the boy had gotten back up onto his feet, more or less. Cornelia had been politely helping him with that, citing the prince’s condition as a reason not to let them talk. ‘He’s been so traumatized after all, we don’t want to upset him further.’ That kind of thing.

“Very well, bring him in.” Rufus sighed. That story couldn’t go on forever, nice as it was for him not to deal with that child. His little brother’s son. 

There were probably people who hadn’t seen the prince properly since the tragedy, and they looked appalled when the drawn little figure entered the room — which was, in its own ways, comical. They had just casually tossed a young man to his death not a moment ago; now, one grave-looking boy was enough to tug at their heartstrings? He’s not even doing that badly anymore! He only trembled a little as he strode forward, as much anger as nerves. 

“Uncle, you must put a stop to this violence,” the prince proclaimed. Oh, yes. He needed to be handled, one way or another.

 ***

“You can’t do this!” “I know what I saw!” Those shouts, high and shattered with fury, had resounded from the walls behind Dedue for a long time, and more besides. Dimitri fought alone in a room where men too important to look at Dedue discussed whether Faerghus would end the retaliation against Duscur now or throw the full weight of the crown’s knights into it. Eventually, there came a wooden cracking noise like a tree collapsing and a great clatter from inside — metal, glass, wood tumbling down onto the stone. The regent’s council shouted in frustration and disgust, their words muffled until only tone remained.

The lady Cornelia had seen Dimitri out after that sound, with Dimitri clutching his left arm as a nasty bruise welled up through it, still shouting. She’d handed Dimitri over with a reminder not to get too worked up; if the arm continued to hurt, she’d have to check it for re-fracturing. 

“I understand you’re upset, Your Highness, but you will have to apologize for the table when you calm down, okay?” She’d said, patting him on the shoulder. She glanced at Dedue, cold and dismissive. Dedue glared back, but she tossed out her order without regard. “You. Keep an eye on him.”

 Dimitri hadn’t responded sensibly. He’d cried and he’d shouted, still carrying out his arguments. His apologies and shouts had given Dedue time to sit them both down on the steps, try and recover his own wits. He felt at once stunned and a gnawing cold misery: He should have known.

 Dimitri’s words had been barely coherent enough for Dedue to assemble what had gone on. They’d said Dimitri was confused. That he hadn’t seen what he said he’d seen — he hadn’t seen his father’s killers the way he thought he had. Not if he said they weren’t from Duscur. The king’s life must be paid for. So the war would not be postponed, would not be stopped, not if he could not produce names for the regent that showed the people of Duscur innocent. 

But he could not produce names. So all he could do was insist and shout and plead until he was like this, his voice worn to shreds, his arm aching, his whole being unfocused and unraveled. The blood would be spilled. That was all there was to it: what other price for a king was there?

“I don’t know who they were... Father, how can this be for you, when it has nothing to do with your killers?! How can you want innocent people to die?!” Dimitri muttered into the echoing expanse. The stairway stretched out before them, descending away from the formal council room into an open hall. The sounds of people were distant, muffled by stone walls. Dedue didn’t attempt to answer him yet. He wasn’t sure he could have. And so Dimitri went on. “...I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’ll get it right. I will. I’m....” He shut his eyes, lowering his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, Dedue.”

This was the first time Dimitri had acknowledged him, and so Dedue had to finally try and find something to say. Everything in him was squeezed tense — his shoulders, his gut, his jaw were all tight, and it was hard to find a way around it.

“It is not your war,” he answered, eventually. A sigh parted his lips. Dedue could only stare upwards at the great, vaulted ceiling. He was not used to feeling small.

 “If I’d only been calmer, would they have believed me?” Dimitri asked, the fury of his voice inward. Dedue was not sure if he entirely believed Dimitri, either. He would have liked to, but Dedue wasn’t entirely sure how to trust his mind; in moments like these, when everything was so close to the surface, it seemed like a ship tossed on the waves. Everything that day had been so confused. Instead, he shrugged. His feet descended down another step, his long legs slipping from their fold. The floor was a great way down.

“Not if they would not think about you when you are...hurt,” is what he said, his voice deliberate, stiff, quiet. He couldn’t say what he was feeling; he didn’t want to. Just let it flatten like a plain until he could build something useful on it. “Perhaps once they have had a battle, they will be tired of it. It will stop.”

“It shouldn’t be happening at all!” Dimitri answered. Obviously, but that wasn’t helpful, save spiritually. “If we could stop it before a true war breaks out, then it’d be OK!” He lifted himself back up to his feet, wincing from his arm. Dedue half-turned to watch the prince pace.”What if I ran away?”

“Where?” Dedue raised an eyebrow.

“To the border, of course! My uncle might be in charge here, but I am the crown prince… And the common soldiers and knights agitate for my father’s sake. The fools,” Dimitri’s eyes narrowed, bitter words breaking through his clenched jaw. His footfalls bounced off the stone. “But surely, they’d listen?” 

The idea had allure; it shimmered between them as a gossamer dream, intangible as light, but just as real. 

“Perhaps…” Their eyes met and held one another, hope sparking for a moment; they’d pack in the dead of night. They’d hurry there, as swiftly as they could, carried on the wind; speak with passion and valor; be heard by people who must have been, in their own ways, simply trying to do what seemed just. 

Dedue tore his eyes away from it. It hurt more than he wanted it to.

“No, you should not.” It stung to say, but the truth had sunk in.

“Why not?” Dimitri’s voice lifted, his footsteps coming to a halt.

“You are not well enough to travel alone. We would be slow and caught together.” Dimitri was much recovered now, at least physically, but a country away was too far. Dimitri knew that and sagged with a shake of his head. 

“...If we were caught, you would certainly bear the brunt of consequences as if you’d kidnapped me,” he said, to Dedue’s surprise. He hadn’t thought about what would happen to him . “I don’t want to imagine what would happen to you, or to everyone else as a result.”

“Hm. Second, even if you managed to move the soldiers and knights… If you cannot move their leaders, they will find more soldiers,” Faerghus was a rack of swords; Faerghus was a place where they said children of their high families learned to fight from the time they were born. The leaders themselves could fight best of all. So there would always be more until there was no one left. 

 “I hate this.” Dimitri’s gaze eventually broke, and he dropped himself back down onto the steps next to Dedue. It should have been a relief to hear — it prickled up against him instead, like a leg half-asleep. Tears weren’t dripping down Dimitri’s face, but they bubbled through as he spoke, his hands covering his face. When his hands dropped, slowly, they left red, scratchy trails. “I hate being so weak. People are going to die — not just soldiers, but fathers and mothers and —! Doesn’t anyone care?”

Part of Dedue was glad Dimitri cared, even if it meant watching him tearing himself to pieces like this. Part of Dedue felt Dimitri’s hands, only closing on air, grabbing him and pulling his heart, and he didn’t want that. He wanted nothing. Dedue’s teeth found his inner lip and bit down on it, unsure which part should win. It was a tiring battle. 

“You do,” he answered, unable to catch what feeling with which he meant it. The feeling in his voice wasn’t relieved, but he went on, “And I need this of you.” He reached out to grab Dimitri’s hands, take them back from the edge before they did more damage. 

“Of course,” Dimitri’s answer was more confused than confident. The hands in Dedue’s grip went slack, stopped resisting. They were limp and lost and defeated. Dedue let them retreat back to Dimitri’s lap. Dimitri had turned to watch Dedue’s face. His eyes looked clearer than they had since he’d gone in the other room — clear enough to see the way Dedue’s jaw was clenched tight and how Dedue hated it, clear enough to see the way his eyelids trembled with what he could not keep holding back. Things clicked, it seemed, and Dedue was surprised to hear Dimitri sniffle back a tear. “I’m sorry; it’s selfish of me to go on like this, when it’s so hard on you. But I refuse to surrender, and neither should you.”

“So what will you do? Will you continue to ask?” He tried to ignore the matter of himself, of how hard it was . He rested his hand on the stone, shutting his eyes and feeling its polished surface under his hand. His fingertips brushed over little pits and light flecks marring the darker shades. Dedue envied it — cold and quiet and stable; it hadn’t so much as warmed under him. It endured everything, and it felt nothing. It didn’t wonder if that place was home, even with nothing left for him but memories that toyed with comforting and hurting him. It didn’t have to remember. It didn’t clench itself, toes to teeth, when the memories of swords and fire still echoed, summoned by the flames burning miles away, summoned by the sound of knights, summoned by the knowledge that right behind him, at that moment, were men who would toss a world into that fire if it only satisfied their blood. It could simply not have those feelings when it couldn’t do anything about them. 

“If I can start by clearing the names of the people of Duscur…  Then there surely everyone will see sense. I know there are people who don’t want this — they can’t . But everyone is hurt and frightened. If they understand, then we can make peace and make things right!” He insisted, clenching his hands over the air. But he didn’t begin to scratch himself again. “I owe it to you, and everyone who died, and everyone who will die. I will… try to remember anything that could point to their true identities. I know it might not be heard at all. Fools. Fools.” Dimitri shook his head, his eyes tightening. His hands balled into white-knuckled fists, tremors running through them. Dedue pressed his hand harder onto the stone, trying to block out what was creeping in him like the first freeze. How hopeless it all was — someone who had actual courage, trying to plead for human lives with men like that.  “But I can’t stand for Faerghus’ justice to be used as nothing but a cudgel.”

And Dedue’s hand slipped off the step. His knuckles, so tense they could have burst through his skin, scraped against it. The tendons in his neck froze into place, wound like a clock whose springs went tighter and tighter, until finally — he snapped. 

“That is what it is,” he said, voice plain and simple, and finally dropping a weight. He didn’t stop, couldn’t stop. Why was he saying this? It would be easier if he didn’t. His throat tightened like it might choke him. “They do not want your words to matter, and so, they will not work. What they wish for is battle. What happens next is of no consequence to them. 

“Perhaps some it is just.” He almost tossed the words at Dimitri, whose eyes were wide and staring, wounded at not being believed even by Dedue. Then they drew nearly to a close, softly, which was worse. He must have seen how misty Dedue looked. He felt like an avalanche, moving downhill — his words came with a building momentum, inexorable.“I cannot judge. I know that Duscur is like anywhere, maybe even here… There are good and bad people. Murderers. Children. But it is all the same to them. How could it ever stop?”

 He took a long breath, found it harder than he expected; it sputtered and broke before becoming deep enough. He was not yet crying — but he understood, he would. He couldn’t stop anymore; he’d broken at last, and now he could simply keep sliding down into his own depths. Part of him wanted to stop. To keep going on with the life he’d found worth living after the people who’d made his life before were gone, pretending he’d never felt like this. He shut his hands tight. They were shaking with bottled-up feeling.

“I truly...hate it. All of it. I hate knowing what Faerghus can do, will do, has done . I hate being looked at the same as if I had killed your father myself.” But going on as if it weren’t true wouldn’t make it untrue — still. He felt like as he pulled and pulled, it just went deeper. Feelings dark as night he hadn’t named , had put aside. It wasn’t hot — it was cold, so cold. It was drowning and freezing at once. He envied the stones, he really did: stones didn’t turn themselves over and see something they hated. “I hate the way I am spoken of… They way only I could not be let by your side when you were hurt, because of them… And —”  His eyes fell on Dimitri, then, and he understood. There was nothing that feeling did not touch. He recalled the way Dimitri’s feelings could drag his own out of him, and now — now that face, lips tense, eyebrows set gravely, and eyes red-rimmed and so, so sad for him — so uninjured by all Dedue had said, save that he didn’t believe. So undefended, like Dedue could plunge in a knife.

 “...I hate how ugly I am, to feel the way I do,” Dedue croaked, unable to look at that gods-cursed face a moment longer. He couldn’t change how he felt, not anymore, but he could stop. He could turn away; it would just have to be bolted up inside of him, turning his innards black with frostbite. 

“I think you’re right to be angry,” Dimitri answered, which made it all worse. “You’re right to hate all of this...What happened that day, what’s happened since, is monstrous, and nothing else. Even if no one else sees that right now, I…” His voice was shaking. Still somehow, Dedue was the one with the knife in him when Dimitri said, “feel like that, too. I don’t mean to say they compare, but… I think your fury just.”

“Dimitri, you do not understand.” He was unable to bolt it in if Dimitri kept dragging it out — stop, just stop. “It is still uglier than that… To hate all that I hate.”

“Oh.” Dimitri’s face briefly slackened, until it somehow — worse than anything — masked itself in a bland little smile, the smile of the Prince of Faerghus. Even if it collapsed almost instantly, it had been placed. The eyebrows drawn sadly together, the smile reaching his eyes not happily, but with soft self-deprecation. ”Me.”

“...I do not know if it is hate. I do not know the right word.” He knew just the right word in his own language, and said it aloud then — a word that meant something that ground you like wheat in a mill until you were bitter and tired.

 It hung there in the air, waiting for something, but all Dimitri could do was shake his head. He couldn’t translate that one, either. Before Dimitri could say anything, Dedue held up his hand. The feeling was awake, alive, trapped under his ribs and locked up in his lungs, his neck, his closed-off teeth. The borrowed tongue fell away from him, then he returned to his own. Dimitri would have to keep up, to guess over gaps in his knowledge of the language, as Dedue so often had to with him. He couldn’t say it any other way. 

“<I am… mad at you, sometimes. Something like that, anyway. I’m mad at who you are and what you mean.

“<You are the ‘prince’ of Faerghus. And this is so important that I’m unworthy of you to everyone . You bear their name! They kill for that name, for your father’s name, for that title I barely understand! Your good name is… so precious to them. But when the time comes…>” Turning this on Dimitri hurt. But that truth also hounded him — it leapt up his closed-off throat.  He hurried over the words, not looking to see if he was understood. Dimitri did not try to stop him — good enough. “<It’s all meaningless. It’s all useless . It’s cruel to ask you to carry this, but if you can’t, then no one will. I see that, now. It’s cruel that you’re the only one there is to ask.

“<And…Sometimes, I’m mad at you because I think…>”Dedue’s feelings crested, swelling up in his chest until they pounded against him, and came out the only way they could. Hot tears pooled in his eyes and dropped smoothly down. His voice was small and hoarse, a pained whisper. “<Why me, Dimitri? Why not save someone else?>” 

The bit of Dedue that pounded against his breastbone like a maddened, captured bird wanted Dimitri to not understand. Or more; say Dedue had no right to feel that way about his savior, or to say he did the best he could, or to say there was some reason for it to be him — some divine reason, some calculated reason, some reason less or more than that even the life of a stranger could be precious. Then Dedue could be truly mad at him, truly angry, then he could admire Dimitri a little less, care for him a little less, cut Faerghus into one great bloody clump and hate it all with a chill he’d hardly known was there until this moment, when he looked it in that hollow-eyed face. 

And when the hate had wrung out of him like tears, he really could turn his heart into stone.

But Dimitri didn’t say that. Not a word of it. Instead, he frowned, his eyes gone soft teardrop blue. He almost reached out a hand, but though it hovered in the space between them for a moment, it retreated to fall back onto his lap.

“I know that, for everyone I could not save then and cannot save now, there is neither excuse nor forgiveness. It would be mad, not to hate me after how much we’ve hurt you...There’s nothing ugly about it.” Dimitri stared at the hand he had almost reached out, his expression still somewhere far away from it. The silence stretched until he looked Dedue head-on again, a sad smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he whispered, small and hoarse,  “It’s OK.”

 Something thawed out inside him at those words, easing into the shelter they gave him.  It was OK. Nothing could make its way out of Dedue save tears. Silent, marked only by the faintest tremor that ran through him. It was OK. That black frost was still somewhere inside of him, and that was OK. Dimitri’s answer took him by the hand and warmed him, piece by piece, massaging his jaw until it let go, until his fingers and toes unclenched, until that feeling had surrendered him. All the things he’d gambled on Dimitri’s answer, all the things he’d considering throwing aside, all the rest of him came back to meet him, shocking as a spring flood — his heart, his hope, his life. 

His shoulders shook; his throat worked to make a breathless whine. Dimitri’s hand reached for him, and Dedue slumped into the touch wordlessly. Stone could never be warmed like this, not if it sat in the sun a million years.

“I won’t give up. I swear. I swear. I...I’m sorry you have to ask that. I’m so sorry.” Dimitri murmured, voice bare. And this, too, was a hurt stone couldn’t know. He had survived. They had survived, and this was all the reason that there was for it. Dimitri’s body heat was added to Dedue’s side as he, all the parts of the Prince of Faerghus that were simply Dimitri, leaned his head against Dedue’s shoulders. When Dedue didn’t shift away, a sob tore from him. He looked up through lashes only a little darker gold than the rest of him, blue summer skies streaked through with cloudy tears. He whispered something from the back of his throat. . “It really is a painful thing to wonder, isn’t it?”

 All Dedue could say for his understanding was in the way he leaned his own weight against Dimitri’s side. The smaller boy didn’t fold or crumple, but stayed, their figures leaned close to one another. His tears fell onto Dimitri’s hair as they slid down his face; Dimitri’s tears pooled against Dedue’s neck. It was regret and hurt in them, hate and frustration. They were surprisingly warm. The boys huddled on each other’s shoulder, there on the steps before the regent’s council chamber. When the adults exited, they would have to go around. The two of them wouldn’t be moved just yet. He didn’t have to move. He didn’t have to attempt to stop. For a long time, they simply wept for a world they could not change. They didn’t speak another word until all the tears had been wrung out from the bottom of Dedue’s heart, from Dimitri’s heart, from the burning plains of Duscur, miles and miles away.

[kawaiikichi]

Just a Dream? (Saiouma)

Saiouma “Hey, hey, calm down, it’s just me. You were having a bad dream. It’s okay, you’re safe” from the Illness/Injury Starters list for @brightstarblogs! So funny story, as I was writing this, I ended up tweaking the prompt itself because when I pasted it in where I needed to put it, it wasn’t making any sense with everything else that I had written. So, I ended up changing it to “Hey, hey, calm down, I’m right here. It was just a bad dream. It’s okay, you’re safe.”

I hope you like it and let me know if you would like anything changed/edited! :D

Based off of the request below:

Title: Just a Dream?

Original Prompt: “Hey, hey, calm down, it’s just me. You were having a bad dream. It’s okay, you’re safe.”

Modified Prompt: “Hey, hey, calm down, I’m right here. It was just a bad dream. It’s okay, you’re safe.”

Summary: Kokichi’s been having odd dreams lately. He’s dreamt of an academy called The Academy of Gifted Juveniles. Then he’s dreamt of robotic bears that want there to be a killing game along sixteen students, including Kokichi. He’s had more dreams about the event, but what scares him more than anything is how real the dreams feel...

One-Shot Notes: Reincarnation AU; Kokichi has the marks from when he got shot by the crossbow arrows, but has always been told that they were birthmarks; canon divergence after chapter 3 (ex. Miu’s killer being Kaito rather than Gonta)

Warnings: Character death (it happens in the dream)

One-shot is under the cut!

Kokichi was awoken by the sound of the morning announcement.

“Gooooooooood morning, losers! It’s now 8AM. Time to rise and have some more fun during this thrilling killing game! So, get out of bed and start killing!”

The announcement came off soon after, causing Kokichi to groan.

Those blasted Monokubs, he thought to himself.

He rolled out of bed, wincing in the process. He looked down at the bandage wrapped around his arm, his brows furrowed.

He had been heading back to his dorm room after checking out the hangar when he was attacked by Maki, the assassin nailing two poison-coated arrows into his arm and back. He managed to get away before she did anymore damage, but the poison began to kick in quickly. As he was stumbling back into the dorm, he ran into Shuichi, who went pale upon seeing the arrows and insisted that he take the arrows out and tend to his wounds. Kokichi kept telling him that he was fine, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing him by the hand and hurriedly pulling him to his lab, where he kept a variety of antidotes for poison along with a first aid kit. Recalling how the detective fretted over his well-being brought a smile to his lips.

“Geez, Saihara-chan...always taking care of people...” he muttered.

He ran his fingers along the bandage as he thought back on the most recent trial.

Thinking back on the trial, Momota-chan was the one that murdered that nasty pig. Does Harukawa-chan think I manipulated him into doing it, he asked himself.

He laughed to himself.

If that’s what she thinks, she’s more stupid than I thought. Momota-chan would rather die than let me manipulate him, he thought to himself.

He stood, snorting at the thought.

“Well, he’s already dead, so there’s no point in thinking of manipulating him into doing my bidding.” he spoke under his breath as he got ready for the day.

After tying his scarf around his neck, he headed out of his room. He began to walk to the dining hall as he encountered Tsumugi at the entrance to the academy, whose face resembled a sheet of paper.

“Oi, Plain Jane. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Kokichi brought his arms behind his head. “What’s with that?” he asked.

“Didn’t you hear?” she asked.

“Huh? Hear what?”

“The announcement!”

“Announcement? Yeah, it went off at eight like it should have.”

“Not the morning announcement! There was a body discovery announcement, a body discovery announcement!”

Kokichi tensed at the words.

“So soon?” he began to follow Tsumugi in the direction of the pool. “But, wasn’t the trial held four days ago? A motive hasn’t even been released yet.” he asked.

“I know, that’s what puzzling me. It’s just plain confusing.” Tsumugi pushed the doors open. “I’m afraid to see who the victim is this time...” she trailed off.

Keebo turned at the sound of the door opening, pure terror flashing across his face.

“It’s about time you guys came! It’s terrible, really terrible!” he exclaimed.

Kokichi spotted Gonta, who was crying.

“Gonta think this isn’t right! How will everyone solve case now?!” he said.

“How are we going to solve the case? Obviously, we still have Saihara-chan on our si—“ the body came into view and then, Kokichi stilled.

Shuichi’s lifeless body laid on the floor, soaked to the bone and his hair stuck to his face. He looked paler than normal with hints of blue. A noose was tightly wrapped around his neck along with ropes binding his wrists and ankles together. Eyeliner and mascara streaks marred his cheeks.

Kokichi’s heart plummeted at the sight. An incessant ringing sound went off in his ears as he felt his world begin to spin out of control.

The detective was alive and well a few hours ago.

He had tended to his injuries and made sure to help him change his bandages at least twice a day.

He promised him that he’d see him tomorrow with a bright smile on his face.

He was fine.

But now, as he laid there, Kokichi was brought to the realization that Shuichi was indeed not okay nor was he alive and well anymore.

Someone had murdered him.

Someone had murdered his precious Saihara-chan.

Just seeing Shuichi’s lifeless body made Kokichi want to throw up.

His legs felt like jello as he staggered backwards.

“No...no, no, no, this can’t be right...” he choked out.

“Ouma-kun?” Keebo called out, noticing how Kokichi was acting.

“This...this must be some sort of act.” he let out a strained laugh. “Saihara-chan can’t be dead, right? There is no way that’s possible.” he said.

“Ouma-kun...” Tsumugi trailed off.

Kokichi looked at Keebo with a desperate look in his eyes, not caring to mask what he was really feeling in favor of begging Keebo to tell him that this was all some sort of joke.

However, Keebo slowly averted his gaze. With that, it was confirmed.

Shuichi Saihara was officially dead.

“No...no, no, no...Saihara-chan...” he choked out.

Tears began to blur his vision as he dropped to his knees.

“Saihara-chan...” he furiously swiped at his tears. “Saihara-chan...!”

💜💜💜💜

Kokichi woke up with a shout, hand reaching out to grasp at thin air. He panted harshly, tears streaming down his cheeks as a voice called out to him.

“Kichi...?”

Kokichi shifted in bed, watching as Shuichi sat up and released a loud yawn.

“Kichi, is everything okay? You let out a really loud shout just now...” he mumbled sleepily, reaching up to rub the sleep out of his eyes.

Kokichi felt his heartbeat begin to slow as he looked at his boyfriend. More tears began to pool at the corners of his eyes as he reached out towards him. Cupping Shuichi’s cheeks, he began running his fingers all over Shuichi’s face.

Shuichi could only blink at him with tired gold eyes as he watched Kokichi trace every feature on his face.

“Babe...?” he murmured out.

“You’re alive...” Kokichi choked out a sob. “You’re alive...!” he sobbed out as he leapt into Shuichi’s arms.

“Ah!” Shuichi felt himself becoming more awake as Kokichi wrapped his arms around him tightly. “K-Kokichi!” he exclaimed.

“Shuichi...Shuichi...!” Kokichi cried out, tears continuing to stream down his cheeks.

Shuichi stared at Kokichi, listening to him cry.

“Kokichi...was it that dream again?” he asked.

Kokichi sniffled as he nodded against Shuichi’s shoulder. Shuichi felt his heart sink at Kokichi’s response.

“You dreamt something bad happened to me, huh...” he began to rub Kokichi’s back soothingly. “Hey, hey, calm down, I’m right here. It was just a bad dream. It’s okay, you’re safe.” he cooed softly.

He continued to coo softly to his crying boyfriend, running a hand through his hair as he kissed his temple. Kokichi’s sobs dissipated soon after.

Shuichi continued to comfort him as they felt backwards onto the mattress, Kokichi nestling his head under Shuichi’s chin.

“I...I don’t understand it...” he muttered out.

“Hm? You don’t understand what?” Shuichi asked.

“Why I keep having these dreams. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s not like we’ve participated in a killing game before with our friends. But, it all feels so real that it’s terrifying.” Kokichi explained.

Shuichi hummed in response as Kokichi pulled his head away, peering up at him.

“I saw you dead on the floor by a pool. I assume someone choked you to death with a noose and then tossed you in the pool to make it look like you drowned or something. Honestly, it scared me.” Kokichi said.

“I can imagine.” Shuichi replied.

Kokichi reached up and dragged his fingertips along the birthmark around Shuichi’s neck.

“Not only do those dreams feel real, this mark...it looks like something a noose would leave if it’s too tight around your neck.” he commented.

“But, it’s my birthmark.” Shuichi said.

“I know it is. So are the marks on my arm and back. But, they’re so similar to the ones that I see in my dreams that it’s alarming. It makes me wonder if there’s something more to it than just a simple birthmark.” Kokichi explained.

“Hm...” Shuichi pulled Kokichi back in, resting his chin atop Kokichi’s head. “Maybe those dreams are like memories from a past life?” Shuichi suggested.

Kokichi chuckled against Shuichi’s chest.

“A past life? That’s crazy. There’s no way we could’ve lived through that and then be reincarnated into this life. It sounds like something out of a fantasy novel.” Kokichi commented.

He cuddled against his boyfriend.

“Isn’t that right, Shuichi?” he asked.

Shuichi smiled, watching out the window as he spoke.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

[rainygalaxynerd]

Brave New World - FINAL CHAPTER

Warnings: If you’re still with me, nothing new.

Summary: Set app. a year after the chapter “Days”

Word count: App. 2.200

A/N: I did it!!! I finished it! I can’t believe it. *Ugly crying* Now what am I gonna do??? (Finish the follower inserts from my 300 follower celebration before I hit 400, maybe? Finish recording Force of Habit, one of @littlegreenplasticsoldier ‘s many masterpieces? Do the recording of Mirror Mirror, I’ve been wanting to do since I wrote it? How to choose, how to choose...)

This is part of a chapter story (in case the caption didn’t clue you in). Link to mobile friendly master list here.

Tagging: @winchesterprincessbride @jencharlan @twenty-onepages @kbrand0 @fangirling-instead-of-working @mrsjohnsmith @deandoesthingstome @vibou25 @jotink78

“You’re not hunting alone. It’s too dangerous. Call someone else, got it?”

Sam grinned and slapped Dean’s shoulder. “Was planning to.”

Dean raised his eyebrows and put a hand to his chest in mock pain. “So that’s how it is, huh? Trying to give your poor, crippled big brother a freakin’ heart attack on top of everything else?”

Sam scrunched up his face, processing. “I didn’t catch that,” he finally lamented. “Unless you said something about a boar, nippled pig mother. And was there something about an art attic?”

Dean flipped him off, not quite managing to bend his index finger.

Sam grinned. “How very British.” He put an arm around Dean’s shoulders and steered him away from the wheelchair. “Come on, let’s get you home and put some real food in you. You can get back at me when you’ve had some of that pie Caitlin made for you before going to work.”

Moving On

“Dean!” Caitlin squeezed between two stacks of boxes, higher than herself.

She found him in the kitchen, staring at a metal circle between two handles.

“What the fuck is this?”

“It’s a corn cob scraper.” She sighed.

“Why do we have a corn cob scraper?”

“To scrape kernels off the cobs. Can’t you just put it in the box?”

“But I’m gonna hafta carry the box to the truck and from the truck to the house. I’m not gonna pack stuff we don’t need.”

Caitlin crossed her arms over her chest and raised her eyebrows. “I used it three days ago for that cream corn you gushed over so hard, I thought you’d sleep with it and banish me to the couch.”

Dean’s eyes widened. He pursed his lips and scrutinized the scraper for all of two seconds before tossing it into the open box next to him. With a shrug, he picked another item from the drawer. He stared at it. “What the fuck is-”

“Just throw it out. I only ever use it when I make pies and I don’t think I’m gonna do that anymore.”

Faster than lightning, Dean put the thing in the box.

Caitlin smiled, shaking her head. “Dean, I just wanted to know if you and Sam agreed on when to pick up the appliances this weekend?”

Dean buried his hands, elbows deep, in the kitchen drawer, feeling for more stuff. “Yeah, um, sure.”

“So when are you picking them up?”

He glanced up, eyes wide. “Saturday, I guess. Or Sunday, maybe.”

Caitlin glared at him until she burst out laughing. “Jeez, you’re tired. Why don’t you take a break? I’ll text Eileen and figure it out.”

“Yeah, okay.” Dean sighed and threw himself on the couch. He ran a shaking hand across his face and let his eyes drift shut.

He woke up to Caitlin gently massaging his neck and shoulders. “Mwhah?”

She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “I talked to the company and the houses are so close and the total order for all of us is big enough to warrant free delivery, so that’s taken care of.”

“Mmh.” Dean pulled her closer, overbalancing her. He made an ‘oof’ sound when her weight hit him. Then he wrapped his arms and legs around her and kept her there.

“Are you secretly an octopus?” Caitlin relaxed against him.

“No, I’m a homeowner. But if you’d asked me ten years ago if I thought I’d end up as an octopus or as a homeowner, I’d have gone with octopus.” He lifted his head a bit to look her in the eyes. “It’s weird how bizarre it feels to be normal.”

“You’ll never be normal. Doing normal stuff won’t change who we are. You’ll never be a civilian, Dean.”

He squashed her tight against him, chuckling at the way her breath whooshed out of her lungs. “You’re right. I just… Fuck, I…”

“I know. I get it. But, Dean, you would have had to stop someday no matter what. You could have ended up dead or far worse off than this. Anyone who didn’t know you before will barely notice that you’re a bit more clumsy than most. There’s still so much you can do.”

“But I can’t hunt. I can’t save lives. If something ever happens to you, or to Sam, Cas, Eileen… I can’t protect you.”

“I know. That’s life for most people. You can still do a lot of good.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

Caitlin was silent for a while. “You could help Sam with research.”

“Or I could get a job at Biggerson’s, flipping burgers. No way, I’m gonna sit and read about monsters and lore and not get to kill ‘em myself.”

“I bet you’d be the employee of the month all through the year.” Caitlin’s grin broke free. “You’d look so dashing in their uniforms, with the cap and the stripes-”

She cut off, squealing, when Dean tickled her sides, showing no mercy.

Her phone buzzed and bought her a respite as she read the text, almost hiccuping from laughing too hard.

“Who’s writing? Did Charlie kill Garcia’s character off again? Has Cas been arrested again? Is it Eileen?”

“It’s from Brad.” Caitlin showed him the message, sad smile on her lips.

I JUST WANTED TO WISH YOU GOOD LUCK IN KANSAS CITY. YOU’LL BE A GREAT DOCTOR. I HOPE EVERYTHING IS GOING ACCORDING TO PLAN WITH THE BIG MOVE. ALL THE BEST, -BRAD

Dean read with a frown. “You gonna answer?”

Caitlin sighed. “I don’t know. I hate knowing his psychiatrist’s reading over his shoulder. My answer wouldn’t be just for him.”

“I know he hasn’t had it easy but I still don’t get how you can forgive him.”

“Well, you weren’t there for his trial. It’s his story to tell, but trust me; he already paid his dues and some.”

“You mean they… Nevermind. I don’t wanna know.” Dean shook his head, holding Caitlin tighter to him. “Will you have to go back here and testify every other week when Cody’s appeal starts?”

“I’m sure they’ll ask me to.” Caitlin shrugged. “I won’t.”

Dean opened his mouth.

She spoke first. “I know they might repeal his death penalty without my testimony but he’ll be behind bars for the rest of his life either way. Cody might deserve to die but I’m against capital punishment on principle.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, questioning.

“Sure, there are humans worse than any monster you and Sam ever hunted, but once they’ve been caught and locked up, they’re not doing any more harm. How do you distinguish between them and the people that might have been possessed or otherwise influenced by something that will never be acknowledged in a courtroom? How do you know the difference between a Brad and a Cody if you weren't smacked in the middle of it? I didn’t even know the difference when I was sixteen, would never have known if they hadn’t taken me last year.”

“But what if he ever gets out? Some bureaucratic mistake, a legal technicality, early parole due to good behavior. As long as he’s alive there’s always a risk.”

“He’s not the only threat out there. There are Djinns and Demons and Daevas and drunk drivers and diseases, just to mention a few beginning with the letter d. I spent ten years in hiding, playing it safe. I’m done living in fear.”

Dean let out a deep breath when she nuzzled close, her nose tickling his neck. For a while, they just lay there, enjoying the closeness. Then he spoke, his voice rougher than usual. “I’m surprised you don’t think Sam and I are killers, with that attitude.”

“Dean. You protected people. It’s not like there’s a court or a prison for human eating or killing, sentient creatures out there.”

“Always so rational.” Dean licked Caitlin’s cheek, laughing when she tried to get away, sputtering in mock outrage.

The licks turned to kisses and the kisses turned to nibbles. Caitlin gave in with a content little sigh, ending in a gasp when Dean used enough pressure to make her really feel his teeth around her earlobe.

Dean snuck a hand under her blouse and undid her bra.

The doorbell rang.

Dean huffed a half laugh, half sigh as Caitlin sat up and redid her bra clasp. He put his hands on her hips. “Can’t we just ignore it?”

Her eyes softened and her movements slowed. “What if it’s important?”

“They can leave a note.” Dean’s hand snaked up her back again, destination obvious.

The doorbell rang again, followed by a quick rapping rhythm, Dean knew all too well. He let his hand fall with a sigh of regret. “Or they might unlock the door since we were dumb enough to give ‘em a key.”

They scrambled to their feet and looked halfway respectable when their front door opened to reveal Sam and Eileen.

Looking at Dean and Caitlin’s still frazzled appearance, Sam grinned. “I’m sorry, are we interrupting something?”

Dean flipped him off. “I thought you guys were busy in Kansas, painting protective sigils in invisible ink?” He signed a few keywords out of habit, though Sam most likely understood just fine, interpreting the movements of Dean’s lips.

“Yeah, we just… something came up. I wanted to tell you in person.” Sam did that weird thing where it looked like he was looking up from under his lashes, all shy and uncertain.

Dean’s jaw clenched, wrinkles of worry creasing his forehead. “Sammy, what’s wrong?”

Sam sputtered. “No, no. It’s not like that, nothing bad. But… It’s just… I guess Eileen and I will have to stop hunting, too.”

Dean's eyes flitted between the two of them, mouth open and eyes wide.

Caitlin broke into a wide grin, something unspoken passing between her and Eileen. “Congratulations, you guys,” she exclaimed, hugging first Eileen and then Sam.

“Could someone tell me what’s going on?” Dean grumbled.

Caitlin bit her lip and watched Sam expectantly.

Sam smiled wide, dimples carved into his cheeks. “You’re going to be an uncle, Dee.”

Dean’s eyes went impossibly wider, his mouth agape. A blissful smile slowly spread before he froze, frowned, and narrowed his eyes. “If this is some stupid joke about that mutt you’re planning to adopt-”

“No joke. Though we do plan to get a dog, now that we won’t be traveling as much as expected.” Sam grinned. He sobered a little. “Dean, I know you don’t like talking about it but you practically raised me, man. You’ll be there, right? If I need help?”

Dean swallowed hard and engulfed Sam in a crushing hug. “Of course, little brother.”

They didn’t get any more stuff packed that day, leaving the chaos behind to eat out.

Over desert, Dean nudged Sam. “So what are you gonna do, college boy, if you’re not hunting?”

Sam chuckled. “Be a college boy, I guess. Charlie dug up my old scholarship and refurbished it. I guess I’m going back to law school. I won’t become a procedural lawyer as long as I’m deaf but I guess pushing pens isn’t so bad.”

Dean glowed with pride. “That’s… Holy fuck, Sam, that’s awesome.” He put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m really happy for you, man.”

“Thanks.” Sam took another bite of his salad and chewed slowly. “So, what about you, Dean? Any idea what you’ll do with your time while Caitlin’s busy at the hospital?”

Dean made an awkward shrug and lowered his gaze to his plate. A sly smile appeared on his lips. “Maybe I should take some child rearing classes. At least one of us should know what we’re doing, this time.”

Eileen almost choked on her water.

Sam kicked Dean under the table, his expression grateful. “You didn’t do too bad the first time around, you know.”

Dean grinned and Sam knew he walked right into what was coming.

“Imagine what you could’ve achieved if I had known more, college boy.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

It was late, and they were both a little buzzed from toasting so many times when Caitlin turned to trace the handprint on Dean’s shoulder with a finger. “Did you mean it?”

Dean, almost asleep, grunted, opening one eye halfway. “Meanwha?”

“You, working with kids?”

Dean shrugged. “Dunno. Those ankle biters can be vicious.”

“But not as scary as monsters, right?” Caitlin chuckled.

“Way scarier.” Dean smiled. “I guess they’d be easier to handle than engine parts, these days.”

“I never told you, but when the Djinn had me, I dreamed of you. Us. Together.” Caitlin blushed.

“You did?” Dean pulled her closer. “What was it like?”

“You…” She smiled, her cheeks heating further. “You were a nurse at the pediatrics ward. You were amazing with the kids.”

Dean gaped at her. “A nurse?”

She nodded, biting her lip.

Dean pursed his lips and tilted his head, considering. “Don’t nurses usually end up marrying handsome doctors?”

“Shut up, Winchester.”

“Why? You could be Doctor Winchester, parading you trophy spouse, nurse Winchester around at fundraisers. Doc Winchester’s got a nice ring to it, don’t it?”

“Dean, seriously, can it.” Caitlin rolled away and lay on her back. “You’re such an ass.”

Laughing, Dean poked her side. “You’re the one who dreamt me as a nurse, Doc.”

Caitlin glared at him with narrowed eyes. “I did. I saw you put a glove over your head and down over your nose, making it look like a pig’s snout and blow air into the glove until it came off your head, whizzing across the room.”

Dean laughed harder. “That’s… that’s priceless. Next time I get my hands on a glove, I’ll try it.”

“Screw you.”

“Really? I thought you were mad at me?”

“Dean!”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll stop. Sleep tight, Caitie.”

Caitlin turned to kiss him goodnight. “You too, nurse Dean.”

“Whatever.” Dean drifted off, his smile lingering.

[tinagw1]

The Parable of the Prodigal Son is one of the most beloved stories in the Bible. And yet it is one of the most misunderstood passages today. I will give a brief account of the parable, and then I will tell you how it has been twisted and perverted, even by well-meaning preachers. As I bring the message this evening, I will deal with this parable in two ways. First, I will show how it has been perverted by “decisionism.” Second, I will show what it really means. And then I will show how it applies to you. But we will begin by going over the entire parable. Jesus said that there was a man who had two sons. The younger son came to his father, and asked for his part of the inheritance now, before the father’s death. The father agreed, and gave the younger son his half of the inheritance. The younger son took everything and left home. He went far away to a distant country and squandered the entire inheritance with loose and sinful living. When he had spent all the money, a famine occurred and he was starving. He went to a citizen of that country who sent him out to feed pigs. He was so hungry that he wanted to eat the husks that the pigs were eating, and no one gave him anything to eat. Then he came to his senses and realized that his father’s servants had enough bread to eat, while he was starving. He decided to return to his father’s house and say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son; make me as one of thy hired servants.” He arose and came to his father. While he was coming, his father ran and hugged him and kissed him. His father put an expensive robe on him, a ring on his finger, and shoes on his feet. The father killed a calf and made a great feast. The father said, “For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry” (Luke 15:24). That is the basic outline of the parable. Now, I will go back and show you how it has been misinterpreted in our day, and then I will show you what it really means. I. First, the way this parable has been misinterpreted by many modern preachers. I hate to say that Dr. J. Vernon McGee misinterpreted this parable, but he did. Dr. McGee said, “This is not a picture of a sinner that gets saved...In this story our Lord told there was never any question as to whether the boy was a son or not...He was a son all the time...The only one who wants to go to the Father’s house is a son; and one day the son will say, ‘I will arise and go to my Father’” (J. Vernon McGee, Th.D., Thru the Bible,Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1983, volume IV, pp. 314, 315; notes on Luke 15:11-19). So, Dr. McGee wrongly said that this young man was saved all the time. He rebelled and went into a life of deep, prolonged sin, but he was still saved. Later he repented of his sin and rededicated his life. I am sorry to say that this shows how Dr. McGee was influenced by modern “decisionism.” That is the way many modern preachers, like Billy Graham, have interpreted the parable. Why have they done that? They did it because tens of thousands of people have made “decisions” and have then gone back into sin. The only way these preachers can explain that is to say they are like the Prodigal Son, and some day they will wake up and rededicate themselves. You hear them say that there are “saved” alcoholics, “saved” drug addicts, and even “saved” prostitutes. Since 88% of all “church kids” leave their church “never to return” (Barna) and all of them have made a “decision,” the pastors give false hope to their parents by saying they are prodigals, saved but backslidden. They say all these people, who live in deep sin and don’t attend church, are “saved” just the same. All they have to do is come back and rededicate themselves at some future time. But even if they don’t do that, they are still saved. As Dr. McGee said, “There was never any question as to whether the boy was a son or not. He was a son all the time.” So, Bill Clinton, a Baptist, was “a son” even while he was having sex in the Oval Office with Monica Lewinsky. So, another Baptist, Jimmy Carter, was “a son” even when he was denying the inerrancy of the Bible and saying that Mormons are true Christians! A few years ago a woman who headed a house of prostitution here in Los Angeles said that she was a “born again Christian.” One evangelical leader told me, “Don’t judge her.” What madness! This confusing brand of evangelicalism is called “antinomianism,” and it comes out of the belief that one can live in the hog pen of sin and be a child of God at the same time. They are so-called “carnal Christians.” But Dr. Martyn Lloyd-Jones said, “It is a wrong interpretation [of Romans 8:5-8] to say that ‘they that are after the flesh’ are so-called ‘carnal’ Christians; for we see that the Apostle says something about them which makes it impossible that they should be Christians at all...Christianity, as the Apostle has told us so often, involves a complete, a radical change in the nature of the human being” (D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones, M.D., Exposition of Romans 8:5-17, “The Sons of God,” The Banner of Truth Trust, 2002 reprint, p. 3). I really hate to correct Dr. McGee. He taught me a great deal of the Bible during the 1960s and early 70s, as I listened to him every day on the radio. I literally recoil at the thought of correcting him on his view of the Prodigal Son. But I have no choice. Dr. McGee said that he himself was saved when an “evangelist in southern Oklahoma many years ago used this parable to present the gospel...one night he preached on the Prodigal Son, and that’s the night I went forward” (ibid., p. 314). But then Dr. McGee said, “The parable is not how a sinner gets saved” (ibid.). He said it is “primarily” about how God takes “back a son that sins.” Dr. McGee didn’t get that idea from the old-fashioned preacher who got him saved back in Oklahoma. No, he got that idea from modern new-evangelical preachers like Billy Graham, who call for “rededications” rather than clear-cut conversions. This “new” way of looking at the parable has produced a teeming ocean of so-called “backslidden Christians” who have never been converted. As Dr. Lloyd-Jones said, it is “impossible that they should be Christians at all.” I recently read an article by an evangelist who said, I live in South Carolina, and I love the South, and I’m not mocking anyone from there, but it seems like everyone there says he’s saved!...In some Southern states, there is a church on just about every street corner. Even our politicians and movie stars state that they are saved...Yet we have more murder, rape, drugs, pornography, divorce, lying, and thievery than ever... So what is wrong? Why are our local churches diminishing in growth and outreach?...What is the problem? (Jerry Sivnksty, “Gospel Soaked or Gospel Thirsty?”, Frontline Magazine, July/August 2013, p. 38). I’ll tell you what the problem is – we have tens of thousands of people who have made“decisions” but are not converted! That’s what the problem is! And it isn’t just happening in the South. It’s all over America! One preacher recently told me that almost every door he knocks on in evangelism, the people tell him to go away because they are already saved! He said they won’t come to church and they won’t repent – because they thinkthey are saved already! That is the result of decades of “decisionism” and the utterly falseidea that “prodigal sons” are really Christians! I say, “Away with such a false gospel! It has literally ruined America!” Down with it! Be done with it! Throw it out! It has damned millions of souls, crippled our churches, and has brought spiritual ruin to our nation! I don’t care who promotes it – Dr. McGee, Billy Graham, Pope Francis, or the Antichrist – it is a hellish doctrine, full of Satanic poison! Which takes us back to our text, “For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry” (Luke 15:24). II. Second, this parable was given by Christ to show how lost sinners, dead in trespasses and sins, are saved! I once knew a man who left his wife and ran off with another woman. Then he robbed a bank with a gun, and went to prison for bank robbery for several years. He was an adulterer, a thief, and a bank robber. But he said he was saved all that time! I asked him what would have happened if the rapture had occurred while he was robbing that bank with a gun. With a straight face he said, “The gun would have fallen to the floor when I was raptured to meet the Lord in the air!” I told him he was wrong, that he had never been converted. He appealed to the Prodigal Son, and gave the false interpretation I explained a moment ago, that he was a “son” all along. I opened the Bible. I took his index finger in my hand and put the end of his finger on Luke 15:24. I said, “Read it.” I had to say that three or four times before he finally read it haltingly, “For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found...” (Luke 15:24). He stared at me with a wild look in his eyes, like he had been caught! Then he blurted out, “But that’s not what it means!” I said, “I didn’t tell you what it means. I only told you to read it.” Then I read it to him, “For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found...” Then I said, “The man’s own father said he was ‘dead.’ The man’s own father said he was ‘lost.’ If his own father said that, who are you to contradict him?” By the way, if you look at Dr. McGee’s commentary, you will see that he didn’t give any comment on Luke 15:24! He couldn’t! It would have destroyed his false theory completely! In Luke 15:24 the father said his son had been “dead” – that is, “dead in trespasses and sins” (Ephesians 2:1, 5). Then the father said, “he was lost.” What could possibly be clearer? The Prodigal pictures a lost sinner! Jesus gave three parables in the fifteenth chapter of Luke to answer the Pharisees. They had complained that he ate with sinners (Luke 15:2). He gave these three parables to show how God rejoices when a sinner gets saved! Each of the three parables shows that God will receive and pardon lost sinners. He gave the parable of the lost sheep in verses 3 to 7. He gave the parable of the lost coin in verses 8 to 10. And then He gave the parable of the lost son in verses 11 to 32. The main point in all three parables is that God greatly rejoices over “one sinner that repenteth” (Luke 15:7, 10, 24). Strangely, even Dr. Ryrie did not agree with Dr. McGee and Billy Graham. Dr. Ryrie got this right. In his note on Luke 15:4, he said, “Lost. Eight times in this chapter the lostness of man is emphasized, vv. 4 [twice], 6, 8, 9, 17, 24, 32” (Charles C. Ryrie, Th.D., Ph.D., The Ryrie Study Bible, Moody Press, 1978, p. 1576; note on Luke 15:4). “The lostness of man is emphasized.” Exactly right! Dr. McGee overstressed the fact that the Prodigal was called “a son.” In this parable “son” does not mean that he was saved. Dr. John MacArthur was right on this particular point when he said that this parable “pictures all sinners (related to God the Father by creation) who waste their potential privileges and refuse any relationship with Him [God], choosing instead a life of sinful self-indulgence” (John MacArthur, D.D., The MacArthur Study Bible, Word Bibles, 1997, p. 1545; note on Luke 15:12). Dr. MacArthur also correctly said that the Prodigal Son “was a candidate for salvation” when he “came to himself” (ibid., note on Luke 15:17). This shows that MacArthur correctly says the Prodigal was lost. I side with Dr. McGee against Dr. MacArthur on many issues, particularly on the Blood of Christ. Dr. McGee is right on that important subject, and John MacArthur is not right. But on the conversion of the Prodigal Son, our text forces me to agree with John MacArthur, “For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found...” (Luke 15:24). By the way, all the old commentaries say that the Prodigal Son was lost, and then converted in this parable. None of the old commentators say he “rededicated” his life and was saved all along! Matthew Poole (1624-1679) said of our text, “A sinful soul is a dead soul…The conversion of a sinner is as a resurrection from the dead. Nor is any soul capable of any true mirth, till it be reconciled to God through the blood of Christ” (note on Luke 15:24; A Commentary on the Holy Bible, The Banner of Truth Trust, 1990 reprint, volume III, p. 247). Matthew Henry (1662-1714) said, “The parable represents God as a common Father to all mankind, to the whole family of Adam…” Matthew Henry went on to say that the Prodigal Son represents “a sinner, every one of us in our natural state…the condition of the prodigal…represents to us a sinful state, that miserable state into which man is fallen.” Then Matthew Henry went on to give nine ways that the prodigal pictures a lost person (Matthew Henry’s Commentary on the Whole Bible, Hendrickson Publishers, 1996 reprint, volume 5, pp. 599-600). Dr. John R. Rice looked back to the old way of the classical commentaries. Dr. Rice disagreed with Dr. McGee’s statement that “this is not a picture of a sinner that gets saved.” Dr. Rice said just the opposite. Dr. Rice said, “The prodigal son pictures a lost sinner” (John R. Rice, D.D., The Son of Man, Sword of the Lord Publishers, 1971, p. 372; note on Luke 15:11-16). C. H. Spurgeon, the Prince of Preachers, gives this same view in his sermon “The Prodigal’s Climax” (The Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit, Pilgrim Publications, 1975 reprint, volume XLI, pp. 241-249). Our text says, “For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found. And they began to be merry” (Luke 15:24). Spurgeon said of our text, “The conversion of a soul is enough to make eternal joy in the hearts of the righteous” (ibid., Exposition of the chapter, p. 251). The weight of all these commentators shows clearly that the Prodigal was a lost man, and the parable shows how he was converted. That is the view given by mainstream scholars throughout the ages – until the “decisionism” of our time made conversion “fuzzy” and unclear! III. Third, this parable shows what must happen to you in a real conversion. If you expect to be converted, and become a real Christian, you are going to have to go through the same thing the Prodigal went through. If you don’t, God will not be able to say to you, “This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found...” (Luke 15:24). Now you sat through all this explanation and background, and your mind is drifting off. Sit up man! Sit up woman! Now I am speaking to you! You must go through at least some of what the Prodigal went through or you will go to Hell! You must experience what he experienced, or you will spend eternity in the sulphurous flames, gouged and tormented by demons, and torn in pieces by your own conscience! Here is what you must go through, at least to some extent, to be saved. Jesus died in your place, to pay for your sins, on the Cross. He rose from the dead to give you life. But there is usually a struggle in coming to Christ. The following points are drawn from the parable of the Prodigal: 1.  Admit to yourself that your heart is truly selfish and wants to be as far away from God as possible. We have known people who came to the inquiry room and said they wanted to be saved who were, at the very same time, planning to leave the church! This is deep self-deception. Why should God give saving grace to a person who is thinking about going back to the world? “If any man love the world, the love of the Father is not in him” (I John 2:15). “A double minded man is unstable in all his ways” (James 1:8). 2.  Pray for God to show you the emptiness of this world. You don’t have to become a street person on Skid Row, to realize you don’t want to go there! God can show you the vanity of any materialistic lifestyle. Ask God to show you the emptiness of a godless life. “Ye have not, because ye ask not” (James 4:2). 3.  Wake up! Come to yourself! Pray for God to show you that you “perish with hunger,” while you could have peace and joy! The way you are now, you have no inner peace! Why go on in sin when you could be pardoned by Christ? “There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked” (Isaiah 57:21). 4.  Think about your sin. Think about individual sins, as well as your sinful heart. Think deeply about your sin until you can say with the Prodigal, “I have sinned against heaven, and before thee” (Luke 15:18). My pastor Dr. Timothy Lin didn’t get saved until he wrote out a long list of his sins. He went over and over that list of sins until God convicted him, and he knew he was a lost sinner! I’m not saying you have to do that, but it might help someone. 5.  Throw yourself on God the Son, “For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus” (I Timothy 2:5). Jesus said, “No man cometh unto the Father, but by me” (John 14:6). “Strive to enter in” to Christ (Luke 13:24). Those who just casually think about coming to Christ will not be saved. It must be the most important thing in your life! “Strive to enter in”! When you find Christ it will be well worth any amount of effort, any amount of “striving.” Jesus said, “Come unto me…and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). “The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin” (I John 1:7). May this old hymn be your prayer tonight – I’ve wandered far away from God, 
   Now I’m coming home; 
The paths of sin too long I’ve trod, 
   Lord, I’m coming home. 

I’ve wasted many precious years, 
   Now I’m coming home; 
I now repent with bitter tears, 
   Lord, I’m coming home. 
Coming home, coming home, 
   Never more to roam, 
Open wide Thine arms of love, 
   Lord, I’m coming home. 
(“Lord, I’m Coming Home” by William J. Kirkpatrick, 1838-1921). --Dr. R. L. Hymers, Jr. #Jesus #ServingJesusChrist