#this chapter exists purely to victimize people and if you know who it is then you know

[nehswritesstuffs]

banish every gaslight; let clarity shine - Part 6

So, I was hoping to get this done within the month of August, but that’s not looking like it due to chapter numbers alone, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not going to keep trying. This one is also early due to me needing to be away from my computer that holds all my fic resources, so here ya go. Though if you read on FFN, then know that this chapter might be late on there, depending on when the site begins behaving again.

Part 1 [FFN/AO3] - Part 2 [FFN/AO3] - Part 3 [FFN/AO3] - Part 4 [FFN/AO3] - Part 5 [FFN/AO3]

The three siblings have grown, the future always looming ahead of them ominously. Then a mute man speaks and their fates are changed forever. [3332 words; AU where there is a Third Corazón, whose existence makes Law’s life hell]

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Fourteen years earlier, in an entirely different ocean…

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“I don’t know why you do it, Baby 5,” Señor Pink scowled. They were headed between parts of their current hit job, with the child carrying a large sub-machine gun and the adult sauntering along next to her in the dark alley. “Are they really worth the effort?”

“Is who worth the effort?” she asked.

“You know who I’m talking about,” he scoffed. “The Flevench brats. I know why the Young Master keeps them around, but you…”

“You wouldn’t understand,” she replied. Baby 5 shifted the weight of the gun against her shoulder and tried to ignore his irritation. “We’re siblings; that’s it.”

“You should be causing havoc with Buffalo, not fussing after a couple of sick waifs.”

“Yeah… you really don’t understand.” She glanced at him as they stopped just short of the alley’s mouth, waiting for their cue. “They need me to be their sister, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“This is the first mission we’ve gotten you on in three months—you’re getting soft.”

“If the Young Master is allowed to be soft for Cora-san, then I’m allowed that for Law-nii and Lami-chan,” she replied. He was about to respond when an explosion happened down the road, causing her to smile and readjust her gun. “Looks like we’ll have to talk later.”

…and for what it was worth, she hoped they never did.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

It was a familiar yet unwanted sensation as pain woke Law for what was not the first time that day. The entire week had been a particularly bad one, so bad he was forced to stay back from another job, not because of Lami but his own Amber Lead instead. They could barely scrape out a good two or three days between the two of them, making things rough when they were the only two left in headquarters.

Groggily, he opened his eyes and looked on the other side of the bed. Lami was still snuggled into the blankets, but there was a new plush toy in her arms as she slept. Baby 5 was also asleep, slumped over in a chair with an open book in her lap.

‘Huh… they must all be back,’ he thought. Law looked over at his nightstand and saw there was a tray with water and pain medication, along with some cookies, an empty mug, and a thermal flask. He went to grab the medicine when he realized there was a weight on his legs, restricting his movement.

Books.

Law didn’t know where they came from, but there were books laying atop his side of the bed, making it a bit more difficult to move. He took one and pulled it close to him, looking carefully at the title: Flevance at A Glance. It was old and warped from water damage, but that didn’t stop it from having the first page be a glimmering photo of the hospital, the early morning sun glinting off the stone facade in a way the lad never realized he missed until that moment. Looking at the other books, he saw that some were medical texts, others were different guides to Flevance and Flevench culture, and one was even the latest copy of Sora, Warrior of the Sea. He took the comic along with the first book, nudging the rest of them gently towards the end of the bed, and took the medicine still sitting silently on the tray.

With some tea poured and cookies being munched, Law nestled back in as he read about his homeland and did his best to not cry.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

“Oh, come on… don’t you want to play pranks on Cora-san?” Buffalo whined. He and Dellinger were trying to goad Law, Baby 5, and Lami into going with them, the trio instead staring at them blankly, having instead been in the middle of a board game.

“I dunno…” Lami frowned. “It doesn’t really seem like fun.”

“Come on! You know how easy it is!”

“Easy! Easy!” Dellinger chirped from Buffalo’s shoulder.

“Yeah! And Baby, you used to be real good at it before they got here!”

“It used to be fun, but I guess I’ve found a better time with something not playing pranks,” she replied. Buffalo pouted.

“I thought you two wanted chaos!”

“We do… just…” Law trailed off, avoiding eye contact with the other kids. “Messing with Cora-san like that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”

“Pussy,” Buffalo sniped. As he lumbered away, Dellinger repeated the word from his perch. The siblings continued their game before the echoes of “pussy” had even faded; Dellinger’s voice was getting shrill.

“If you do still want chaos, what do you plan on doing?” Baby 5 wondered. Law simply continued with the game, rolling a pair of dice and moving his piece forward on the board.

“Give our story to the people who write Sora, I think,” Lami said. “We talked about it a lot… and… the World Economic Journal seems like the kind of people who’d publish it.”

“So… you’re gonna write it down?”

“Yeah.” Lami took the dice and rolled them; her piece got to be moved across the board, then backwards. “Bee-nee…? If… um… we don’t find something in time, will you make sure it gets there?”

“Of course,” Baby 5 nodded. It was her turn to roll the dice, grabbing the small cubes. “I’m not a Trafalgar, but I’ll make sure it gets told.”

“Thank you,” Law said quietly. Baby 5 rolled the dice and they fell off the table, skittering across the floor. “It means a lot.”

She was sure it meant more than she could understand.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Baby 5 hopped down from the stepstool and dragged it across the kitchen to the other end of the counter, using it to reach where the sugar was kept. She got it and pulled the stepstool back to where she had the tray sitting and nestled it amongst the varying things that she had piled on. Buffalo lumbered into the kitchen as she was pulling it from the countertop, nearly scaring her in the process.

“What are you doing?” he wondered. Baby 5 rolled her eyes—unlike her and her siblings, Buffalo was neither smart nor clever.

“I’m bringing lunch upstairs,” she explained. “Law-nii and Lami-chan don’t feel good—it’s a really bad day.”

“Ah, they’re just faking, dasuyan,” the teen chuckled. He grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl and began to eat it without peeling first. “They move fine.”

“You just don’t get it,” Baby 5 huffed, leaving Buffalo alone. She carried the tray up the stairs and over to the bedroom that all the kids shared, where Lami had crawled into Law’s bed and the pair were curled up together, whispering things at each other. “Middageten!”

“You can just say lunchtijd,” Law groaned.

“Or itenstijd!” Lami added. “Our neighbor said itenstijd!” She and Law shuffled slightly so they weren’t too close as Baby 5 put the tray on the bed and crawled in after it. “Oh! You have onigiri today!”

“Yeah, I’ve been practicing with Giolla and Gladius when they cook.”

“It’s ya, remember?” Law chided as he accepted a plate of onigiri. “Giolla-ya. Gladius-ya.”

“That makes you sound old,” Baby 5 sniped. Once the onigiri were distributed, she began to pour tea into their Sora, Warrior of the Sea character mugs. She passed Law his and put sugar in Lami’s before she handed it over as well. The younger girl held the steaming mug under her face, humming contently as the sweet, fragrant vapor soothed the lesions there. “Is that better?”

“Yeah, it is,” Lami nodded. “You’re really good at knowing what to do.”

“It’s my job to take care of my little sister and big brother, isn’t it?” Baby 5 smiled. “I gotta be good if I’m gonna help you stay comfy until Law-nii finds a cure.”

“You’re talking nonsense, Bee,” Law muttered. “The Young Master can’t even track down that Devil Fruit he was talking about.”

“We still got time,” Baby 5 insisted. “Cora-san will eat that Devil Fruit and then he’ll be able to cure you both! Then nothing will stop us!”

“No… we’re gonna die and all that will be left of Flevance is a Kuentan who can’t even get her vocabulary down and a story no adult will believe,” he replied sourly, avoiding eye contact.

“…but Law-nii!” Lami frowned. “You don’t know that!”

“Think logically! We barely have a year left! Any treatment is going to need time to work!”

“You’re so depressing!” Baby 5 huffed. “We’re going to find a cure and we’re going to get to go on all sorts of adventures together once we’re old enough! I’m sure the Young Master won’t mind!”

“Yeah!” Lami agreed. “It’ll be like that one time in Sora when he teamed up with those other Marines! We can go around like that! Brother and sisters! No one will stop us!”

“Germa 66 defeated them,” Law pointed out. “Stealth Black murdered his allies and then Sora was alone.”

“Germa might be real, but Stealth Black’s just something they made up for the comic,” Baby 5 scoffed. “You know what she means.”

“I guess.” Law put his unfinished onigiri and tea back on the tray and tried to get out of bed, only for his limbs to lock up on him, sending him face-first into the floor. Baby 5 put down her own lunch and went to help him stand, keeping him resting on her shoulder. “Shit… how come I’m the big brother, but you’re the one taking care of me?!”

“…because I’m not the smart one,” she replied. “You need to concentrate on figuring out how to get better, and while you do that—”

“We’re not getting better!” Law snapped, tears in his eyes. He pushed away from Baby 5 and balanced himself by grabbing the nightstand. “I don’t know how to fix this, Bee! Medicine doesn’t know how to fix this! The adults aren’t helping because it doesn’t concern them and that means that we are good as dead! You keep saying you’re stupid, but you should be smart enough to understand that!”

Turning on her heel, Baby 5 ran from the bedroom, completely oblivious to her sister’s shouts. She ran out of the house, through Spider Miles, finally finding herself in the garbage dump that the Young Master had found her in… the same one that Law-nii and Lami-chan claimed they were found in… born of trash, only to stay trash… that’s all they really were…

Angrily, she kicked a can and sent it flying. She was so upset that she didn’t know what exactly her emotions were doing. She loved Law-nii—he was her brother in a way that Buffalo or Dellinger never could—but he was so mean and it made her want to scream! She hated it, she hated it, oh she hated it so much and yet there was nothing she could do!

…because Law-nii was right: she was at least smart enough to understand that her siblings were dying. Baby 5 collapsed on a squished cardboard box and began to cry hysterically—she hated this so much! She was so caught in herself that she didn’t realize she was alone until it was too late and a large, shaky hand rested along her back. Recoiling, she took the knife she hid in her skirt and pointed it at…

…at Corazón…?! Panic began to take her as she realized that she had drawn a weapon against the Young Master’s beloved younger brother. Against Cora-san. She began to back away when he reached out with just as much fear in his eyes as she had, shaking his head.

Please! Don’t leave!

Baby 5 cautiously lowered her knife as she watched Corazón dig in his coat for something. He pulled out a pad and pen, writing.

What happened?

“Law-nii’s being mean,” she sniffled, sheathing her knife. “Lami-chan and I try to stay positive about their Amber Lead, but he…!” She choked up again and released a shuddering sob. “Cora-san, he says the adults aren’t doing anything! Why are the adults letting them die?!” Corazón paused before letting out a long sigh.

I don’t blame him. I’m sure if things look bad to me, they’re worse to him.

“I don’t want to lose my big brother and little sister! I love them! If I lose them, I can’t get them back like you got Young Master back! I’m scared!”

You’re right to be scared.

Baby 5 stared at the pad of paper for a moment before moving her gaze up at Corazón. The man was looking at her with something she never knew was there. For all the times he threw her out the window or tried to scare her into leaving, there was something… kind about him.

“Do you… do you think you can help me?” she asked. He stared at her, not nodding but also not shaking his head. “Maybe… if you help… then Law-nii will say I can have their names too.”

You want to be a Trafalgar?

“Not just that. All of it.” Corazón tilted his head and Baby 5 sighed. “Trafalgar D. Water—that’s the rest of Law-nii and Lami-chan’s names. Do you think maybe I can… uh… Cora-san…? What’s wrong? You’re shaking.”

Don’t tell anyone, okay? She stared at him. PLEASE. TELL NO ONE. I’ll explain later.

“Cora-san…?” Baby 5 flinched as he jabbed the paper again. I’ll explain later. “Okay. Promise?”

He held out his pinkie finger and she linked it with hers, knowing it was as close as she was going to get.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

They carried the initial D.

Fuck… there was an entire family—children, even—with the initial D. that had been living right under his nose.

They were Ds.

Well, at least two of them were. Rosinante didn’t know if the middle child wanting to potentially adopt it for herself made her one of them… one of the Enemies of the Celestial Dragons, but the Flevench kids… fuck. They were beginning to run out of time and there was little that could be done… little he could do under his brother’s eye.

“I’m taking a quick leave.” The transponder snail in front of him narrowed its eyes warily.

“Concerning?”

“Some outstanding business that would otherwise blow my cover.”

“What is possibly more important than our mission?”

“You’ll understand in-full once the mission’s done,” Rosinante replied. He took a drag of his cigarette and watched the smoke curl upwards towards the sky; he had to act tonight. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Be careful, Commander Donquixote.”

“Of course I will.”

“I love you, son.”

He stared at the snail, unsure how to respond. It wasn’t the first time those words had been said over the course of the mission, yet at the same time… he wasn’t entirely certain what they really meant anymore. He hit the button on the snail to hang up, allowing the mollusk its rest.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Needless to say that later in the evening, the kids didn’t all react to his ability to speak with the same sort of vigor. Lami nearly had stars in her eyes, Baby 5 hid behind Law, and as for the lad himself…

“What the fuck is going on?!” the tween hissed. Corazón’s heart threatened to burst as he watched Law try to put the girls behind him, being the protective big brother he was born to be… that he wished Doffy acted a little more like. “Since when can you talk?!”

“Always.” Corazón snapped his fingers and suddenly the world around them went extra-quiet. The crickets from outside were gone, the distant thrumming of the factories had vanished, and even the buzzing of the overhead lamp was silent. “No one else knows about it other than you three—it’s part of a special mission I’m on.”

“…but the mission is not for the Young Master…?” Baby 5 wondered. Corazón shook his head.

“Doffy thinks I am mute, when it’s really my Devil Fruit power that lets me stay silent,” he explained. “I’ve decided to set that aside for the time being, however, because there’s something more important for me to take care of.”

“…and what might that be?!” The look on Law’s face broke the man’s heart—so angry while so young… it wasn’t fair.

“I’m going to be the adult who helps.”

The kids stared at him cautiously, not sure what to think.

“Law, Lami,” he continued, “I’m going to get you two out of here and we’re going to find a cure. We will not stop until we get one.”

“…but, what about Bee-nee?” Lami asked, moving out from behind Law. Corazón stared at the trio and bit his lower lip. He didn’t want to split them up, but…

“Listen, Baby 5, I need you to be a big girl for me, okay?” he said, voice threatening to crack. “You have to stay here with Doffy and not let them know anything about what we’re doing or where we’re going or that I can talk. Do you understand?”

“…but… but… I have to take care of them!”

“I’ll do that, don’t worry,” he assured. “You’ve been a very good, very brave girl for making Law and Lami your siblings, but the more of us traveling, the slower we’ll move, the worse it’ll be. Besides, someone needs to hold down the fort.”

“…but Cora-san!” Lami gasped. “We can’t leave Bee-nee alone!”

“Either both my sisters go, or I tell the Young Master you’ve been lying to him,” Law growled. He shifted so that he was standing between Corazón and his little sisters. Baby 5 stared at him, her eyes wet with tears.

…both his sisters…

Both!

“Fuck… I don’t have time for this,” Corazón groaned. He muttered something under his breath and grabbed at Law, who instantly made no noise, hefting him up under one arm. “Come on, Lami-chan. The window’s not going to be open for long.”

“…but what about Bee-nee?”

“I’ll be fine,” Baby 5 lied. She hugged Lami tight and gave her the biggest grin she could. “Cora-san will help make you better! Then we can be a real family!”

“It won’t be the same!”

“Just come back to get me once you’re better—I don’t care,” Baby 5 insisted. She let go of Lami and pushed her towards Corazón, who was struggling to hold onto Law. “Just go!”

“…but Bee-nee!”

“Cora-san’s right! Just come back healthy, okay?!” Lami clung to her in a hug, with Law joining once he could bite down on Corazón’s arm in order to be dropped. Baby 5 knew it was okay to cry, because they all were. “Get healthy and then we can be like Sora and his friends!”

“In the meantime, Baby,” Corazón said, “I have an important job for you.”

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Law and Lami sat together on the examination table, a doctor and nurse going over the paperwork that Corazón had forged for them. The little girl held onto brother’s shirt as he kept an arm around her—they were both terrified.

“From my initial examination, your children don’t seem to be sick, other than seeming a little pale,” the doctor frowned. “I can understand your concern about vitiligo, but it’s nothing to be worried about.”

“That’s not what we have,” Law said, voice sharp and clear.

“So… you’ve already been diagnosed…?”

“Please,” Corazón insisted darkly, “I’ve brought my son and daughter all over the North Blue trying to find someone that will cure them. No one’s done it.”

“What did the other mean doctors tell you?” the nurse crooned. She reached towards Lami, her hand not making it as the girl replied.

“Amber Lead poisoning.”

Both the nurse and doctor flinched in fear, panic, and disgust. Law held Lami tighter as Corazón’s face began to twitch and he prepared himself for the worst.

This was going to be the next hospital to burn.

[pikahlua]

Hi! Your answer about heroism generally and Izuku saving Katsuki in ch.1 got me thinking. Izuku really does have heart of hero, he really wants to help people - that's for sure. But if it was just someone else and not Katsuki in ch.1 - Izuku definitely wouldn't rush to help. He even said something like "sorry poor guy I can't help you, but someone will do, I hope" before he saw it was Katsuki. So, it was kinda selfish moment for him, as I see it. So I wonder - can this exact moment be considered pure image of heroism on Izuku's behalf?

The original post, for reference.

"So I wonder - can this exact moment be considered pure image of heroism on Izuku's behalf?"

Yes it can, but it's because I disagree with your interpretation of the scene.

I am aware that there exists a certain subsection of the fandom who view the scene as you describe, and I have no problems with analyzing the question of what's going on in this scene or with crafting a what-if exploration of this scene in fanfic. That's fun shit. I just ultimately don't think that is what's going on here at all.

First, we have Izuku acknowledge that he's used to being a spectator. He's never run out to save anyone before.

This is an important acknowledgement because it sets up the general behavior of hero society bystanders. The same bystander from chapter 1 reappears in chapter 325 to explain it:

Chapter 1 then establishes for Izuku to know that the heroes aren't doing anything about the situation. Izuku is even made to empathize with the victim as he just experienced the same thing earlier that day:

Izuku ends up feeling responsible for the victim's pain, and he falls into the same mental trap the bystanders and even the heroes on the scene do: "We need someone with the right quirk."

"Someone will come to save you soon..." "A hero is bound to come..." Izuku knows the victim needs to be saved and acknowledges that no one currently there is doing anything to help the victim.

And then this happens.

There are many things here that could be triggering Izuku. One interpretation certainly could be that Izuku is prompted to act when he sees that the victim is Katsuki.

The problem with that is: we're actually told what triggers Izuku here.

There are multiple potential triggers. The victim being "Kacchan" is one of the possibilities. But the narrator ultimately tells us what was the factor that sprung Izuku into action "at that moment."

"You looked like you needed saving."

The thing that spurred Izuku to act was not seeing Katsuki; it was seeing Katsuki's face asking him for help.

Izuku knows there's a person suffering at the hands of a villain, a suffering Izuku is familiar with, a villain Izuku is responsible for helping escape All Might. Izuku is used to being a spectator who watches the heroes save the day, but there are no heroes here saving anyone. For the first time, he's at the scene of a villain attack, and the victim has to look around and ask someone, anyone for help. For the first time, the victim looks at Izuku and asks him for help.

"But if it was just someone else and not Katsuki in ch.1 - Izuku definitely wouldn't rush to help."

So I disagree with your above statement. I think if any other person would have looked to Izuku for help in that situation, Izuku would have rushed out to help. I don't think he's only a hero for Katsuki's sake.

However, I do believe there are other important reasons Katsuki is the victim here.

It demonstrates that any bad blood between Izuku and Katsuki is inconsequential to Izuku's impulse to save Katsuki. Izuku does care about Katsuki.

Likewise, the fact that their bad blood doesn't affect Izuku in this case does demonstrate Izuku's heroic qualities. His personal life does not get in the way of his heroism.

Most importantly, it shows that Katsuki admires Izuku.

I'm honestly not fond of the "(selfish) Izuku only saves Katsuki because he loves him, it's got nothing to do with his heroism" take because it betrays a bias. The notion that Izuku is selfish and cares only about Katsuki is a perspective that elevates Izuku's feelings at the expense of Katsuki's. This scene is not about how much Izuku cares about Katsuki; it's about Katsuki's feelings for Izuku.

For the entire chapter, most every character has made fun of Izuku for his dream of being a hero. They don't take him seriously. They think he's a joke.

Katsuki, consistently, does take Izuku's dream seriously. He sees Izuku as a legitimate threat.

We also learn later why Katsuki takes Izuku seriously. Despite Izuku's deficiencies, Katsuki has always seen something in Izuku that the rest of society misses. He sees the makings of a true hero, which causes Katsuki to doubt himself. He doubts whether or not he can measure up to Izuku in the same regard.

(He knows exactly what Izuku can do.)

Katsuki also ends up exposed and victimized by the way society is. Society sees people as just their quirks. That's how the heroes who fail to save him behave. That's even how the villain behaves.

Note that in this final picture, Katsuki looks away from the heroes to focus on Izuku.

On some level, Katsuki knows what real heroism is, which is what makes him so self-conscious and leads him to mistreat Izuku. When he is stuck and dying, none of the heroes even try to help him. Katsuki finds the one person in the area who would actually do something: Izuku. And so he pleads for Izuku's help with his eyes.

It's no mistake that All Might describes one of Katsuki's feelings towards Izuku as "awe."

He's just been terrible at expressing his awe because of his self-doubt.

Despite his rejection of Izuku, Katsuki is regularly shown to be in awe of him throughout high school. He's felt awe for Izuku ever since they were little kids. That's what makes him so uncomfortable. He really can't wrap his head around Izuku for most of their lives, which makes Katsuki himself feel inferior. But in chapter 1, in his moment of desperation, he looks to Izuku for help. He acknowledges Izuku's heroism only in his hour of need.

So when it comes to how I interpret chapter 1, I think the above distinctions are important to make. I don't mean to rain on any bakudeku parades. Seriously, if you like the other interpretation, you do you. But to me, THIS interpretation is the more bakudeku one. The reason Izuku's and Katsuki's destinies are so intertwined is because of their acknowledgement of each other's heroic traits, specifically the ones the other feels they are lacking. That's what makes them two halves of a whole. You can't erase Izuku's heroic traits, or else there is nothing for Katsuki to admire. There's no one otherwise who sticks out in the hero-corrupted society that Katsuki feels he can count on for help. Their deep relationship comes from their mutual admiration of each other. Chapter 1 is Izuku's heroic moment, and you have to have it preserved if you want Katsuki's feelings for Izuku to make sense.

That's my two cents.

[sergeantsporks]

Is Evelyn angry at Caleb for not trying harder to redirect Philip's witch-hunting interest to something more... benign?

Ignoring that she herself is a Witch, witch-hunting was historically used to justify some pretty nasty stuff like: Racism, sexism, religious prosecution, and classism.

To say nothing of how its victims were often elderly, disabled or deemed guilty only because of who they were related to. And you know, the fact that torture was typically used to achieve confessions too.

I'm just saying that Evelyn could very easily justify any concerns that she has about Philip's "hobby" to Caleb without even revealing that she's a witch. From a layperson's POV, Caleb is taking quite the lackadaisical approach to his little brother treading close to incel-adjacent territory, lol.

That's not the reason she's mad at him, but I'm gonna do a little explaining why 👍.

The thing with Phillip's interest in witch hunting is... I know I make a lot of jokes how Evelyn is dating someone whose brother is the one guy who thinks witch hunting is a good idea, but that's not exactly how it is with him. He's interested in it from a purely academic stance-- we're going to run into Jacob Hopkins next chapter, and (hopefully if I do it right) we'll see the difference between Phillip, who's looking at it through only a historical lens, and Jacob, who still pretty much applies it to real life and falls into that very dangerous territory.

While Jacob is like "wow, this is the history of our town and a legacy I think we should continue," Phillip is VERY aware of the politics and horrors involved in Witch Hunting. In fact, one of the things that drew him in as a subject is that he's FASCINATED by how the combination of racism/sexism/religion/classism/ablism/all that tied into how overwhelming this mob mentality was. In yet another spectacular failure to recognize the self in the other, the peer pressure and mob mentality of witch hunts is something he dissects from a modern standpoint and questions how it could have happened. He's aware of the fact that the people who were hung as witches were victims of aforementioned issues-- that's something Caleb actually did make sure he was clear on when Phillip first started getting interested. He's mostly interested in the psychology and how all the stuff going on at the time was just the right cocktail to set off this bunch of killings.

Now, the problem that Phillip falls into is that part of his mindset is "how could they kill so many innocent people hunting for something that doesn't exist and these people could not physically be?" rather than "how could they kill so many innocent people?" full stop. The reason he's sure witch hunting was wrong is because he doesn't believe magic is real, so it was all just a morality panic and people were killed for no reason. That differentiation seems like basically the same thing if you also don't think magic exists (like Caleb), so trying to address it (if you're Evelyn, who's very aware of the existence of magic) is something that would seem. Odd. And very unnecessarily semantic.

That differentiation becomes a problem when he gets to the isles and well. Okay so magical creatures and witches ARE real and some of them are a little gung-ho about wanting to eat his skin. Those people in the witch trials might not have been witches and it was a nasty bunch of politics that got innocent people killed, but these people here for sure are witches. And THAT'S when his witch-hunting interest becomes a problem.

[zoroara]

OCtober challenge Day 30 - Worm

The longer the wait more the anticipation from both parties grew. Tyr had made sure to keep an eye on the brat as he trained. After all, just because he was hoping this kid would be able to beat him. Didn't mean he was going to lie down and let him take this win.

No, he was going to make him go through a living hell that he had to barely worm his way to victory if he could. Teach him the hell that exists even if you're skilled that you'll nearly die against some opponents, and hopefully, that even if you're a seemingly invincible monster. That the opponent being somewhat inexperienced doesn't mean you can't be taken down by them.

When the battle finally happened, Tyr was more than ready. He was surprised how well Squalo kept up with him, occasionally mimicking moves that Tyr had used and then trying to throw him off with it. It was exciting, he had never fought himself, his own sword style, so having that mixed in as well as the brat learning quickly as they fought made this battle exhilarating.

Blow for blow, swords crossed, blocked, parried, a dangerous dance that went on almost endlessly neither could even think for a second about the fact it had been two days and a whole night since they started. They didn't have time, they needed to ignore the hunger and thirst they had as they continued to clash, bleeding out more and more. It was no longer a battle of pure skill but endurance, and Tyr being a bigger target, meant it was easier for Squalo to eek in more damages.

But Tyr was always inhuman with his limitations, charging the kid he goes to stab him but blocked again, though Tyr could tell he was weakening much faster. He could see an intense fear flash in Squalo's eyes, that he was forcing to become excitement and enjoyment of this battle so that he wouldn't falter. But that only made what happened next make sense. Squalo when Tyr had been pulling his sword back from the block ran at him wildly swinging his sword in what was clearly unthinking desperation. A move only someone who was still new would even attempt.

These were the final blows needed, tearing apart Tyr's chest and leaving him with lethal wounds. He laughed, falling to the ground. He weakly says to Squalo.

"Heeeeey... Welcome ta the Varia brat... You know, the victim's supposed ta choose how they die... So can ya take my head off fer me with my sword? I think that'd be fittin'."

He was glad that Squalo didn't hesitate. Whatever was the reason it was that he listened seeing his own heavy blade lifted over his head, the last sight that many of his own victims had seen, made him elated. Shame he couldn't experience the full drop as his life was removed as it slammed into his neck, decapitating him.

And one chapter closes, that doesn't mean I won't write about him other times for before this time. But it felt a fitting end in the terms of this month.

It should be noted that yes, Tyr's signature way of killing people is kicking them over and decapitating them. Which is why he thought it'd be fitting that his life was ended that way too. But this fight gives Squalo plenty of reasons that he never fucking talks about this to the point that the only person who even mentions this battle is Dino.

Also yes, that was Scontro di Squalo, as it was said this was the final move that Squalo created and what was that killed Tyr. Which I had been thinking about a lot. We probably only see a more refined version of it, and interestingly a move we only see succeed against other sword masters as every battle that it's used, even Yamamoto's version of it fails against non-swordmasters or people who aren't playing by normal sword play rules like genkishi.

It is a move that would only theoretically work against someone expecting mastery, and is extremely hard to deflect or counter just due to the sheer amount of sword swings coming your way. But if they don't do that and go around it, then you're kind of fucked.

[psymmetry]

writer 20 questions!

so aoba tagged panda and yellow (@guesst), who tagged me, but i saw panda's post first for some reason. hi everyone. thanks for remembering i exist, i had to dust off my writer card. i will be responding to everyone's points…

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

36

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

125,372

3. What fandoms d(id) you write for?

mairimashita

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

dying doesn’t suit you either (433), trying not to move (same fic) (360), pandemonium (280), it’s not the end of the world (239), soft cream otoshichatta(191). what, no kidnapping fic on here?  no vampirio? vampirio is still my second most iconic work; people mention it to this day 

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i think i do. enough that the number of comments is different from the number of comment threads.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

probably the one where kiri makes azu kill people and then it ends with him dissociating sitting on the bathroom floor knowing that his life is ruined. what a great fic. does anyone else want to read this fic? the statute of limitations has passed i don’t even mind

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

uuuu….. FIGURE IT OUT I DON’T KNOW

8. Do you get hate on fics?

never in my life lol i am a perfect angel

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

surprised to see other people saying they don’t. hey, if you get to write without being a disgusting pervert freak, why not me? if you can be motivated beyond a base impulse. if you can want something closer to pure, just for the satisfaction of pieces clicking into place, words coming easy for once– i want satisfaction in a bad way.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

IN… theory. A. i love crackficcing and B. i feel like it’s hard to find an interesting crossover, which is a challenge, but hm, not really a thing i do. 

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

no, but someone once used my manga coloring for a fancam. i can’t be mad, i stole that shit in the first place lolol

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

nooooo (psy is not that famous) (never got a podfic either)

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes! i have been listed as a co-author for beta-ing and i have also written fics that were completely co-concepted and beta’d by the other person. never written by like, trading off chapters or had both people write extensive passages though. 

14. What's your all-time favorite ship?

I’M POLYAMAROUS I DON’T HAVE AN OTP 

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

vampirio #2… i drafted it out and everything… from WIP to RIP… 

i don’t need to finish things for them to count towards my artistic development or whatever. you know, perhaps fans of my work would disagree. perhaps such people would prefer that i post things for them to read

16. What are your writing strengths?

this is too embarrassing. words pretty :> flow flow :> 

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i can’t structure and follow through on anything longer than 10k. i don’t block out time to write.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

tu quieres escuchar mi espanol terrible? en un fic? por que’ yo quisiera hacer este NFDNs?? escribir fic por the smash hit sensation EL CUARTO MISTERIOSO. yo debo mirar mas shows en espanol…. este keyboard no tene un numpad. fun fact. no alt codes para mi

19. First fandom you wrote for?

uuuuuuuuuu nope that’s LIMITED INFORMATION

20. Favorite fic you've ever written?

playing the victim. the aforementioned serial killer fic. 

i am tagging @cometkov and @dragonofthedepths! and everyone. everyone at all. if you see this you have to answer all 20 questions. 500 words each. assignment is due 11/30 11:59. by the way, here is a blank to make it a little easier.

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

The Pact - Part 9

Sam Winchester x Crowley's!Daughter Reader

Gothic AU

A/N: This is the penultimate chapter of The Pact The song referenced as their "first dance" is Kissing You by Des'ree

Also a HUGE thank you to my bestie @kazosa, if it wasn’t for her, this story wouldn’t exist. She’s helped me with this from the very beginning, so this is just as much her story, as it is mine.

WC: 7.7K

Series Summary: Lord Samuel Winchester has lost the love of his life due to the actions of the Demon King, Crowley. As he plots secret revenge, his father, the King of Lawrence, decrees that Sam will wed Crowley’s daughter in order to unite the two families to protect the sacred ground the Winchester’s Kingdom is built upon.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Crowley’s Daughter!Reader

Other Characters: John Winchester, Crowley, Rowena, Dean Winchester, Bobby Singer, Pamela Barnes, Jessica Moore (deceased)

Standing in front of the Ballroom doors, you, Sam and Dean all shared a look of apprehension. Dean would go through first, then, you and Sam would be announced. Though you were the daughter of The Demon King, Crowley, you had never been allowed to attend any sort of large gathering, much less a celebration of such opulence. The house of the King of Hell was not a joyous place. When he did “entertain” it wasn’t something you had wanted to attend at all. It was dark and demonic, mostly attended by his black-eyed minions and their blood-soaked victims. What King Winchester had put together here was like nothing you had ever seen; the ornate decorations, a collection of musicians playing beautiful music and an array of guests dressed in their best suits and gowns. 

Your wedding to Samuel was so small and intimate, and while it wasn’t something either of you wanted then, at least it wasn’t in the vicious halls of Crowley’s home. This would be your first big occasion as the Lady of the House and it left you feeling unsure if you could actually handle it. Upon entering the Grand Ballroom, you began to feel the weight of it all. Being the wife of Lord Samuel Winchester changed the game completely. Being his wife meant, putting on a public face, waving to the people of Lawrence, and whether you wanted to or not, act as though you were pure and chaste. That’s what the people wanted for the heir to the throne. A Queen that could see them, appreciate them, and acknowledge them with love and grace. 

As the guards each pulled open one of the heavy wooden doors, Dean mumbled under his breath. “Here goes nothing, kids.” He put on his best forced smile, pulled uncomfortably at the collar of his ornate shirt and sauntered into the room, hand up high in a wave, and the people of Lawrence cheered for their hometown hero. King John’s booming voice welcomed his eldest son back home, then turned his attention to you and Sam. Even from the distance between you, you could see the King nearly choke on your name as he announced his youngest son’s entrance. 

“People of Lawrence, please join me in welcoming and celebrating my son, Samuel, and his wife, Y/N. The new Lord and Lady Winchester!”

Most of the townspeople clapped and smiled as you hooked your arm through Sam’s and made a slow and purposeful entrance through the ballroom. Both of you smiling wide, and waving at those who had come to celebrate your marriage. You had a moment where you thought it was actually good Crowley had hid you away for so long, none of them seemed to know who you were exactly. If they had, you doubted the welcome would be so warm. 

Samuel led you through the room, and up to where the King stood, with Dean now at his side. Sam bowed to his father, and you performed a long, low curtsy as was tradition. The King, albeit it not genuine, gave his nod of approval, and Samuel took your hand to help you rise back to standing. He then moved you to his side, and took his place next to his father. 

“Let the celebration begin!” John told the crowd, and the musicians took their cue. 

As the music began to fill the Great Hall, the people in attendance took the opportunity to pair off and enjoy it with dancing. The longer you stood by your new family and watched them, you tried to imagine what it had been like for Sam and Dean to grow up in such a place. It was such a stark contrast to what you had been used to; everything was, from the moment you stepped foot into Lawrence. Despite all that was on the line, and all the back door deals that happened to get you to where you were, you found yourself in awe of it all. 

John took a step down from the platform, and turned to face his sons. “I’m beyond grateful to have both of you here tonight. Our Kingdom has endured so much pain and darkness, it is truly wonderful to have a reason to celebrate. Dean, even though your return is to be short, seeing you back home…” John paused and appeared to swallow down the emotion that rose in his throat. “I am proud of you, son.” When he turned to Sam, his whole demeanor changed. “Samuel, I know this choice was not an easy one for you. Losing Jessica not that long ago, and still agreeing to do what was best for our family, I am indebted to you.”

You could feel Samuel stiffen beside you, but he held strong to the appearance he had to maintain, and gave a quick nod and smile towards his father. “Of course, whatever is best for Lawrence and the Winchesters.”

“Boys, please, go and enjoy the party. Dean, I made sure to have Harvelle’s bring your favorite ale. Samuel, why not take your bride out for a spin on the dance floor.” He paused, momentarily forgetting about Sam’s hip and cane, “if it's not too painful, that is.”

“I think I’ll manage,” Sam replied curtly. He turned to you, with his cavernous dimples showing and held out his hand for yours. “Shall we, My Lady?”

“Why yes, my Lord. I would love to.”

As Sam led you onto the dance floor, you could feel the King’s eyes peering into the back of your skull. ‘Good,’ you thought, ‘I hope you are burning with anger over how much your son ended up adoring me.’ However, the moment he slipped one arm around your waist, and sheathed his cane to his belt, picking up your other hand in his, your thoughts of John Winchester ceased. Sam pulled you a little closer and slowly circled you around the dance floor, and all you could think of was him and how you loved his big, strong arms wrapped around you. 

“If I didn’t say it already, you look beautiful tonight,” he said, his gaze gently falling upon your face. “Despite everything, seeing you in that gown makes this entire evening worth it.”

“Well, it was gifted to me from your house’s seamstress when I first arrived. I’m just glad to have an occasion to wear it.”

“Even if it is this sham of a party thrown by my father?”

“Even if…” you replied and smiled softly. “Samuel, what I said before… about how I feel and what’s going on inside me–”

“Stop, Y/N. I’m half afraid you’re going to tell me you regret saying it all.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t regret it whatsoever. I just—I’m sorry I blurted it out that way.”

“At least we know the potion works,” he teased with a wink. “Speaking of, how long before spilling the beans did you ingest it?”

“Not terribly long. I added it to the tea you brought me as soon as your father left our chambers.”

 Sam grimaced. “That wasn't a great idea, what if it had been poison?!”

“But it wasn’t, My Lord. I am here and perfectly fine, as is your son,” you said, the last few words barely audible.

Sam pursed his lips together in disapproval, and pulled you a little closer. “I’ve said it before, I was against this from the beginning. But something’s happened between us, and now, the thought of losing you… not one I want to consider.”

“I swear, husband, by the moon and the stars in the sky, I will not place myself in danger like that again. For you, and our son, I will be safe and smart.”

Sam’s smile grew, and warmed you inside with so much emotion, you had a moment where you questioned if you had been the one to take the love potion. It felt impossible to feel so much love for someone you had just met, but you did. There was more love in your heart for Lord Samuel Winchester than you could fathom. 

You demurely cleared your throat. “However, as far as the potion goes, I couldn’t say if it was time, or if it was because I saw you that prompted me to speak so honestly. It wasn’t until I touched your hand that I was urged to do so.”

Sam considered this for a quick moment. “Hmm, so maybe it is triggered by something else.”

“Could be. My instincts tell me that it was because I was with the one I love most. Keeping anything from you in that moment would have been impossible.”

Before Sam could speak, he was being tapped on the shoulder. He turned you both around to face Dean standing there, his hands clasped behind his back and an uncomfortable, forced smile on his face. 

“I hate to interrupt the happy couple, but I need to borrow Sam for a few minutes, My Lady.”

“Right now, Dean?”

“Sorry little brother, duty calls.”

“Would you excuse me?” Sam looked at you and asked.

“Of course, My Lord. I’ll be fine. Besides, maybe you’ll have your opportunity…” you replied and looked down towards his pocket where he had the potion stashed.

Dean flashed you a quick smile then looked up to Sam and nodded towards his father. When he turned to walk back through the crowded dance floor, Sam unsheathed his cane and offered you a sad smile. “I’m sorry about this, but I do hope you’re right. Just pray this works to our advantage.” He left a soft kiss on your cheek, and turned to follow his brother through the party guests. 

When Sam caught up to Dean, he found John, along with the family’s good friend, Pastor Jim, each holding a pewter stein of ale. They were talking quietly in the shadows of the ballroom. Sam quietly furrowed his brow as he greeted them both, then looked to Dean who he could tell was just as curious to what was so important.

“Sorry to call you boys away from the party,” John started, “but Jim here has come with some very disturbing news.” John nodded to Jim for him to continue with the details.

“It’s good to see you back home, Dean. When do you return to the front?” Jim asked nervously, clearly wanting a bit of small talk before he spoke his own truths.

“Very soon. Tonight, most likely. C’mon Jim, what happened. If you came all the way up from your Parish to the big house, it’s gotta be something important.”

Jim sighed. “Two nights ago a man walked into the vestibule of the Church and killed himself. Missouri was there keeping a vigil for the boys fighting the war in Purgatory and saw it happen. She said that the man slit his own throat, but didn’t fall to his death until black smoke released from his body and out through the door. Guys, we haven’t had a demon possession in Lawrence in… well, a long time.” Jim’s gaze came to rest on John. “I thought… I thought there was an accord with the Demon King.”

“There is,” John rasped, then cleared his throat, then took a long swig of ale. “But really can’t put much past Crowley, can you?”

Sam and Dean exchanged an uneasy look. Before Dean could inquire any further Sam spoke up, his voice vibrating with indignity. “Crowley agreed to send his demons to help fight Eve. That’s the deal you made, or so you said. IF I married Y/N.”

The three other men stood quietly; but while Sam and Dean bore daggers into their father, Pastor Jim cast his gaze to the floor. 

“Boys… the negotiations with Crowley were a must. I know you don’t agree, but what’s done is done. The point is these demons are still possessing our people. It needs to end. Dean, I think you need to leave now. Get back as soon as possible and see if his minions are really there.”

“On it,” Dean said without hesitation. It was clear to Sam that his brother was anxious to get out of there for a multitude of reasons, but with this latest development it was now necessary.

“I’ll leave with you, Dean. I want to get back into the town. Don’t like leaving Missouri alone in that church, even if she can handle herself. Sam,” Jim said, turning his attention to the youngest Winchester, “I’m sorry for the circumstances of your marriage, but I do hope it is one that grows in love.” Jim raised his cup and downed the last of his drink, before leaving it on the small table at John’s side. 

“Already is,” Sam said genuinely, but his narrowed gaze at John held strong. What he had said to Jim was the truth. He was falling in love with Y/N, he had been feeling it all day long. After making love the night before, he felt it as he lay beside her in their bed. It was different than how he loved Jessica, but it was still love; a feeling he had resigned himself to never feeling again when he had stood over Jessica’s grave. Yet, he felt it, and no way he would let it go again. He was going to get the damned truth no matter what. 

After shaking Pastor Jim’s hand and giving his brother a strong hug goodbye, Sam stepped back and watched John place his own cup of ale on the table before giving Dean a proper send off. Jim had begun walking towards the ballroom doors, and when he was sure the coast was clear, Sam swiftly took the vial from his pocket and drained it into John’s cup. He resumed his stance with cane in hand just as John turned back around to face him.

“How could you,” John nearly snarled. “Spilling our business in front of someone who is NOT family.”

Sam snorted a laugh. “Seriously? You’re pissed I told Jim about the circumstances behind the wedding? People are being possessed, and your biggest worry is how Jim will look at you? What the hell has happened to you?”

“Son, until you are King, you have NO idea of the responsibilities that weigh on my shoulders to this Kingdom!”

“Sure Dad, keep telling yourself that.” Sam wanted to lean into him so hard, but he refrained. Inside, he mustered up all his will power and smiled. “I’m sorry, you’re right. I apologize. I am doing what I can to hold up our end, so hopefully Dean will get some answers about why the demons are still showing up here.”

That seemed to relax John a bit, and as he reached for his cup of ale, Sam’s breath hitched in his chest. He watched nervously as John finished his drink and sighed. When there was no sign he detected malfeasance with his ale, Sam released his held breath slowly and smiled to himself in great satisfaction.

You watched as Sam followed Dean through the crowd and suddenly felt incredibly lonely. You didn’t know another soul at the party other than Sam and Dean, and you barely had spent any time with him. Unsure of what to do, you turned to head towards the table to sit down, and before you could take a step, Bobby walked into your line of sight.

“My Lady,” he grunted, “have a second to chat?”

“Of course, Maester. Shall we go somewhere less crowded?”

“No, right here is fine.” He seemed to reluctantly offer his hands to dance with you. 

Giving him a slight curtsy, you took his hands and kept a good amount of distance between you. His gaze felt accusatory and it made you suddenly uncomfortable in his presence. 

“What would you care to chat about?”

“Any inklings on telling me what happened with Pamela today?”

“If you wanted to know, why did you take leave? You could have stayed.”

“Thought it best to give you your privacy.”

“So, what’s changed?”

“Happened to be heading into the party and saw you giving Sam something that looked like a whole bunch of trouble,” he said with an inquisitive expression. “Those boys are like my own sons…”

“I know, and they love you like a father. Since their own father can be quite… cold.” You looked across the room and could see Sam talking with John and Dean, along with another man you didn’t know. 

“You, of all people, wanna talk about cold-hearted fathers?” 

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Touché.”

“So, what did happen?” he asked again, like an old dog with a meaty bone.

You considered telling Bobby, but the urge to speak truth wasn’t there like it was with Sam. Did that mean the potion wore off? Did it only reveal true feelings to the one who held your heart? As these questions, along with others plagued your mind, your gaze wandered back to Sam and wondered if he would be upset if Bobby knew. But as you watched Sam, you were distracted by what he was doing. You could see him slip the vial from his pocket and could only assume he got it into John’s drink. Whatever happened was blocked by his body, as his back was to you.

“Y/N?” Bobby asked, and gave your hand a slight squeeze. “You with me?”

“Huh? Oh, sorry, I got lost in thought for a moment.”

“Alright, but, I need to know if what you handed him is something that’s gonna come back and bite him in the ass.”

“I mean no disrespect, Maester, but–” 

Before you could finish your thought, the music came to an abrupt stop as John took front and center on the platform again. 

John climbed the platform and looked over the sea of faces before him. He had been here many times, addressing other nobles, and even at times, the people of Lawrence. Not once had he ever felt nervous or ill-at-ease, until now. It was the part of the celebration he was least looking forward to, having to dote on Sam and Y/N. Announcing their union so publicly was not something he cared to do, even though the people there had no idea she was the daughter of The King of Hell; not to mention a witch in her own right. If he was able to announce Samuel had married such a pure soul as Jessica, it would be different. 

The memory of Sam cradling Jessica’s lifeless body felt heavy upon his mind. He knew it was stalling him from talking, and the faces looking back at him were getting restless. Forcefully pushing her blood stained dress from his internal vision, he forced a smile onto his bearded face and focused in on the task at hand.

“People of Lawrence! I thank you all for coming here tonight to join us in celebrating both of my sons. Unfortunately, Dean had to leave and return to Purgatory. He is bound and determined to lead the Winchester army against Eve to protect not only our precious lands, but also, our lives. That doesn’t mean we cannot continue on with the party, in fact, Dean insisted!” He chuckled in a way that looked sincere, but those who knew him well, knew he was not sincere in the least.

A small rumble of applause came from the crowd. That’s when he saw Sam from his peripheral vision, walking across the flood towards his new bride. John was distracted for a moment by the seemingly genuine smile on his youngest son’s face as the two of them locked eyes, then hands. Something wretched turned in his gut, and the vision of Jessica once again plagued him. His insistence to push the sight of her didn’t work this time. He could feel a chill around him, as if Jessica’s ghost was attached to his side. 

John cleared his throat. “It's been a long fight for our home, first in the Angel Wars, and now in Purgatory. Rest assured that my sons and I will not rest until she has been defeated, shoved back in the hole she climbed out of and then sealed away forever!”

A larger round of applause and admiration filled the ballroom with his last pronouncement. Again looking across the room and seeing the smiling faces of his guests, he knew that he now had to allow them to reveal in the joke of a marriage he duped his son into. His gut turned again, but he pushed through the sickness that lived there.

“However, tonight we are here for a very special occasion. My son, Lord Samuel Winchester, has taken a wife…” the crowd applauded and turned their attention towards the happy couple, backing up and giving them a wide berth on the dance floor. “Lady Y/N Winchester, we are so pleased to have you join our family, and I know you will not only make my son very happy, but one day stand before the people of Lawrence, as their Queen helping to keep with the traditions and loyalty that has led this Kingdom for generations!”

John thought he may vomit at his own words as the bile in his stomach quickly rose to the surface. Luckily, he pushed it back and again cleared his throat. He was almost through with the worst of it, then he could disappear into the wings of the castle and not see the witch dancing with his son. He had been wary of her since the moment she stepped foot inside the castle. Knowing the warding would keep a lot of her potential magic at bay, he couldn’t help but notice that Samuel wasn’t limping with the depths that he had been before her arrival. John didn’t know what spell she had casted on her son, but he was sure that she had done… something.

“Though the wedding was a small, private affair, I would be thrilled if Samuel and his bride could now take the dance floor, and have their first dance as husband and wife.”

John looked to the band of musicians to his right, giving them a nod. He had prompted them earlier with his gesture that they were to play an enchanting first song for the couple to dance to. Just one more thing on the list of things he hated doing.

As much as he wanted to look away, he couldn’t take his eyes off his son as he took his new wife into his arms, and began to move her so aptly across the floor. Other than the music, there wasn’t a sound in the room; the entire party was enchanted by the way they were looking at each other. John was amazed at the amount of love he saw flickering in his son’s eyes as they gazed upon Y/N. It was then that the guilt he carried began to rise forth in him as an uncontrollable force. He suddenly felt the overwhelming desire to unburden himself to Sam; tell him every awful thing he’s done that led to this union. A union he believed to be completely disgusting, but entirely necessary. 

‘Could Sam really be falling for her,’ John thought as his hand absently ran over his neatly trimmed beard. 

Sam was holding her close. John could see them speaking to each other in hushed voices, and the smile that lay across his son’s face would have made any other father glow with pride. It was a smile of purity; one that only a man who was deeply smitten with which he gazed upon, could have. How far Sam had come in a few short weeks since the wedding, which caused John’s suspicions of the witch to grow in leaps and bounds. No way Sam would or could fall for this woman so quickly, there had to be black magic involved somehow. 

As the music began to swell, he watched as Sam leaned in and kissed his bride, and the onlookers basked in their obvious love. ‘This is real,’ John said to himself, and began to slowly shake his head. ‘No, I won’t believe that. It's her magic. A potion, or a spell, maybe a hex bag. But Samuel would never fall for a woman like that, especially not the daughter of the man that took his Jessica. Whatever’s happened, is because of me. This is all my fault.’’

Oblivious to all the people around him, he felt his feet propelling him forward and approaching the happy couple as they continued to dance their first dance. It wasn’t until he was standing right beside them, and had placed his hand on Samuel’s shoulder, did he realize what he was about to do.

“Son,” John said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I’m so, so sorry… this… this is all my fault.”

Sam and Y/N exchanged a curious look, and when Sam finally looked at his father’s face, he was taken aback by the tears welling in his eyes. 

“Dad?”

John tried to find the right place to start, but he stumbled on the words. “This shouldn’t be happening… years ago I made a mistake…” he paused, lowered his head and released a heavy sigh. “If it wasn’t for that deal I made with Crowley years ago… I would never have arranged this marriage with his daughter. I had no choice…”

“Dad,” Sam released Y/N from his arms, and took a step closer to his father. “Maybe we should go somewhere private and–”

“No! I… I have to say this now. I had a son… after your mother passed. He was a mistake, unplanned…” John gripped Sam’s shoulder tight, his face pleading with his son to try and understand, “I was so afraid of how the people would look at me if they knew. I made a deal with Crowley.”

“You did what?!” Sam replied in a low rumble, shaking his shoulder free of his father’s grasp. 

John nodded slowly and let his mind wander back to that day

Deep in the MacLeod Castle—

“About time Crowley, you should think twice about making me wait.”

“Please, John, you came to me. You’ll wait as long as I make you. Now, what pleasure do I owe this little visit?”

“Our war needs to end if we both want to defeat Eve. She’s draining both of our defenses and I cannot see either of us lasting if we don’t do something.”

“True, and we can come to some sort of terms with that, IF you have something of worth to offer.”

“I learned of a situation recently… It appears some years back I created a son out of wedlock, Adam. His mother has pains to hide him away, but I fear that if the people of my Kingdom learn of his existence, they will not keep me as their King. Take my son born out of wedlock, and I will no longer send my armies to smite your demons, and you keep them from coming into Lawrence to possess my people.”

“Oh, John… it will take far more than your bastard son to make that deal happen. Let’s say… Adam… your soul–in ten years of course–and a favor to be named later.”

“Fine, Crowley… if I even live that long.”

Whispers in the crowd began to grow louder, pulling John back from his long ago memory that he just shared with the entirety of the ballroom. He looked around and came to understand that those close by had heard everything he said. It was making its way through the crowd, and the happy, smiling faces faded; replaced by ones twisted in confusion and disgust.

“How could you?” Sam snarled in a hushed tone. “I don’t even know where to start with this.”

“Son, please, hear me out. I–I never meant for this to come back to hurt you! You’re the best part of me and your mother, you don’t deserve this witch for a wife!”

The crowd audibly gasped at this bit of knowledge, and their murmurs grew to the point where they could no longer be ignored. Sam looked around nervously, and then noticed how stiff and uneasy his wife had grown. Her face went pale and her hand instinctively went to her belly. Before anyone could speak, or move to leave, the walls and floors of the room began to quake with a low rumble. Without warning, the room began to fill with a red, swirling smoke, obscuring everyone’s view of the ongoing scene playing out before them. 

The red mist quickly cleared to reveal Crowley, The King of Hell himself, standing mere steps away from John, Sam and Y/N.

The partygoers all backed up quickly, scared and shocked by his presence. Crowley noticed their reaction and smiled. “Guess I know how to make an entrance,” he said with a jovial lilt.

“What the Hell are you doing here?” Y/N asked through gritted teeth.

“Darling daughter, did you ever think I’d let you go without keeping an eye on you? Papa is always watching. I am a bit upset that my invitation to this grand affair didn’t arrive. Must have gotten lost in the post.”

“You weren’t invited,” Sam interjected. “In fact, I think you should leave, now!”

“Now, why would I do that? Am I not entitled to see my only child enjoy her wedding celebration?”

Sam stood tall, and took a step in front of Y/N, shielding her from her father. “Leave, Crowley! Now!”

“Please, save the theatrics for your bed chamber, Samuel. I suspect you’ll need them there to fulfill your end of the bargain.” Crowley offered him a sly grin, and then turned to John. “He does know the deal, right Sire? Your soul stays intact for ten more years, and Sam here helps my precious puddin’ to produce a child.”

The rumbles from the guests were now clear as day–

“Witch…”

“Traitor…”

“Murderer… bet she’s the one who killed…”

“Demon!”

Crowley was taking great delight in the scene he was causing; but more so he relished in the morbid look of disgust on his daughter’s face. She was a rebellious little brat, and he would take any chance he could to destroy whatever bit of happiness she had in her life. He wanted to be able to look deeply into her eyes, and see the regret she had there for not following closer in his footsteps. The girl had far too much of her mother in her for Crowley’s liking, even after his and Rowena’s influence had dictated her life. 

“I think it's time for you to leave, Crowley,” John spoke up and moved to stand between his son and the King of Hell. “Our business does not need to be spread like vicious gossip.”

Crowley couldn’t help but laugh. “I was watching you before I came in, John, I think you split that tea all on your own. Certainly didn’t need my help to stick that foot in your mouth.” Crowley picked a piece of linen off his perfectly tailored suit then looked around at the crowd of people who had been slowly backing away from him. 

“Just look at the peasant’s faces, you can see for yourself… All I did was have impeccable timing for my entrance.”

You stood and watched as your father and John went back and forth, shooting little jabs and quips at each other, while the mumbles of the guests behind you were beginning to make you more than a little uneasy. Yes, the point of the potion was to get the truth from John, but revealing you as a witch, and even worse, Crowley’s daughter, wasn’t part of the plan. Sam was doing his best to protect you, keeping you out of Crowley’s line of sight, but he couldn’t stop the danger that was growing from behind you. 

More exasperated and indignant comments from behind you began to rise, and all you wanted to do was turn and run away; but your feet wouldn’t allow you to. Frozen in fear, you stood your ground behind Samuel, silently praying to whatever God was listening that you were really asleep in your chambers, and this was all a horrific dream. 

John and Crowley’s argument grew louder, and as Sam stepped between them, you felt a presence come up from behind you. You nearly screamed at their touch, but once you heard the old gruff voice of the Maester, you relaxed a bit. 

“Come with me, My Lady. This isn’t a safe place for you right now.”

Bobby took your hand roughly, and kept you close as he tried to usher you discreetly through the ballroom. 

“No, Bobby, I can’t! I can’t leave Sam alone in this!”

“Hush, woman!” he replied in a rough whisper. “Sam can hold his own, but you? This crowd can turn mob real quick. Crowley can disappear at a thought. Can you? Didn’t think so. Trust me, okay? Let’s go.”

As Bobby pulled you away from the scene unfolding, you turned to look back at Sam. You saw him pull the blade that hid away inside his cane; the same one he once put to your throat.

Crowley laughed. “A simple blade? C’mon, Moose! I thought you were smarter than that.”

“It was created from an angel blade. C’mon, Crowley, I thought you knew everything,” Sam replied, and though you couldn’t see his face, you knew he was unflinching in his expression.

Bobby shoved you gently forward, “Go, woman!” he chided in a whisper. “This is gonna get real ugly, real fast!”

Without another thought, Saw thrust his blade forward towards Crowley, but the Demon King reacted too quickly and disappeared from the room. Sam groaned in frustration, but didn’t lower his blade as he turned to face his father.

“So much for the warding!” he growled at John.

“Son, please…”

“Please, what?! YOU did this to our family!” Sam roared at his father. 

“I never meant for my mistakes to cause you any pain. I did what I thought was best for the Kingdom.”

“No, as usual, you did what you thought was best for you!” His anger was growing more than it ever had towards John, to a point where he didn’t know if he would be able to control his rage. But somehow, he was able to stop himself from plunging the sword into his father’s heart. Sam capped his blade within his cane and turned to find his wife. Instead, she was gone, and all he was left with were the glaring faces of the party guests. 

“Witchcraft!”

“Lord Winchester has been compromised!”

“The Winchesters are taking up with demons and witches!”

“Infiltrated by demons!”

“Please!” Sam said, raising his hands high in the air, to try and get the people’s attention. “Please, let me sort all this out! There is no danger, Crowley is gone, and I will deal with my father’s choices.”

His words did little to calm them; in fact, they seemed to grow louder and more aggressive. Sam felt a panic start to rise in his chest as he scanned their faces as he continued to search for Y/N. He could hear John behind him, ignoring the slurs and comments, trying to plead his case, but Sam didn’t care what he had to say. All he cared about at that moment was making sure his wife and his unborn son were safe. 

Beyond the crowd, he could see the doors to the ballroom open slowly, and felt a hint of relief when Bobby’s face appeared in the sliver of light. The Maester motioned for Sam to come his way, but he wasn’t sure if the people that stood between them would actually allow him through. 

Without a word and an obvious determination, he started towards the doors. Those that were staring him down, promptly moved aside as the young Lord Winchester made his way through with a fierceness they had never seen before. The other guests barely noticed him, as their untrusting gazes were firmly set upon their King. Sam never once looked back to see how his father was reacting to it all, his focus was solely on getting out of the crowded room and locating his family.

Sam didn’t realize how stifling and hot the ballroom was until he felt the cool air of the corridor hit his face. He drew in a deep breath of air and looked around for Bobby. 

“Sam!” Bobby called out in a rough whisper from around the far corner, prompting Sam to move in that direction. Once they were together, there was a quiet exchange between them that acknowledged just how dangerous things had gotten.

“I know…” Sam sighed and hung his head to his chest. “Where is she?”

“In the apothecary. It was the only place I could think for her to hide til I can get you both out of here.” Bobby began to head for the stairs that would lead down towards his hideaway, with Sam closely in tow. “I don’t know what the hell happened there, but I get a feeling it ain’t good.”

When Sam didn’t respond, Bobby hesitated and turned to look at him. The expression on his face made Bobby certain that disaster was imminent. Shaking his head, he continued walking until they reached the archway to the apothecary, and passed through. 

A thought crossed Sam’s mind that caused him to grab Bobby’s elbow to stop moving.

“Did you know?” he asked quietly, his expression clear with worry that Bobby had known.

“No,” Bobby lowered his head and slowly shook it back and forth. “I knew he had some shady dealings in the past, but you know our King,” the last word he emphasized with annoyance, “isn’t always the most forthcoming guy.”

Sam simply nodded and released Bobby’s arm, then motioned forward with his chin. “C’mon, let’s get to Y/N then get out of this castle.”

You heard footsteps approaching as you waited nervously in the Maester’s. Unsure if it was Bobby or Sam, you found a place to shield yourself in case it wasn’t. Peeking around the corner of one of the large cabinets that held the Maester’s books, you caught sight of Sam and felt relief wash over you. 

“Samuel!” You came out from the spot in which you were hiding, and ran straight into his open arms. He held you tightly and bent down to kiss the top of your head. 

“You’re safe,” he sighed and kept his arms firmly around you. “When I turned to look for you, and you were gone…” Sam pulled back just enough to caress the side of your face and you could see the fear he felt. “It's been such a short time, but if I were to lose you now, I would be lost to grief.”

Bobby cleared his throat. “Well, now, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen. C’mon kids, time to skedattle.” 

“With the way the people were glaring, and the warpath I assume they will be on its best we leave, but what about my father?” Sam asked.

“John has enough trouble right now, boy. I will do my best to help the situation upstairs, but I can’t do that and keep you two alive. So, time to go…”

“But where can we go? All of Lawrence is going to be looking for us,” you asked and looked up to Sam, and saw he was nodding in agreement.

“Pamela… she’ll help us.”

Bobby swiftly ushered you and Sam through the root cellar and out through the castle’s tunnels, exiting out near the stables. There, he had two horses saddled and ready to ride. One was his own brown mare, who snorted in greeting upon seeing him. When Sam saw the other sleek, black stallion ready to go, he stopped in his tracks and turned to Bobby.

“Really? You saddled Dean’s prize stallion? You know he’s gonna have my head for even thinking of riding it,” Sam said and couldn’t help but smile. “Besides, how am I gonna ride? My hip…”

“Drop the act, boy. I know she healed you. I saw you spinning her around on that dance floor. Clearly whatever she did was more of a permanent fix than temporary relief.” You could feel his eyes on you, and though he wanted to be salty about you using magic on Sam, you could see he was also impressed.

Sam went about helping you mount Dean’s horse, and then climbed on behind you. Once Bobby was atop his own mare, Sam directed the stallion to follow Bobby as the three of you rode off into the night.

Bobby took a detour at the end of the grounds, and instead of following the road through the woods, he veered off into the Elven woods. 

“Bobby!” Sam called out. “Where are we going? This isn’t the way to Pamela…”

“Well, when you left her today, Pamela knew it was time to relocate. Whatever happened at her place left her pretty shaken. She thought the Elven Woods would be a good place to hide for the time being.”

“If she’s that shaken, will she even help us?” you asked more of Sam, than Bobby.

“She will.” Bobby replied. “She damn well better.”

The sound of approaching visitors caught Pamela’s ear, and though she knew who would be soon knocking at her door, part of her didn’t want to open it. Seeing the Lord and Lady Winchester in recent times had left her with a sense of dread, but what was more foreboding to her was that she could not see a clear outcome to whatever danger was looming over them.

Not once in her life had she not known what was going to happen. Even the day that she lost her sight to the angels, she knew. She contemplated avoiding it, but decided that it must be part of a grander purpose. 

Pamela had been correct. 

Losing her actual vision instead of what she could see with her third eye. She found herself more open to spirits and foresight, which ultimately allowed her to become the most renowned psychic medium in Lawrence and beyond. However, this business with King Winchester and the Demon King felt a bit too dangerous. It wasn’t something she wanted to get involved in… yet, here she was. 

A booming echo rumbled off in the distance, followed by a faraway flash of purple light that she sensed more than saw. She stood from the table of the old, abandoned house and went to the window. Pushing it open just an inch, she inhaled the scent of the Elven Woods and could smell the electricity in the air. . 

“Goddamnit,” she mumbled as she closed the window. “Last thing I need right now is a Rift Storm.”

Grumbling, she knew that her visitors would be arriving any moment and loosely gripped the handle to the door. Within seconds, she heard Bobby’s voice and cracked the heavy ancient oak door so they could get inside as quickly as possible. The storm seemed a ways off still, but those bolts of toxic electricity could reach the ground miles ahead of the actual Rift.

“Bobby, inside, quick!” she urged in a rough whisper. When she heard the three of them inside, she closed the door and engaged the bolt so it would lock. Turning to the unannounced trio, she sighed. “Great, a bunch of fugitives AND a rift storm. Bobby, when are you going to stop pulling me into this drama?”

“I am sorry, Pamela, but these kids here need some help. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have helped them already.”

“Well, stop exploiting my soft spot for true love, Bobby.”

“Noted. But for now, can they stay for a few days? I need to get back to the castle.”

“Bobby, you know I love your snarky ass, but I already lost my eyesight to angels, I sure as hell don’t want to lose my life to demons. And that rift storm is a sure sign of demons in the Elven Woods.”

The room was silent. Neither you, Bobby or Sam knew how to tell her that it wouldn’t be just demons on their way to Lawrence, but that the townspeople were also up in arms given the sudden confessions of their King. Pamela could tell their silence held more than she cared to know, yet she knew that her role in it all wasn’t yet over. The last thing she wanted to do was be caught in the crossfire, but deep down she knew she also had zero control over whatever fate had in store.

“I guess you can at least stay the night. I have an idea of what went down tonight. You used it, didn’t you? You extracted the truth from the King?”

“Yes,” you answered, and looked shyly towards Bobby. “I tested it on myself first. I realized it worked when I told Samuel everything.”

“Everything? About your own mother, too?”

You could feel Sam’s eyes on you, questioning you. 

“No, there wasn’t time for that then,” you paused and looked up towards your husband’s eyes. “But I promise to once I know we’re all safe.” 

“Ok. With as much trouble as I have already caused in giving you that vile, I suppose I need to be here for the consequences. Besides, I can’t possibly kick a pregnant woman out into a rift storm, so you can stay as long as you need to. You should be safe here for a while.”

Pamela’s words caused you and Sam both to gasp, and look towards Bobby. His face was that of a man in shock, not to mention, suddenly scared.

“Excuse me?! Pregnant?!”

Sam snorted a nervous laugh. “....Surprise?”

“Idjits, both of ya.” Bobby growled and shook his head. He took another moment to collect his thoughts, then expel a resigned breath. “Well, congrats I guess. But you know what that means, right?”

“No, what?” you asked as your hand anxiously reached for Sam’s, squeezing it tight in fear of what Bobby’s answer would be.

“If you thought those people at the party were upset with you being a witch… honey, being a witch who is pregnant with the heir to the throne just made the bounty on your head go up exponentially.”

[wiltingredroses]

Venomous: An Extreme Horror Novella Chapter 1: House Guests

Leaving a toxic relationship is always hard.

It's even harder when you've known the person since you were in girl scouts together.

It's harder still when they are currently draining the life out of some poor bastard on the living room floor.

The man's screams had long since been reduced to low, pained moans. Now he only stares up at me pathetically, silently begging for help. Not that I would, even if I didn't fear the monster hovering over his soon-to-be corpse.

I would not be losing sleep over his death. Had we not made him our victim tonight, he would have made one of some other poor girl. I'd caught him slipping something into his date's drink at the bar earlier tonight. Thankfully, I was able to warn her in time. Her swift exit allowed the two of us to swoop in and take her place. He didn't put up much resistance. How could he complain? Two willing girls offering to take him home instead of one that he'd have to drag back to his. He had no idea what was in store for him. 

She prefers girls, so do I, but men are so much easier. They'll follow you just about anywhere so long as there's a chance, no matter how small, that you will sleep with them.

I'm Maeve, and the monster masquerading as a human being is Evelyn. Or we were, at least, once upon a time. Today I am Diane, and she is Abigail. Last week, we were Chelsea and Mary Anne. Tomorrow, who knows? We concoct new identities for every town. We are Maeve and Evelyn only to each other.

Evelyn straightens up, wiping the blood from her mouth. She smiles at me in a way that tells me she wants me, here and now. The body on the floor twitches. I am unsure if he is alive or dead. She has a tendency to take her time with her food. She had been drinking him bit by bit for the past hour or so. If she likes a victim especially well, she can take days to finish them off. She must love me if that's the case. She's been draining me over the course of fifteen years.

Despite the unappealing company, the lust was mutual. She pounces on me, pinning me to the couch. One hand grabs my wrists and the other slips under my dress, trailing between my legs. She puts her mouth to my neck and bites down. She doesn't drink. She doesn't need to. The waste of human flesh growing cold on the floor will keep her sated for a while. A few days, at least. She rarely drinks from me. Only on a handful of desperate occasions has she ever needed to, and only enough to hold her over until we could find someone else. Each time she made me hold a stake to her heart for the duration, in case she found herself unable to stop. The biting was for another reason entirely, well, two really. For one, It was her way of marking her territory. She was always possessive, even when she was human. Secondly, because it felt so good.

The adrenaline rush from the kill fades in an instant as the venom from her bite takes over. It has a drug-like effect that acts as a sedative; Typically used to keep prey from running away. In large amounts, it paralyzes them.  In the early days it was a necessity. I wasn't always this blase about watching my girlfriend kill people in front of me. After the first time it happened, I was overcome with anxiety twenty four seven, unable to go outside or even sleep without a significant amount of xanax. Once, during the midst of a particularly bad panic attack, she tried it on me out of pure desperation. It worked like a charm. She was more or less permanently attached to my neck for awhile. Whether it began to have long-term effects, or I just became used to the bloodshed, I'm still not sure. Either way, it is used almost exclusively for recreational purposes nowadays.

Any and all pain ceases to exist in this moment. Bad memories and trauma were forgotten. The all-consuming guilt that eats me alive every moment of every day is replaced with pure euphoria. What Evelyn is doing to me becomes nothing but background noise as my eyes roll back. A photo hanging on the wall stares back at me: a happy couple on their wedding day. They really were a beautiful couple. We hadn't known they were expecting until we discovered the half-decorated nursery, but it was far too late by then. The wife died quickly, at least: a rare act of mercy on Evelyn's part. The husband on the other hand... well, they're together now, at least.

-

It happened at a house party about four years ago. We had gotten into a fight and I stormed off back to our shitty motel room early. She didn't come back that night, or the next day. She finally stumbled in after dark, several shades paler with an insatiable thirst for something warm and crimson. Evelyn was the only survivor of a full-scale massacre that broke out shortly after I had left. The whole thing was a trap by the hosts themselves, luring in the local youths with the promise of booze and drugs. She never saw the monsters that turned her ever again. They changed her life forever and discarded her like trash on the side of the road.

Why did I stay, knowing my girlfriend was now an undead creature of the night that requires regular human sacrifices to sustain herself? Well, we have history. The kind of history a petty little thing like that can't even hope to overshadow. We've been friends since we were eight years old and started dating when we were in middle school. In the ass-backwards town we use to call home, this was not an accepted thing. We were outed at school pretty early on. It was hell, but it was nothing compared to what happened when the news got back to our families. My own parents were discussing the possibility of using my college fund to send me to one of those "pray the gay away" camps, whereas all Evelyn's parents could spare was a black eye and a split lip. She showed up at my window a few nights later with all her worldly possessions stuffed in a duffle bag. It didn't take a whole lot of convincing for me to join her, stealing what few valuables my parents had laying around on my way out.

We spent the next several years drifting from city to city, crashing on stranger's couches, cheap motels, and occasionally in Evelyn's truck when no other options were available. We had been offered more permanent housing over the years, almost exclusively by men, but we always declined. Their offers never came from the goodness of their hearts. They would usually accept just being allowed to watch as payment for a night or two, but eventually they would want in on the action. As long as we weren't having sex with them, we could pretend what we were doing wasn't really prostitution.

It was a difficult and scary life, but we were willing to put up with it as long as we were together. Besides, what a life on the road lacked insecurity and comfort, it made up for in fun and excitement. We made friends with strangers in every city. Within an hour in a new place Evelyn would score an invite to a party or the address of an exclusive local night club. One of her many talents was her ability to spot a dealer within minutes of arriving. We never had much money in those days, but somehow we always had money for drugs. That was what we were fighting about that night four years ago. I voiced my worries about her developing a drug problem, but she insisted she was fine despite spending what was suppose to buy us another two nights in an motel room on coke.

Eventually, we would both turn eighteen and were no longer on the run. We tried to settle down a time or two, getting what low-paying jobs a couple of high school dropouts could get. We were still struggling, without any of the benefits we use to enjoy. We decided if we were destined to be poor, we would at least make it fun. Then, Evelyn, love of my life, became a monster. The changes were subtle at first. Then her morals shifted even further into shades of gray. She became more aggressive, and her jealousy issues reached a fever pitch. I couldn't even make eye contact with the opposite sex without her trying to lure the guy into a dark corner and draining him of his life force. Slowly she went from killing out of necessity to killing for monetary gain, and eventually, just for fun. All the while I was too strung out on vampire venom to even care. It turns out I'm a hypocrite as well as a coward.

When I was finally able to be sober for more than a hour at a time, Evelyn had already racked up a body count comparable to that of civil war battle. Still, I stayed. What other option did I have? I've never known anything else. Besides, we have the best of both worlds now, right? We're never strapped for cash now, and we don't even have to work. We get to sleep in an actual bed every night and we don't even have to worry about bedbugs and cockroaches eating us alive as we sleep.

I hope that makes my current position understandable, if not excusable. The position being lying in the bed of a married couple that is currently decomposing in the basement, while my vampire girlfriend stares lovingly at me.

"Maeve, my love, It's time to wake up." She purrs. She sits on the ground next to the bed, her head resting atop her crossed arms on the mattress.

"Already?" I groan and look at the clock on the bedside table. It is only 5:00 PM. The sun hasn't even gone down yet. It is odd for her to wake before me. She was never an early bird, even when she was alive.

"I think we've overstayed our welcome here, darling. It's time to move on."

As reluctant as I am to be on the road again, I know that she's right. It had been a week already. We had made sure to tell the couple's respective workplaces that they would be out of town due to a family emergency, but that won't be sufficient for much longer. Messages on the answering machine have begun to pile up in the past few days. Concerned friends and family members are beginning to grow suspicious. It won't belong until they start showing up to the house. It is a shame. I was really getting use to the place.

Reluctantly, I sit up in bed and glance around the room. Our stuff has been strewn haphazardly across the floor, the dresser, the bedside tables and even the lampshades. When you never stay anywhere longer than a week, you don't really get into the habit of putting things away. Evelyn kisses me gently on the cheek before standing up. She begins combing through our stuff and picking out what was hers to pack into her bags. I yawn and stretch before joining her, working as quickly as I can this soon after waking up. We are on a time crunch to find a new place to stay before dawn.

"Remember to grab anything valuable!" She says, stuffing a watch into her suitcase. I know the drill. We have done this countless times already. After I am sure I have gotten the last of my stuff from the bedroom, I empty out the jewelry box sat atop the dresser. I grab anything that looked remotely valuable before discarding the rest. I have no way of knowing if any of it is even real. Surely some of it has to be.

Together, we make quick work of the place. We have our bags packed and sitting by the front door by sundown. We were going over the place for a third and final time when we hear a knock at the door. I look at Evelyn. She gestures to a ray of light from the setting sun shining on the carpet. It's all on me.

I grab a knife from the kitchen before approaching the front door. Evelyn stands a mere few feet away, hiding in the corner. It's not often that I'm put in charge of the kill, but it is sometimes necessary. I grip the knife behind my back as I open the door a crack to see a man on the doorstep.

Please don't be a cop.

"Hello? Can I help you?" I ask. The man seems familiar. I am sure I've seen him in a few pictures around the house. He must be a relative.

"Hello, are the Stephens home? My brother hasn't been returning my calls lately. Anyone's calls, actually. His family is getting really worried about him." He said, looking me up and down. Thankfully, I have a lie locked and loaded for this exact scenario.

"He didn't tell you? They're out of town at the moment. There was some kind of emergency with his wife's family. I've been house sitting for them while they're away." I respond in my signature sugary sweet singsong voice as I open the door wider.

"And you are?" He asked, still apprehensive.

"I'm Diane. My family lives next door." I responded. I don't know why I bother with a fake name. It won't matter in a few moments. I look behind him, at the truck parked in the driveway. He came alone. Good.

"Do you want to come inside?" I ask, stepping aside. He hesitates for only a moment before walking into the house. I have no ill will against this man, but I have no other choice. I'm in far too deep to back out. If only he had arrived half an hour later, he would have lived.

I quickly shut the door behind him once he is a good distance inside. Giving him no time to assess the situation, I lunge at him. He screams bloody murder as I plunge the knife into his back, which, given that it is bloody murder, is appropriate. Before I can pull it out, he spins around and backhands me across the face, knocking me to the ground. I lie there, ears ringing, vision blurred, too dazed to react.

"What the fuck did you do to them, you crazy bitch?" He yells, reaching down and pulling me up by my hair. With his other hand, he starts to pull the knife out of his back, grunting in pain, but too determined to stop. I don't even notice Evelyn stepping out of the shadows. He raises the bloody knife and for a few seconds I genuinely believe that these will be my last moments. Alas, before he can put an end to my miserable life, he is interrupted.

He never had a chance. Evelyn sinks her teeth into him before he even registers her presence. He falls into a heap on the floor before me. He is still breathing, but unable to escape as the venom flows through his veins. I feel Evelyn's soft fingers running through my hair as she gently whispers into my ear.

"Shh, baby, it's okay. The bad man won't hurt you anymore." Her words are of little comfort. In that moment, I wish she had been slower. I deserve whatever the man would have done to me. I know that I'm not the hero of this story. Evelyn may be a monster, but I'm her willing sycophant. I will do whatever she says, for no other reason than I can't imagine a life without her.

With little effort, she picks me up off the ground and cradles me in her arms. With a gentleness you wouldn't think possible of a creature like her, she carries me to the couch. I shut my eyes tight to stop the room from spinning. I can taste blood in my mouth. After a few moments, I hear the sound of a body being dragged down a flight of stairs, a sound I have become uncomfortably familiar with. The man's muffled screams travel up from the basement. I can't even begin to imagine what she is doing to him. Considering the kinds of things she did to innocent strangers that had never so much as looked at her the wrong way, I do not want to consider the fate of the man that had raised a hand at me.

I'm not sure how long the torture lasts. Eventually, the dizziness overcomes me to the point that I pass out. When I come to, Evelyn is standing over me, covered in blood and viscera. She smiles softly and kisses my forehead.

"We have to go now, baby."

-

Quickly, we shower and change out of our bloody clothes, stuffing them in a bag to be disposed of later. We have no way of knowing if the neighbors heard the screams. For all we know, the police are already on their way. We throw our stuff into the man's truck and peel out of the driveway, leaving the little suburban home behind. Switching out vehicles on the regular is necessary to avoid being tracked. We'll have to abandon it as soon as we can. It won't be long until the police are looking for it.

We drive for an hour straight before stopping. We want to get a good amount of distance between us and the rotting corpses in the basement before even considering our next moves. Eventually we stop at a gas station in a particularly sketchy part of a particularly sketchy town. I stay in the truck while Evelyn goes inside. I don't want to be seen by anyone in my current state. Were anyone to come around asking questions, my battered face will stick out like a sore thumb. She is gone for a good ten minutes before climbing back in the truck and dropping a paper bag in my lap.

"I just talked to guy inside that told me where we can go to fix our truck problem."

"That's a surprise." I respond, opening up the bag to find the painkillers and half dozen bottled coffees I had requested. Evelyn has a knack for identifying the seedy types. If someone is operating outside of the law, she can spot them quicker than the most seasoned of detectives.

"There's an auto repair shop not far from here that accepts cash and doesn't ask a lot of questions." She says, ignoring my comment.

"That's one problem solved. Where are we headed after?" I ask, unscrewing the cap of one of the bottles.

"We'll have to find a place to stay for the day while they work on the truck. Next we'll head to the nearest city and sell as much of the shit we took as we can. Then, I'm thinking New Orleans."

"Yeah okay, Lestat." I scoff, taking a drink. The coffee has the viscosity of syrup and is just as sweet. It is hardly gourmet, but it will have to do.

"Careful, or I just might make my very own Louis out of you." She says. I roll my eyes at the empty threat. I pop open the pain killers a swallow a small handful.

"Since when do you read?" I ask. In the fifteen years that I've known her, I've never seen her read a book that wasn't required for school. Even then, she usually just looked up the cliffsnotes online.

"I saw the movie. Well, most of it. I fell asleep. It had a happy ending right?"

"Yeah, Louis and Lestat make up and open a bed and breakfast in Vermont. The last ten minutes are just hardcore gay sex."

"I acknowledge your sarcasm, but choose to believe you regardless."

"It's true! Well, according to the fanfic I wrote 7th grade anyway." She laughs. Her laugh is one of the precious few things about her that hasn't changed. Every time I hear it I remember once again why I ran off with her in the first place.

-

The shop is just minutes away. Once again, I wait in the truck as Evelyn goes to talk to the men inside. Not that I would be of any use in this situation anyway. This was her expertise. It always has been. I never would have managed on my own without her.

After only a few minutes she returns with a man following after her. I roll down the window as she approaches.

"Well?" I call out to her.

"Frank here says he can do the job - and quick." She replies. I open the truck door and hop out, keeping the bruised and bloody side of my face hidden. Evelyn helps me unload our bags, making sure we don't leave behind anything incriminating.

We watch as he gives the truck a once over. It doesn't take him long before he finishes and walks over to where we are standing, wiping grease off his hands with a rag.

"Yeah, I can have it done by tomorrow night. Assuming quality is not a concern of yours." He says.

"It is not!" Evelyn replies, tossing the keys to him. Frank catches them and nods. Without another word, he climbs into the truck and drives it into the garage.

"Where are we staying until then?" I ask.

"A buddy of Frank's is going to give us a ride to the nearest motel. It's not gonna be luxury, but it will keep me from going up in smoke in the morning." As she says this, an old rusty pickup truck pulls out from behind the building and drives up next to us.

"Get in, ladies!" A bald, grungy man wearing mud covered overalls calls out. I exchange a glance at Evelyn. I suppose we don't have much choice. We let out a collective sigh, grab our bags, and climb inside.

[b0rderbunny]

♡ORPHIC♡ (PROMO)

(A/N): New Death Note fanfic on my wattpad, chapter 1 is out! for any confusion, this is an AU where Light didnt pick up the Death Note and instead a OC named Akiko Did. L is Blue Akiko is Pink Together is purple

“We interrupt your program to bring you an important message from the ICPO, this is a worldwide emergency alert message. My name is Lind L. Taylor, otherwise known as ‘L '’” Akiko’s eyes widened as a small blush spread to her cheeks. 

‘L? As in the L? The number one detective in the world who solved over 3000 cases? He looks a little different than expected but still it's the L! ‘ 

“To the perpetrator of these serial murders, you have committed the most abominable act in history. I will personally catch the one behind it… ‘Kira’ at any cost.” ‘L’ said glaring directly at the camera. A glare that sent chills up the girl's spine. 

“L…. you truly are amazing!” Akiko squealed while gazing at the screen with a blush. 

Ryuk observed with an amused expression as the girl fangirled over the detective. 

“Kira-” the detective continued stopping the girl from her train of praises for the male. “- i think i have a pretty good idea of what you are trying to do and why you're doing it. But what you're doing.. Is evil.”

'Evil? If L thinks what I'm doing is evil then is it? …. That doesn't matter. Sometimes it's easier to use the evil route to a pure, perfect, and safe destination.’ she thought, flipping the page to an empty one. “I truly will be a honor to be the one to kill you, L” she whispered, writing the name ‘Lind. L. taylor’.

“ Police all over have already begun to investigate.” ‘L’ said a serious expression. “Such a shame for such a pretty mind,” Akiko said softly and sadly, looking at her clock. “Ah, just 20 seconds.” she said with a sad smile present on her lips. 

“Ten……. Three. Two. one.. Zero.” as she finished the count down the man on the screen yelled clutching his chest in pain a second later falling dead. 

“Bye bye L '' she sighed, getting ready to turn off the Television as two men carried the dead male off screen. 

“Unbelievable!” a new voice joined in stopping the girl in her tracks. “I did this on the off chance that you would kill ‘me’.” The voice said confusing Akiko. 

“So Kira you can kill people without even being nearby. So it's true after all… if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I would never have believed it. But this was the only way you could have killed them, wasn't it? Kira listened to me. The person you killed was actually a prisoner sentenced to be executed at this time today. Not me. He was a criminal imprisoned without any media attention so naturally even you didn't know he existed-”. “Heh he got you there” Ryuuk laughed, making the girl strike him on his shoulder. “-but let me assure you. I am real. So why don't you try to kill me?!”

“Seems like you can't kill me after all” 

“So there are people you can't kill, you've given me a useful clue~. Let me give you one in return. I said that this was a world wide broadcast, but in reality it's only being shown in the Kanto region of Japan. I was planning on doing this in the other prefectures of Japan, but now that's not necessary. I know now, you're in the Kanto region”

Akiko’s eyes widened as Ryuk chuckled behind her. “Heh, heh, this L guy isn't half bad” he said rubbing his aching shoulder.

“The police might have missed this but I know your first victim was a murderer in shinjuku. Compared to all the other criminals who died of similar causes, this guy seems insignificant. And only the Japanese media reported this incident. That was the only clue I needed to know you're in Japan. And that was just a test for your killings. I got lucky casting my net out to the most populated area of Japan.”

“I didn't expect my plan to go so well.”

“Kira, I am extremely interested In your killing method. I'll figure it out. When I catch you. “ The blush on Akiko's face grew.

“L…” she mumbled.

“Kira…” 

“I will hunt you down and destroy you!” 

“I am-”

“I am-”

“Justice!”

“See you Kira”

The television buzzed off as the man signed off.

“Each searching for an opponent whose identity is a mystery. And the first to be found will die. I'll be looking forward to the results.

“As expected….. L…… you're so cool!” The girl squealed.

‘Humans are so interesting.’

[linkspooky]

Yuji vs Higuruma

There's some really interesting character foiling going on with Yuji and the defense attorney. Especially since Yuji, idealistic, obsessed with saving others, and exorcising curses are unable to convince a former defense attorney who once had the same goal to end the culling game. The question is why an incorruptible ball of pure sunshine is unable to convince him. It's because Yuji isn't actually any of those things. More analysis under the cut.

1. Let's talk about Junpei (Again)

Before I start digging into the connection between Higuruma and Yuji, the chapter itself starts out with a Junpei foil. A character who is weak, and because he is weak and a target of bullies and not strong enough to stand up to them, ends up developing an unsavory and unlikable, mostly apathetic kind of personality.

Rin Amai develops an attitude of compliance and self-preservation in the face of bullying, even to the point of sitting there and watching as bullies pick on someone else knowing very easily that it could be him. It's precisely because it could be him, he becomes an apathetic watcher in order to survive not standing up to the bullies and egging them on instead. For him, the most important thing is to go with the flow and not be seen as a target.

It makes Rin Amai come off as callous at first, until you realized a much more obviously bullied and victimized Junpei almost gave this exact same speech.

I'm indifferent, because I know how bad people are. I can watch you kill people Mahito, because I don't know them, and more importantly I know the first people you killed were people who were killing me, they're bad people, in my books.

Junpei's rather honest declaration is that if there were a button for killing people he doesn't like, he wouldn't hit it, but if there were a button for killing people who didn't like him he wouldn't hesitate. The reason why is because Junpei doesn't want to go out of his way to hrut others, however, he's been such a target of bullying so many times, that he would kill the people who bullied him, just so he wouldn't be targeted anymore. It's the exact same logic as Rin Amai going along with the bullies. I have to do this, so I won't be targeted.

It's nto because people like Junpei or Amai are malicious people, but rather it's because they don't want to be beaten up. They are victims, but also victims who aren't one hundred percent good or pure people because, when they are the ones who may get hurt, they think out of self preservation, Junpei is so in pain from being repeatedly bullied all alone he simply isn't strong enough to worry about other people. His apathy is a defense mechanism against constant victimization.

This is also something Yuji fails to understand when he goes up against Junpei. He doesn't know what Junpei is going through, because Yuji has literally always been stronger than anyone else around him, when he comes across bullies he can just beat them up. Yuji doesn't really understand the feelings of a weak and helpless person like Junpei, so from the start he didn't really see him as a fully fledged human being, he just flipped between seeing him as someone either to fight against or someone to be saved.

When he admits Rin Amai again he doesnt even recognize him, and in the flashback where they met, Yuji isn't even looking at him. After beating up the bullies to stand up for a poor bullied kid, the look in his eyes is just a little bit disturbed. Yuji doesn't really see weak people, he either sees them as people to be saved, he also has relied on his natural strength to help others almost his entire life. Why am I pointing these out? Geto parallels.

2. Let's talk about Geto (AGAIN)

Higuruma and Geto are both characters who start out as empathic people who use their strength, specifically to protect the weak, and they view this as their jobs. Despite existing in corrupt systems, the jujutsu college system which calls for the death of an innocent girlin order to prolong the life of an immortal man, the court system which heavily favors the prosecution giving them more resources, and advantage even if it might result in a completely innocent person may be put to jail or even death.

After failing someone however, they both go off the rails. They were before that point, law abiding citizens who were working with the system the best they can to improve it. However, they reach their breaking point and then try to break completely free from the system. What specifically is their breaking point for both of them however, is a moment where they are helpless to save another person.

Higuruma wonders why they look at him, Geto constantly flashes back to the people who applauded Riko Amanai's death, as he wonders who exactly he is doing all of this for? Putting his body through absolute hell swallowing curses for people who act like the cult that applauded Riko's death mindlessly, or the villagers that put Nanako and Mimiko in a cage out of superstitition.

There's even water symbolism for both of them, Geto thinks of these things in the shower, when Higuruma meets up with Yuji he's sitting in a full bath tub with his clothes on. Almost as if the both of them are still trying to find a way to stay clean.

However, it's not just that. It's the powerless they experience in moments when they are not able to save others. Riko Amanai was shot dead right in front of Geto when he promised he was the strongest. Higuruma followed all the rules, did everything right to prove his court victim innocent, only to have the appeal rule him guilty. Higuruma's client was branded guilty from the very start, Riko Amanai was always going to die, if she wasn't sacrificed to the star plasma vessel then she was marked for death by many assassination contracts, and Geto was powerless to do anything about her, or even avenge her afterwards. Having lived through that moment of powerlessness, they now grab onto power to try to make their ideals come true. Higuruma's first action is to declare a retrial, and he also, isn't joining the culling game because he enjoys killing but because he can now use his power to make a world which he believes should follow the rules.

etoG

Geto and Higuruma even after they both snap, are still idealists. Higuruma wants to get rid of the whole messy affair of trials because he doesn't believe they can be fair anymore. Geto wants to get rid of humans who just produce curses and don't have to bear the responsibility of exorcising them, because it is unfair a mintority has to again and again die very young deaths over and over while the majority is mainly oblivious to curses and how many they are killing. They notice the world is unfair, and want justice, howevver, despite still have a conscience Yuji can't reach him, and why is that?

Because Yuji doesn't have any ideals to speak of. He's just a cog in the system. All he cares about any more is exorcising curses. The reason I went on such a long tangent about Junpei and Amai at the beginning is because we are set up to believe that Yuji is the opposite of characters like these, apathetic people like Junpei and Amai who don't want to be bullied so they just, switch their emotions off. Yuji obviously cares, he's fighting to stop the game and save others. However, Yuji has to some extent become apathetic. A person who is feeling things doesn't refer to themselves as a cog. THe thing is, there are times when Yuji is not an entirely virtuous person, where his words about saving people all sound empty.

When Yuji is faced with Mahito the first time and was powerless to save Junpei, he flips and declares that all he wants to do is kill Mahito. When Yuji fights against Mahito the second time and is nearly broken by the deaths of Nanami and Nobara right in a row, Yuji declares he doesn't care what his role in anything is, he's just a cog in the system, someone who will kill Mahito over and over again. To be a cog is to be apathetic.

The thing is when Yuji is weak and helpless, he acts really similiar to Junpei, both violently lashing out, and also growing more apathetic to the world around him. Yuji is someone who acts almost the opposite of Higuruma's ideal, Higuruma wante dto keep his eyes open, while Yuji is fine keeping his eyes shut and being a cog in the system. Yuji doesn't particularly have ideals anymore, as evidenced by the fact he has a chance to try to convince Higuruma what he's doing is wrong, basically flubs it, says nothing, and then switches to, okay nevermind I am just going to beat you up. It will be fine if I beat you up. Because, this is how it's worked for Yuji his entire life. Yuji has always been strong enough to beat up any bullies, and is rarely the weak one in the situation, so nine times out of ten, he just falls back on punching the bullies in order to save people because that's what worked before.

Higuruma is presented to us as a formerly empathic individual who has now snappe,d and seems to enjoy killing and violence now, especially because it makes him feel like he is in power, and in control when he was formerly helpless. However, putting him up against Yuji begs the question, isn't Yuji like that? Yuji who is only entering the culling game to save people, who has the exact opposite motivation of Higuruma by trying to bring an end to it?

What is Yuji's strategy in order to try to convince Higuruma? He tries words for five seconds and then he's like, it's fine I'll just beat the crap out of him. If I beat him up, it's all fine. Yuji too, is someone who tries to use violence in order to get what he wants from others. Yuji is introduced to us as the opposite of people like Geto and Higuruma, however, he is going through a very similiar arc then both of them at the moment. Despite the fact that Yuji still looks like the same easygoing friendly guy, there are hints of more going on.

He has already been through a moment that broke him, not once but twice, first with Junpei, then with Nanami, completely helpless to save those he should have been able to save over and over again. He went through the same trauma as Geto, and has the same response, to rely on power and strength above everything else. Just keep exorcising curses. Don't think about what you have to do, just keep exorcising curses. Because, that worked out so well for Geto.

Now as a response, Yuji who used to talk to people and open up like he did in that one moment with Junpei, now relies on strength for everything. His response for everything is to just try to get stronger, because if he were stronger surely things would be different, if he were stronger he wouldn't have let the bad thing happen the first time. Geto confronts Gojo about his strength and how he wanted to use it, because he believes if he had that kind of godlike strength he could make the world a more just place. Higuruma wants to keep the killing game rules in place to feel stronger.

Higuruma and Geto are presented to us as ruthless killers who seem to enjoy killing now, but doesn't Yuji act in a similiar way?

"Have you ever killed someone who ticks you off? It feels better than I expected."

Yuji switched to kill when he was facing Mahito. Not exorcise a curse kill. Of course it's different when it's a curse, but Yuji has never had to face human opponents before this.

Fighting against HIguruma is supposed to make us question what Yuji is doing, because no character in Jujutsu Kaisen is truly evil as Gege has stated before. Everyone has a little bit of the right idea in their way of thinking. Everyone can also be wrong. If Higuruma wants to use his power to either force people to do the right thing, or kill them off, then what exactly is Yuji using his strength for right now? There's nothing persuasive about his words, and Yuji's plan going in was basically, okay, if he doesn't listen I'll just beat him up and force him to do it.

Yuji is such an interesting protagonist because despite his desire to play the hero, he's actually rarely allowed to play the hero in a world as morally gray and myopic as Jujutsu Kaisen. The question is if Yuji is not the hero then who is he?

Just another person probably. However, that's not a bad thing. Yuji's entire arc is about how everyone only sees him as a curse, how right now he's a literal pawn in the villain's scheme. He has no parents because he was born to fill a role, born to be Sukuna's vessel. Won't the ultimate achievement for Yuji's arc be to learn he's not a hero, but rather, a human being with flaws and weaknesses like everyone else, and learn to accept these things and live with them rather. Even if Yuji can't accept them himself, there's still Megumi who accepts him, including everything he did in Shibuya and every flaw. It's something Yuji has right now, that Higuruma and Geto both didn't.

What Yuji needs more than anything right now, is to be human again. Not to be a cog in the machine even though that makes him feel more secure. To be human, and insecure, and open his eyes, and learn to question things. Like that one moment of humanity he showed Junpei where he was able to admit he was wrong, that caused Junpei to back down the fight. THat will always be a better strategy then come on, let's break out the punchies, choo choo it's time for the pain train.

[tokoyamisstuff]

Scandal Ch. 4 - Loki x Reader

Summary: Nothing can stop the wrath of the God of Mischief, when he realizes he had been deceived by the people he trusted more than his beloved wife.

Warnings: Angst, Violence

Words: ~1700

"But what the world fails to realize is a villain is just a victim whose story hasn’t been told.” - Chris Colfer

I Story Masterlist I General Masterlist I

Taglist: @hi-there-x @haloangel391 @misssilencewritewell @babayaga67 @accioremuslupinn @mochimommy2002 @just-someone-who-likes-to-write @damalseer @bethanystan @loser-alert @star017 @nina1800 @queenariesofnarnia @n1fangirlsblog @vengefulsokovian @lunamoonbby @freyagallileaevans​

A/N: This is a rather boring chapter, but we’re far from done!

“She already left several moons ago. It was her own wish, we did not force her.”

“Where to?” 

“Midgard.”

Loki was long back on Asgardian territory, yet his mind couldn’t find peace. Well, how could he, now knowing what Laufey told him?

His world had already crumbled to dust when he left you behind - but if Laufey spoke the truth, his whole existence had been built on lies from the very start.

Not knowing where to search for answers, the prince sneaked into Odin’s forbidden chambers, walking in the shadows protecting him in the midst of night.

There it was: The Cascet of Ancient Winters - the very relic that doomed the fate of your newborn, revealing it’s shameful blood to all of Asgard.

It just urged him to try and see for himself, even if the truth would shatter his heart.

“STOP!”

Loki wouldn’t even flinch at the Allfather’s words, already tightly holding the cascet in both hands.

“Am I cursed?”

The God of Mischief wouldn’t even dare to turn around and look at the person he always ever thought to be his father - for as soon as he laid fingers on the cascet, he began turning into that same shade of blue your son did.

Panic began to rise in the young god, fearing to be killed by the people he loved so dearly shall they lay eyes upon what he truly was. His chest began to tighten, fastened breath turning into a cold mist.

“No” was Odin’s firm but unsatisfying answer, to which Loki only responded by putting down the cascet.

“What am I?”

“You’re my son.” His words came from the heart, not even faltering as Loki turned around to present his Jotun form to the Allfather.

“What more than that?!” he almost growled in between gritted teeth, appearance slowly returning to his usual self.

At that deepest, darkest day in his life yet, Loki would be too blinded by betrayal and rage to see his father’s true love towards his adoptive son.

“The cascet wasn’t the only thing you took back from Jotunheim that day, was it?” The prince took firm steps towards the man that he had known all his life, but had become a complete stranger towards him through that sole moment.

Again, only a “no.”

Loki’s mind was racing, thinking about what else may have been hidden from himself - and what kind of consequences that revelation had for everything he had done up until now.

“In the aftermath of the battle, I went to the temple -- and I found a baby” the Allfather continued, “Small, for a giant’s offspring. Abandoned, suffering, left to die...”

“...Laufeyson” Loki completed Odin’s sentence. So every word the King of the Jotunns had said was indeed a fact.

“W-W-why?!” he almost whined, voice weak and defeated. “You were knee deep in Jotun blood, why would you take me?”

“You were an innocent child-”

“No.” The God of Lies himself had become so sick of being fed those, starting to snap. “You took me for a purpose. What was it???” 

For what felt like an eternity, there was only silence.

The image of that small, blue child in his arms had been painfully burned into his heart back then. But now that he knew the story behind all of this, it held a completely different meaning.

Just like he had been abandoned back on that frozen rock, he had abandoned his own child, as well as the love of his life.

Outcast, abused, left to die...and now, god knows what had happened to you...

That secret had destroyed more than just his own life. It had ruined the only honest happiness he was ever given - you, and his son.

“TELL ME!”

He just needed to know: The reason behind all the pain and suffering he had to endure - and caused to others as well.

“I thought we could unite our kingdoms one day, bring about an alliance, bring about permanent peace...through you.”

That was just too much for Loki to bear. “What?” he reacted with a barely-there voice, every word of his father shooting daggers through his heart.

“But those plans no longer matter.” No matter what Odin might want to explain, Loki wasn’t able to listen to any more, jumping into his own conclusions.

“So I am no more than another stolen relic, locked up inside of here until you might have use for me?!” he croaked, afraid of the answer.

“Do not twist my words.”

“You could told me what I was from the beginning!” he now yelled, furious at how virtuous Odin would still defend his own action. “Why didn’t you?”

“You’re my son” he repeated once again. “I only wanted to protect you from the truth.”

“Why, ‘cause I-I-I-I’m the monster people tell their children about at night?!” Loki clenched his fists, fingernails drawing blood to his palm.

“At least when my son was born, you should’ve dropped the charade!” Pure agony was dripping from every syllable, and for a mere second, his eyes were glistering bright red once again. “You’ve forsaken two innocent lives - the most important beings in my pathetic existence - and now you’ve burdened me with their suffering as well!”

That sure was a miracle - how a person so broken from the beginning wouldn’t collapse under pressure that huge.

“It all makes sense now, why you favoured Thor, all those years! Because no matter how much you claim to love me, you could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the throne of Asgard!”

But who cares about the throne, honestly? Not him. Not anymore. Ever since he knew you.

It all dawned to him now: What he could have, if only he had put his trust in you like so many times before.

All his life, he only ever remembers a shadow. At first, he thought it to be the shadow of his brother, or never being enough for his own father. Maybe the other Asgardians looking down on him, making him feel like he doesn’t belong.

Yet in the end, that very shadow was inside of his own mind.

But you?

You had loved Loki with all of your heart, banishing the darkness from his mind through your bright affection.

It didn’t matter to you what anyone thought of him - or even what he thought himself to be.

Because you saw him for what he really was, and he found peace with that.

And he was certain that it wouldn’t matter to you whether he called himself Odinson or Laufeyson - as had you loved his child dearly, ever since he took his first breath.

He could never make up for that greatest of his sins, Loki knew that much.

Or...?

“Where are you going, my son?”

Reluctantly, Loki made his way past the man he now only considered a stranger. Still, when Odin tried to reach out to him, Loki immediately ducked away, startled and afraid for his true nature to hurt anyone.

More than ever before, the God of Mischief despised himself to the core of his being. He was lost, confused, shocked - and still, determined.

“Creating a Kingdom for my family.”

___

[Earth, 2 months later]

On times like these, you thought your mind was betraying you.

Especially when you catched yourself reminiscing sweet, innocent moments - far back in the past, before everything you ever held dearly got destroyed.

You still felt his touch, feather-light on your skin, as well as his scent haunting your memories. And sometimes you couldn’t help but wonder how life would have been, well...if things were different.

Frantically shaking your head, you clasped the book closed and threw it into a corner of the small one-room-flat SHIELD had provided for you.

Your magical pockets were always almost empty, except for a few necessities - and that book. It held the first flower Loki ever gifted you, and you had dried it in between those pages so it would never lose it’s beauty.

But now, remembering meant pain - because Loki Laufeyson would never come back.

For he is dead.

Fell of the Bifrost, as confirmed by Heimdall, who secretly kept in touch with you all this time. So you knew it all: Of his grief and treason, which slowly led him into madness. 

And what did you do in the meantime?! Nothing at all!

You should’ve tried everything, anything to get back and help him go through that time of need, hel!

“Endure it, Y/N...you need to stay strong...for Liam.” After so many times of telling those words to yourself, you doubted them to have any effect on your broken heart at all.

Yet it would never fail to keep you going. For that wonderful child was proof of your love, and now your last memory of him.

Rocking the small Jotun to sleep, tears found their way to your eyes like so many times before, dropping to the baby’s face unnoticed.

So you tried to sing your pain away as you cooed that little wonder to sleep.

“Å eg lengtar så tidt dette landet å sjå, Og det dreg meg så blidt, når eg langt er ifrå. Med den våknande vår vert min saknad so sår, så mest gråta, mest gråta eg kan. Å eg minnest, å eg minnest, å eg minnest så vel dette land. Å eg minnest, å eg minnest, å eg minnest så vel dette land.”

*Translation:

“Oh I long so long to see this land, And it pulls me so gently, when I'm far away. With the waking spring host my missing so sore, so most cry, most cry eg can. Oh I remember, oh I remember, oh I remember this country as well. Oh I remember, oh I remember, oh I remember this country as well.”

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 305: Worst Intervention Ever

Previously on BnHA: Shinomori, whose name took me an entire week to memorize, was all, “nice to meet you Deku, I’m ten feet tall, do you want to know how I died?” and without waiting for an answer explained that he kicked it from old age at forty thanks to good ol’ OFA. Deku was all “wait a minute, then how come All Might, who’s fifty-five and is definitely dyeing his gray hair, is still alive?” First and Shino were all, “we really have no fucking clue but we think it’s cuz he’s quirkless, JUST LIKE YOU!” So basically, since quirkless people don’t exactly grow on trees these days, Deku is probably going to be the last user of OFA. The chapter ended with Nana being all, “psst, Deku, about my grandson. Uh, can you kill him?” which is sure to lead to a very interesting conversation this week.

Today on BnHA: Nana And The Gang are all “so, Deku, how can we put this delicately. The thing is, we’re pretty sure that AFO really fucked my grandson up, so on the off chance you can’t save him, how would you feel about, you know... [throat slitting gesture].” Deku is all “idk you guys, I kinda feel like he’s really just a traumatized child at heart and he’s in a lot of pain and stuff and so I should try to help him.” The Vestiges are all “BUT WHAT IF YOU CAN’T” and Deku is all “BUT I WANT TO TRY, DAMMIT” and the Vestiges are all “well when you put it that way, we, uh, were just testing you, so congrats, you passed!” The chapter ends with First being all, “ANYWAY SO WHY DON’T YOU TWO SHY BOYS STANDING OVER THERE IN THE SHADOWS COME SAY HELLO” before we CUT AWAY FOR ANOTHER WEEK, goddammit.

seriously, Nana

just... have you met Deku?? look, if you really want Tomura dead, just sic him on the U.A. first years and tell Shouto and Honenuki that it’s a training exercise

oh my god lmao

we’re too far away to see Nana’s face here so I will just assume that she turned and is staring DIRECTLY INTO THE CAMERA for this one line lmao. “I just wanted to clarify in case anyone felt inclined to take my dialogue out of context and spend an entire week complaining about it”

oh my god?! are you all purposely trying to make me sad??

someone stop me before I launch into an impromptu rant about all my Tomura feels. WHY IS NOBODY STOPPING ME. oh my god but yes, exactly. he’s just in pain all the time. this is exactly why I think Tomura has such high redemption potential even though so far he seems to lack so many of the redemption arc essentials such as feeling remorse, wanting to change, and taking responsibility for his actions. the reason why I’m willing to overlook all that in his case is because Tomura has essentially had zero agency his entire life. AFO molded him into a killer by making sure he was in constant mental agony, and making it so that the only thing that even slightly relieved that agony was killing peeps. like, please don’t think I’m making excuses for him or anything, but if you take a child and manipulate their existence to make it virtually impossible for that child to grow up as anything other than a killer, and basically never give him the chance to be anything else, then no shit he’s gonna be a killer?? he’s basically never had the choice not to be. it’s never been an option for him. anyways I feel like I am EXPLAINING MYSELF SO BADLY but nonetheless I am prepared to die on this hill

anyway so now Nana is all “that’s a rhetorical question btw because Our Hearts And Minds Are One so we can feel everything you feel bro.” so yeah, that’s interesting

now Banjou is getting started on the “let’s try and talk Deku out of wanting to save Tomura because it’s insane” part of their OFA Mystical Space Void Reunion agenda

look, Banjou, I feel you, I really do. you guys don’t think it’s realistic that Deku can defeat Tomura without killing him. so if it’s a choice between killing Tomura vs letting Deku and everyone else in the entire world die, then duh, you think Deku should kill him. I get it! and if this were a real life mass murderer I’d totally agree with you. but the problem is that this isn’t real life, this is a sympathetic shounen villain with a tragic past who might as well have FUTURE REDEMPTION ARC RECEIPIENT stamped on his forehead at this point

so First is all “look, there’s absolutely no doubt my brother has fucked this kid up good and proper by now”, which, again, fair

though, that’s kind of exactly my point though. everything that Tomura is, everything he’s done, he’s done because of AFO. AFO has so effectively shaped his personality and his worldview by this point that it’s all but impossible to penetrate that. he’s AFO’s puppet. but the problem is that rather than treating him like a victim, you all are treating him like a casualty. like he’s already a lost cause. but good luck trying to convince Deku of that

WHOA WHAT, RANDOM SUPER-IMPORTANT AND BIZARRELY UNRELATED EXPOSITION DROPPED IN JUST LIKE THAT??

way to still not reveal Sixth’s name, btw. THE PEOPLE WANT TO KNOW, DAMMIT. but also so this confirms something we basically already knew already, which is that not even AFO can steal OFA. it literally can’t be taken away by anyone unless the owner wills it. SO SUCK ON THAT AFO YOU EGG

(ETA: so I have no idea why this was omitted from this translation, but apparently the Sixth’s name was revealed as “En”, which is obviously not his full name but at least it’s something. also he most likely has a fire or smoke-related quirk based on the kanji used, 煙.)

so Banjou is saying that Deku’s “lack of an iron will” could be a disadvantage against AFO. hahaha what?? Midoriya “I’ll break all of my bones without blinking an eye just to protect someone” Izuku lacks an iron will? do tell

he says this is going to be a test of Deku’s determination. well yeah, no shit. but just not in the way you guys think

OH HELLO AGAIN

darker hair again here! but I don’t trust the contrast in these scans at all after last week. his coveralls are way darker than they looked before too, and you can clearly see he’s standing in the shadows now

(ETA: yep, once again the raw shows that his hair is considerably lighter than what’s shown in these scans here. although there’s no mistaking now that his hair is consistently being colored in this slightly darker shade, and it’s not just the lighting.)

anyways lol First was saying something about how AFO can’t steal OFA, and they’ve spent all this time cultivating it as the ultimate weapon against AFO, and blah blah blah. go on then, keep lecturing

NANA GODDAMMIT NONE OF THIS IS YOUR FAULT

girl what?? you did everything in your power to protect your family, and AFO, fucked up man that he is, targeted them anyway. there is one person and one person only to blame for what’s happened to Tomura, and that potato-faced asshole needs a good kick in the balls

NANA GODDAMMIT DON’T MAKE ME COME OVER THERE

SO HELP ME GOD!! I WILL GIVE YOU THE BIGGEST HUG YOU’VE EVER HAD!! THAT IS A THREAT

so now Nana is all “I’m just going to call my grandson a Thing to ensure that fandom has only the freshest, grass-fed no-hormones-added discourse this week”

I don’t even need to drop into the tags to know exactly which specific people are going to respond to this, and what kind of posts they are going to write lmao. everyone’s all caught up in the “that thing”, and meanwhile I’m over here completely hung up on this “nay” that’s appeared out of NOWHERE you guys. look at that. she really said “NAY”

Nana, my love, my dearest, I feel you girl I really do. but he’s not an unforgivable manifestation of pure evil, Deku is exactly right actually, he’s a boy in pain. you guys need to stop questioning Deku’s shounen protagonist instincts here and just let him work his sparkly magic. “let’s try and convince Midoriya Fucking Izuku that he can’t save someone” is a plan that is NEVER going to turn out well you guys

“DEKU GODDAMMIT WHAT IF WE CAN’T SAVE HIM” lmao it’s like an intervention

“DAMMIT DEKU JUST ADMIT YOU HAVE A SAVING PEOPLE PROBLEM!”

RED ALERT IT’S ANOTHER CLOSE-UP OF THE BACK OF MISTER TWO BON CLAY’S HEAD OMG

(ETA: I was too distracted with freaking out about Two and Three to really appreciate how ridiculously handsome First looks in this panel. but on my second readthrough it stood out so much that I had to go back and add an extra bullet point just to talk about how hot he is. look at him. wtf.)

THAT IS DEFINITELY AN UNDERCUT. THE PLOT THICKENSSSS. also those are fucking exhaust vents on Mister Three’s neck. MISTER THREE COULD YOU POSSIBLY BE RELATED TO THE IIDAS, PLEASE TELL ME YOUR SECRETS I’M DYING OVER HERE

so now Deku is launching into what will undoubtedly be a “saving people problems require SAVING PEOPLE SOLUTIONS” heroic counter-speech!

I mean, they can already feel the “lol nah I’m gonna try and save him” feelings running through him lol. ~OuR hEaRtS aNd MiNdS aRe CoNnEcTeD~ and all that. this is just a formality, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love a good shounen protag speech

oh wait hold up, do you mean to tell me that the whole “hearts and minds are connected” thing I was just mocking just a paragraph ago actually allowed Deku to feel what Tomura was feeling?? like literally feel it??

YET AGAIN these Tomura feels are pounding on my front door you guys?? they just will not quit?? people my house is already full of feels, does it look like I need you to sell me any more of them?? -- what do you mean, they’re free??

AW YISS THAT’S IT DEKU. THAT’S SOME GOOD SPEECH RIGHT THERE

I appreciate the contrast here between the Douchebag Triumvirate of Overhaul, Muscular, and Stain versus the Misguided Twosome of Gentle and La Brava. never let it be said that Deku doesn’t know the difference between a redeemable villain and an unredeemable one

OH NO -- OH MY GOD

someone please help me I need directions to the OFA Spooky Galactic Nebula Realm in this fictional Japanese manga land. it’s not on google maps. I need to give these two babies a big hug and wrap them up in a blanket and treat them to some McDonalds Happy Meals please help

other things: (1) ENDEAVOR CHILLING OUT IN DEKU’S “PEOPLE I HOLD DEAR” PANEL LMAO NEON DISCOURSE EXTRAVAGANZA, (2) “ONE FOR ALL IS A POWER TO SAVE, NOT TO KILL” I’M ABOUT TO CRY DEKU I LOVE YOU SO MUCH HOW IS IT EVEN POSSIBLE TO FEEL ALL THIS LOVE, (3) [SLAMS HANDS ON TABLE] THERE’S YOUR MOTHERFUCKING IRON WILL!!!!!!!! -- I’m sorry, please don’t call security, I’ll be good

I just randomly remembered that Deku is still saying all of this in his muffled “FMMPHHMMPHMM” voice and I’m somehow cracking up lol. so actually it’s a very good thing Their Hearts And Minds Are Connected, otherwise they’d no doubt be all, “...what?”

(ETA: so I completely missed this on account of it literally not being visible in the scan at all, but in the raw you can clearly see Baby Kacchan and Baby Shouto fanboying over All Might in two of these panels, and excuse me, ma’am??

thank you very much Deku for including them in your montage, particularly since you’ve never seen Baby Shouto before lol. amazingly accurate image you managed to conjure up, all things considered.)

SDKFJLSKHG -- AS IF ON CUE???

HE’S SO ADORABLE HELP?? Trippy Space All Might looks like he’s about to cry, and First is all “don’t crack a smile... you have to be Firm and Serious here... dammit, don’t smile” omg

anyways! YOU GO DEKU. “MY QUIRK MY RULES, BITCHES” damn, son

KLJLKKHLG TRIPPY SPACE ALL MIGHT LITERALLY ACTUALLY IS CRYING ALL MIGHT HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME

“I JUST... [CLENCHES FIST] REALLY LOVE SAVING PEOPLE” FUCKING HELL LMAO THIS IS THE WORST INTERVENTION OF ALL TIME

Deku is literally all “sure, maybe I’ll have to kill him, but have you guys also considered, MAYBE NOT??” it’s no use Nana he’s too powerful

LMAO FIRST

“like I’ve been saying this whole time, you should definitely try saving Shigaraki Tomura.” “but, uh... First, didn’t you just -- ” “shut up”

(ETA: clearly it’s not just his brother who inherited those smooth-talking genes.)

so now Deku has turned back into a sixteen year old and his clothes have gone missing again. just OFA things

dskljdlsklgk

yes... sure... “testing” you...

HEY

FIRST OF ALL, DAMN YOU HORIKOSHI YOU MADE NANA CRY. even if I’m pretty sure they’re actually tears of happiness/relief. and SECOND OF ALL, “TELL MY BOYFRIEND I SAID HI” DJSKDLKJJL ANYWAY MAYBE GRAN, NANA, AND MR. SHIMURA WERE IN A THROUPLE

[SCREAMS]

WHY WOULD YOU END IT THERE?? WHY WOULD YOU END IT THERE!!!!!

(ETA: and two-to-one odds that we cut away to some other scene once they finally start to turn around next week. I’M CALLING IT NOW. giving myself a week to brace myself for the rage.)

fucking hell. well if anyone needs me I will be adding Horikoshi fucking Kouhei to the list of irredeemable villains, peace

[greatsagestonemonkey]

About “Shadow Play”

Warning! Spoilers ahead!

Okay, so, after watching “Shadow Play”, I had to write this out because a lot of people are talking about it and I had to lay out my two cents without being limited to a tiny box...

Possible spoilers for both Lego Monkie Kid Season 2 episode “Shadow Play” AND for Journey to the West, so be warned!

Okay for starters, the episode had a lot to unpack, but this is going to be covering the whole issue of “Poor Macaque” and “what the fuck Wukong”. THAT being said, I definitely LOVED the episode, it was fantastic! But I feel like this needs to be talked about because the writing for the episode tells a LOT more than I think people are seeing. That’s what I want to discuss here.

So, we all know from the story Macaque told in the episode, that he and Wukong go WAY back, the parallel of the Sun and the Moon was used, with Wukong being the Sun and Macaque being the Moon, of course, and that eventually Macaque was left behind by Wukong and he appears to be quite bitter about that. This is where I’ve noticed a lot of people bringing up the “what the fuck Wukong” bit... BUT, they seem to be overlooking something important here:

Wukong’s circlet. Also known as the “cursed hat” or “tightening band”. People who have read the book know that this circlet was given to Wukong by Tripitaka (also courtesy of Guan Yin) to keep Wukong in line. “Why?” many of you are probably asking... Well, it’s not just because Wukong is insanely powerful, that’s just part of the reason; a very MINOR reason.

The main and most important reason that people often forget about Wukong is that he is IMPULSIVE to a fault. For the first six chapters of Journey to the West, Wukong is driven PURELY by his impulsive desires. He never listened to anyone! His rampage through Heaven was testimony to that, as was his taking Buddha’s challenge to escape his palm, and in the end, his own hubris was his downfall. But even after being imprisoned for 500 years, Wukong hadn’t changed much. Or at all, in fact. That is why Tripitaka needed the circlet and the tightening mantra that came with it to control him; because Wukong wouldn’t listen to him AT ALL. It was only after Tripitaka had an effective way to discipline the monkey that Wukong started to actually do as he was asked. And as the book goes on, Wukong becomes more compliant, actually listening and doing as asked without Tripitaka having to use the tightening mantra to get Wukong to calm down. There’s actually a pretty compelling scene later on in the book (I don’t remember the exact chapter or page) where Tripitaka stops Wukong from attacking a demon minion JUST by calling out his name, whereas before he would have to recite the mantra to get him to stop.

There’s another infamous scene where Wukong is moved to tears by Tripitaka’s compassion for others, whereas earlier in the book Wukong wouldn’t have really bothered much with pity for others. Like seriously. He couldn’t be bothered to look after anyone but himself or his monkeys. He was kind of a selfish dick that way. But in that particular scene, it showed that Wukong had changed A LOT since being made to stop and listen to Tripitaka every once in awhile via the circlet. It was kind of like a wake-up call for him, in a way.

Anyway, we can clearly see the circlet on Wukong’s head in this scene when Macaque is showing how Wukong left. I know we can see it in earlier ones too, but I think the reason for that is because that’s how Macaque sees Wukong, but we’ll come back to that in a bit.

Now, we all know that Macaque is supposed to represent Wukong’s darker side, his “shadow”. And one thing that I think the writer’s made clear in this episode is that Macaque hasn’t changed much. He’s still the dark half, the side of Wukong that will always be in the shadows; the part of him that was BEFORE Wukong changed due to his travels with Tripitaka. Since it’s hinted that Macaque was with Wukong before his rampage through heaven and his 500 year imprisonment, we know that he saw the side of Wukong that existed before Wukong went through the various level of character development that he did in the Journey to the West. And the thing that the writers for “Shadow Play” make clear is that Macaque doesn’t completely understand why Wukong changed.

Macaque wasn’t there for the Journey. Which was probably his choice. The writers of this episode, and of the episode “Macaque” make it clear that Macaque hasn’t changed much in the centuries. He himself makes that clear by referring to himself as Wukong’s shadow, and with the parallel of the sun and the moon. And because he wasn’t there, because he stayed in the shadows, he clearly doesn’t understand the reason behind Wukong’s change and choice to stay by Tripitaka’s side through the Journey, despite being jilted and hurt by the monk plenty of times.

Wukong chose to stay with Tripitaka because he was changing, growing, for the better, even if he himself didn’t realize it right away. But when he did realize it, he chose to stay, even if that meant leaving behind a part of him--or even someone--that he held very dear; Macaque.

Which now brings us to this next part people keep talking about:

The scene where Macaque apparently gets his scar.

We now know for certain that Macaque gets his scar from Wukong. And a lot of people have been expressing their curiosity over why the two ended up fighting each other, or what could have prompted Wukong to wound someone he was supposed to have cared about in such a way.

Well, for those of you who have read the book, you probably know why exactly why. For those who haven’t, in the chapter where the Six Eared Macaque first makes his appearance, he attacks and wounds Tripitaka badly; like with the full intention of killing him kind of badly. I won’t spoil the whole chapter for you, but long story short, is that when confronted after his identity as “the false monkey king” is revealed, he confesses that his plan is to kill everyone in the Journey Crew--minus Wukong--and replace them with duplicates that he has created.

Now, we know from previous episodes of the series so far, that Wukong cares for the rest of the Journey Crew VERY MUCH. He’s kept momentos from the Journey and even made those little origami figures of them with that little shrine in the New Years Special. And we’ve seen how he gets when you threaten someone he cares about via the scene of him with Lady White Bone in that very same special.

THAT is what their fight was about.

Macaque hurt someone Wukong cared about, and Wukong retaliated in kind. Maybe he went a little too far, but he definitely wasn’t going to let it slide. It was almost literally “an eye for an eye”.

Now we come back to that bit of how Macaque sees Wukong, as promised. Macaque shows off Wukong with the circlet in the play because he again, doesn’t understand the reason behind Wukong’s change. He probably knows what the circlet does, and thus sees it and the one who controls it as the reason. This is probably why he attacked Tripitaka; in Macaque’s mind, without Tripitaka, without the tightening mantra, Wukong will go back to being his old self.

Macaque doesn’t understand that Wukong was changing without the circlet being used on him. He says this himself in Episode 9 of Season 1, when he delivers the line, “The old you would have leveled this whole mountain range to stop me! But you’re scared of hurting some kid?!”

That. Right there. Says SO much now that we’ve seen Shadow Play.

Wukong changed for reasons that Macaque doesn’t understand; Wukong grew to care about others and the consequences of his actions. But because Macaque stayed behind, he still holds onto Wukong’s old ways, and he wants that back. He used the analogy of himself as the warrior in the story, and even told MK about the “happy ending” because deep down that’s what he wants. He wants the old Wukong back because that’s the Wukong he understands.

Then we come to the line where he tells MK that he’s “a bit too much” like Monkey King, right after the flashback of how he got his scar. If we refer to that bit above again, we know that Macaque got his scar from Wukong after he tried to kill Tripitaka and very nearly turned the whole Journey Crew against Wukong completely. And what was Macaque doing in this scene?

The same thing.

He was using MK’s friends against him, which ticked MK off to the point where MK went almost blind with rage in an effort to get his friends back. We see in that brief flashback, that Macaque saw that bit of Wukong in MK; the part that cared too much.

This is also where we see a bit of growth in Macaque, and again I refer to the flashback. He realizes he’s reliving a moment where he possibly went too far, and decides to back out before it goes even further to a point where he gets hurt. But that’s also testament to how much he hasn’t changed over the centuries; he’s still only the best at looking out for himself, just like Wukong was before Tripitaka changed him.

His whole conversation with MK after the fight also shows how much he wants the old Wukong back and doesn’t want to see MK go down the same path, and we see it through the whole episode; he sees MK and Wukong as too “soft” now. They get concerned too easily with others, and what will happen if they fail, whereas Macaque is overconfident to a fault, looks out for “old number one” (himself) and doesn’t have the inconvenience of looking out for others to weigh him down or to blind him from his person goals. That’s why he tells MK he’s not ready, not because he lack the ability, but because he lacks the survival instinct. That same survival instinct that Macaque is used to.

In conclusion, Macaque both is and isn’t the victim here. He’s not Wukong’s victim, he’s his own victim; victim to his own misunderstanding and his own unwillingness to change or to accept change. It’s actually something we see in a lot of people, but we’re often unaware of because the signs are often hard to read, and I think that’s why a lot of people have reacted to this episode in the way they have. Again, I’m not saying that this episode was bad or anything, again, it was fantastic! The writers did an outstanding job, I just think there’s a lot more that they were trying to tell us with how they played it out that a lot of people aren’t seeing, and I really wanted to address that.

WHEW! Anyway, I think that about covers everything... sorry this is so long, and if you read this far, thank you so much for giving this a read!

[javier-pena]

alone

Chapter 1 of The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: Mature (for now but that will - spoilers! - change eventually)

Summary: When your best friend and companion is abducted by a group of outlaws, you hire a Mandalorian to help track down the men and get your revenge. What seems like a simple enough task stretches into a month-long trek through inhospitable terrain while both you and the Mandalorian are trying to come to terms with events in your past you cannot change. Set after Season 2.

Warnings: mentions (and short descriptions) of death, murder, and torture | a lot of hurt and no comfort | mentions of loss | mild to moderate language | a lot - and I mean A LOT - of talk about Din’s hands lmao

Notes: This is my first attempt at a Mandalorian fic and the first time in months I’ve written anything. It’s vaguely inspired by my favorite western movies, True Grit (1969/2010), The Quick and the Dead (1995), and The World to Come (2020). So yes, this is going to be very much like a western. I also want to - again - thank Dani @javierpcna​ who was like “are you writing Mandalorian stuff?” about a month ago and has, since then, read through this chapter more often than me and encouraged me to continue to write it and offered so much valuable insight whenever I came to her with an idea ... seriously, Dani, this fic wouldn’t exist without you and I hope I can find a way to repay you! Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this first chapter (I’m already working on the second one) ...

masterlist | join the tag list

The day the Mandalorian arrives on Alvorine is the day you lose your best friend. You’re still busy putting out the fire, running your soot-blackened hand across your face, where the dirt mingles with the tears you’re too tired to stop from streaming down your face, when you hear the thrusters of a spacecraft roaring above you. You barely glance up; you can’t be bothered to. It could be the remnants of the Empire looking for recruits, it could be the New Republic looking for the remnants of the Empire, or it could be the bandits coming back for more. But what do you care? They already took away the one person you care most about in the galaxy. You just grip the shovel tighter and drive it into the soil so you can choke the fire underneath moist stones and dirt.

While you exhaust your body with physical labor, you occupy your mind with thoughts of revenge. Revenge as dark and quenching as the soil beneath you. With every load of dirt you heave onto the searing flames, your plan gains another sharp edge until all you can think of is driving the cutting edge down onto the throat of the man who gripped Brea’s arm and pulled her onto the speeder bike. Maybe his head would come off right away, maybe your tool would just obstruct his windpipe as you watch the life drain slowly out of his eyes. And even that would be too good an end for that monster.

It’s not just in your mind – those thoughts aren’t simply there to ground you while you continue your work in the ruins of what was once your home. It’s not pure fantasy, something to give you back a feeling of control. You are determined to follow through on it; you are going to hunt down these men who burned down your farm and stole Brea from you. You will not rest until they are all dead by your hand. And if you should die in the process … then you won’t go out without a fight, without taking as many of those bastards with you as you can. They have sealed their own fate by coming here today.

You know Brea isn’t dead; they won’t kill her unless she tries to kill one of them first. And she wouldn’t do that, she is too gentle for that, too docile. She would rather turn the other cheek. They should have taken you instead; she doesn’t deserve the fate that awaits her. You would’ve at least put up a fight, make them pay for what they did. And Brea? She would just die.

For now, she’s alive. But whatever you set out to do once you’re done here won’t be a rescue mission. You aren’t under the illusion you can save her. You know that even if you were to leave right now, even if you had your own speeder bike, you would never find her in time. No, this possibility hasn’t even crossed your mind. All you want to do is cause these men more pain than they caused you. You know it is impossible because you cannot imagine anything worse, but you sure as hell will do your best.

You straighten your back, drive the shovel into the ground, and use it as support while you try to catch your breath. The air burns in your lungs, and not just from the cold. There is also the steadily rising black smoke that makes breathing hard; your throat stings, so do your sides, and there is a bitter taste in your mouth. But you’re almost finished here, you’re almost done putting out the fire, so it won’t endanger the surrounding forest. And with every flame you bury, you also bury a piece of your soul until you feel like there is nothing left that makes you human, until all the pain and despair you’re feeling since listening to Brea’s screams grow quieter and quieter until they were swallowed up by silence has turned into a cold, brazen cry for revenge. But you’re glad this has made you less forgiving, less kind, less … human. Those things would only get in the way of the task ahead of you.

As the last flames go out with a wet hiss, one of Alvorine’s three blue white suns vanishes behind the treetops. You know the other two will be quick to follow. And you don’t have anywhere to spend the night. You wouldn’t mind sleeping with your back propped against a tree. You’ve done it often enough. But it’s winter, and the air is already cold and will be even colder once the other two suns set too. And you just lost every blanket, every single piece of fabric that could keep you warm in a small inferno. You know this is just an excuse, a comforting lie you tell yourself. The truth is you cannot spend a minute longer on this clearing, even if that means you have to walk the four miles to the next settlement. You’re so exhausted you cannot feel your legs, but you don’t care. Anything is better than spending the night here, even collapsing in the middle of the dark forest.

You leave the shovel where you stand and walk to the edge of the clearing, swallowing around the lump in your throat, trying to hold down more tears that are threatening to spill over and down your cheeks. Once you reach the edge of the forest, where the air is a bit clearer, you take a deep breath and turn around to look at the ruins of your home, now nothing more than a black pile of rubble. You have nothing, nothing but the clothes you’re wearing, not even a small trinket to remind you of Brea and the many happy hours you spent here tending to your fields, sweeping the front porch or sitting around the fireplace sharing supper. Even remembering how you worked on menial chores now feels like the most precious memory, one you will hold onto until your last breath. Because even though they have taken everything from you, they can’t take away the memory of Brea’s laugh.

***

They stare at you as you enter the inn. They stare and then look away. They can’t bear your presence because it reminds them of their own guilt. Not one of them came to your aid this morning, not one of them came afterwards to offer help. And you ignore them too because there is nothing left to say. All you want is some food and a dry place to sleep before you turn your back on them forever.

You sit down at a small table in a dark corner. The patrons around you either turn their backs to you or stand up to move their meals and conversations someplace else. It’s as if you’ve been marked. If you had any strength left in you, you would call them out on their behavior. Shit, you would wreak havoc, and only stop when the last one of them is on their knees begging for forgiveness. But you’re glad you’re too exhausted because your sudden hatred for everyone and everything scares you. The villagers don’t deserve to fall victim to your rage. There is nothing they could’ve done. They are just as defenseless and helpless as you. Would you have come to their aid if your positions were reversed? You would like to think so, but just because it gives you a false sense of moral superiority. Deep down you know the truth. Deep down you know you would hide too, praying that you would be spared.

As you dig into your bowl of soup, you realize how hungry you are. Even though everything tastes like ash in your mouth, your stomach is glad to have something to clench around when your thoughts stray to this morning’s events again. And you know there’s no need to punish yourself by refusing your body the nourishment it needs. The opposite, in fact – you know you’ll need all the strength you can get if you’re really going after them.

As you swallow one ashy bite after the other, you let your eyes wander around the room, looking for something that will distract you from your thoughts and your feelings of guilt. Everyone avoids your gaze; everyone acts as if your corner is empty. Everyone … except one stranger.

He sits in a booth close to the bar, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze on you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you – he’s wearing a helmet that covers his entire head, the kind you’ve seen twice before in this corner of the galaxy. He’s a Mandalorian, a bounty hunter, and his presence here doesn’t really surprise you. Even though actually seeing one is a rare occurrence, stories about them are countless.

Alvorine is a planet without laws, a planet that lives by its own rules, so many criminals decide to hide out here while they wait for their crimes to be forgotten. There is no military presence on the planet, no judicial system, no one to catch and punish the wrongdoers. The planet follows the rules of whoever is in charge, which changes frequently, but none of the powerful people have enough resources to enforce those rules anyway. Disputes are often just settled by the parties involved in whatever way they see fit. Only the Mandalorians, who are hired by people on other worlds, by people who have never experienced what it is like to live on Alovrine, are brave enough to get involved in those disputes. You have to admit you do feel a tiny bit curious as to why that particular Mandalorian is here ... who hired him? And who is he hunting?

You tentatively let your gaze wander over his stoic body, over the beskar covering his arms and chest, over the bandolier wrapped around his upper body, over the visor hiding his eyes. If you had one like him on your side, you wouldn’t need to worry about getting your revenge. He would catch those men in the blink of an eye. And if you paid him enough, he would do to them whatever you wanted.

He would cut off their limbs but keep them alive long enough to feel it.

He would make them run for it, give them the illusion of hope, only to crush it like their bones.

He would let you watch, let you choose whatever punishment you saw fit.

You shift in your seat because you can almost smell the blood, you can hear a faint echo of their screams, and it makes you feel light-headed and nauseous, but also elevates you, lifts a weight off your shoulders, even if just for a brief moment.

But he’s not here to do your bidding. And when you lift your head again, he’s gone.

You finish your bowl of soup and then decide to rent a room upstairs for the night. You don’t have a place to stay anymore and it’s too dangerous to start your pursuit while it’s dark. The forest belongs to dangerous creatures during the night, more dangerous than any man out there. And you’re planning on staying alive for just a little while longer.

You stretch and yawn and move to get up when your path is suddenly blocked. It happens so fast you don’t register anything at first apart from the cold, hard beskar chest plate that is level with your face. Its unexpected appearance makes you lose your balance and you fall back down onto the bench you’ve been sitting on. The Mandalorian extends his hand, his fingers closing around thin air. It’s a half-hearted attempt to stop your fall, and it comes too late – your backside has already painfully collided with the hard wood.

“May I join you?” His voice sounds distorted through the modulator in his helmet. He sounds like a machine, not like a being with a heartbeat.

You want to tell him no, want to tell him to fuck off, but for tonight you have no fight left in you. So you nod.

He sits down and you expect to hear the clink of his armor, expect to feel a tremor when his heavy body comes to rest on a stool opposite you. But there is no sound, no movement, and the lack makes you sit up straighter. This isn’t just another cowardly villager you can get rid of by glaring at him … this is an apex predator.

You swallow with some difficulty. “Can I help you?” you ask, your voice level, your eyes resting on his glove-clad hands lying on the table. You figure you’re safe as long as you can see them.

At first, he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you. Or at least you think he’s looking at you. You cannot see his eyes behind the tinted visor. No matter how uncomfortable the situation makes you feel, you try not to move … you try not to show any sign of weakness, to give him any excuse to lunge across the table and strangle you.

Finally, he answers. “I’m looking for work.”

Now you cannot help but move. You exhale sharply, and with that release of breath comes a release of tension as you slump backwards, your back hitting the wall behind you. You cross your arms over your chest. “I can’t help you,” you say. You don’t have any work to offer him, no work worthy of the skills of a Mandalorian who usually hunts down important people, kings, merchants, people who influence the course of the galaxy’s history. Following a few lowly bandits is not the work he’s used to. You don’t even want to tell him about it because you know he’d take it as an insult. And even if - by some miracle - your quest for revenge would be deemed a worthy cause in the eyes of the Mandalorian, you couldn’t afford his services.

The slightest movement of his helmet is the only reaction your answer gets out of him. Whether he shifts because he’s surprised or because he’s angry, or whether his scalp itches under the metal you cannot tell.

Still, you feel the need to explain yourself. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any money.”

Shit, that’s the wrong thing to say. It implies you have work for him, but that you’re too poor to pay him. For all you know, this could be a grave insult in Mandalorian society.

His fingers on the table clench around thin air again. “What can you offer?” he asks.

He doesn’t want to know about the job, the quarry as you know they call it. No, he just wants to know how much he can earn.

“240 credits,” you answer. It’s all you have. You won’t need it anymore.

He tilts his head and you expect him to refuse, but then he says, “That’s enough.”

You’re taken aback, surprised. He’s caught you off-guard. You were fully prepared to see him walk away at hearing the ridiculously low amount of money you just offered. “You don’t even know what the job is,” you protest. The last thing you need is a Mandalorian hunting you down because you’re not paying him enough.

“They told me,” he says with a nod behind him.

You follow the movement with your eyes and see heads whip to the side, gazes wandering downwards, you notice conversations being picked up again. White hot fury fills you, more powerful than the flames that destroyed your house.

“They had no right,” you press out through clenched teeth.

The Mandalorian doesn’t say anything. He sits still like a statue, unwavering, as you fight a small battle with yourself. You should leave without looking back. Messing with a Mandalorian is even more dangerous than the task ahead of you. But he’s offering you something invaluable, something no amount of credits can get you: a chance. If you go alone, you’ll be dead in about a week. There’s no use pretending you’ll get out of it alive. But if you accept the Mandalorian’s help – his services, you have to remind yourself – you might make it through two. You might get to see your dreams of revenge become reality.

You sigh deeply as a heavy weariness settles over you. You’re exhausted, and now that all the adrenaline has left your body, you can feel all the small cuts and bruises today’s labors have left behind. And you feel empty … cold and empty, and utterly alone.

The Mandalorian still doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t defend the villagers, he doesn’t tell you what he knows about you or the job, he doesn’t try to persuade you to take him up on his offer, nor does he walk away from it. He just sits there and waits for you to make up your mind, as if it’s all the same to him. And it probably is. Either he goes with you and earns some money, or he doesn’t and looks for work elsewhere. He is completely detached from the whole affair. There is no emotional investment, just a job that needs to be done.

He doesn’t care if you live or die, he just cares if you pay him or not.

This realization is what finally helps you make up your mind. “I want to hire you,” you say, your tongue heavy in your mouth. All you really want is to sleep.

There is no reaction for the longest time but then the Mandalorian nods. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something, give him details or explain the specifics of the job to him. But before you can decide what to say next, he stands abruptly.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he says before turning around.

Your brain needs a moment to catch up but when it does, you’re already on your feet. “Wait,” you say, and to your surprise the broad, steel-clad man listens to you.

He doesn’t face you, but he stops.

You briefly consider asking him if you can accompany him, but you don’t. You don’t have to ask, you get to decide.

“I’m coming with you,” you tell him.

You tell a stranger, a dangerous one at that, one who makes his money by making other people’s lives a living hell, that you will travel with him through dark, deserted forests where no one will stop him from taking what he wants from you instead of earning it, where no one will come to your aid should he not honor the deal you apparently just made with him. And you don’t care. Because no matter what he will do to you, it can’t be worse than what has already been done.

But all your worries and fears focus in on just one tiny aspect of this whole, fucked-up situation when he says, “I work alone.”

You don’t want to negotiate. This shouldn’t even be up for debate. You’re his employer now, you get to decide how things are done. But if you insist on this, he could just walk away from you. And you cannot let that happen now that you’ve had an idea of what it would be like to have a Mandalorian on your side.

“We’re not a team,” you say. “Think of me as an interested party. As someone who is fascinated by your work.”

You’re not sure if that is the right thing to say. His shoulders move, but he still doesn’t turn around. When he speaks again, you know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I work alone or not at all.”

You don’t want to accept that. You want to be there when those men are punished for what they did. You don’t want to wait around for the Mandalorian to come back, not when you don’t have anywhere to wait around in. You’ve lost everything. Had he talked to the villagers as he claims, he would know this. Or maybe he does. Maybe he knows you lost your home today but doesn’t care. He doesn’t even know the definition of the word home. It means nothing to him.

You take a deep breath. “Then I won’t be needing your services.”

This finally makes him turn around. Everything in you screams for you to take a few steps back, to put yourself out of his reach. You can feel the atmosphere between you shift – he draws back his shoulders, makes himself even taller than he already is. And you know, you just know, that refusing his offer, that backtracking on your agreement is the worst mistake you made tonight.

You’re pretty sure that not honoring a deal is the worst insult to a Mandalorian.

“Going alone will be your death,” he says when you cannot bear the tension a second longer.

“What’s it to you?”

The words are out. They are a challenge, one you didn’t mean to make, one you shouldn’t have made, but it’s done now. Your hand begins to tremble, and your feet grow cold with fear as you prepare yourself for his reaction. You don’t know if he will hit you, tie you up, torture you, or just kill you on the spot. He could do all of these things without having to fear any repercussions. You curse yourself for not having been more careful, for making this fatal mistake, because now Brea will go unavenged. Just because you couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut, just because you’re stubborn and hot-headed and oh so stupid.

But to your surprise, the Mandalorian shrugs. He lifts his broad shoulders, then lowers them again as your eyes follow the movement. But he’s not giving you anything more: He doesn’t insist on going alone, he doesn’t turn around and leave, he just keeps standing opposite you, motionless, emotionless, until you’re convinced you imagined the shrug.

So you decide to make the next move by removing yourself from this situation before he changes his mind and drags you back to his ship to do whatever he wants to you. You take a deep breath and start to step around him, a movement that is almost impossible to complete in this small space you’re both in. But you attempt it, nevertheless. When you’re level with him, doing your best not to brush up against him so you won’t enrage him, you hear his voice. It’s just one sentence, four words, but for some reason it sounds so much more human than it did when he was opposite you. Maybe it has something to do with the distance between his helmet and your ear, maybe it’s the angle from which the sounds hit your eardrums or maybe it’s because you feel light-headed, dizzy with the realization he hasn’t killed you yet and probably won’t.

He says, “Have it your way.”

You stop right next to him, staring ahead at a group of three men who do their best not to look at you. But you don’t see them anyway. In fact, you don’t see anything at all because the rushing sound in your ears drowns out everything else, even other senses.

“You can come with me,” he says, and it’s the first time he has spoken two sentences in a row. “But you do as I say.” Three. “If I tell you to run, you run.” Four. “If I tell you to get out of the way, you do so.” Five. “And if I tell you to kill, you kill.” Six.

Then nothing, just the faint sound of his deep breaths through the modulator.

Your thoughts are racing, tripping over their own feet like children running down a hill, and they’re unbearably loud. Everything is loud suddenly, from the sound of the barkeep filling a glass to the way that woman over there is chewing her food. The only thing that’s quiet is the last one you would have suspected to be so: the Mandalorian. Now he is waiting for you to say something and as he does, he balls his hand into a fist and then releases the tension again, over and over like a nervous tic, like he needs an outlet for the tension in his body, the tension you have no idea he is feeling until you see his arm flex beneath the fabric covering it.

But, once more, you’re at war with yourself. You don’t know what to tell him. There is still that shimmer of hope on the horizon, the light that makes you believe you stand a chance if you bring him along. But his terms … you’re not sure if you can accept them. He doesn’t know Alvorine or the men you would be hunting half as well as you do. And you’ve never been one for following orders. So if you feel that his assessment of a situation is wrong, you’re not sure you’ll be able to run just because he tells you to.

You have a feeling that defying his orders would be the most dangerous thing you could ever do, even more dangerous than hunting down a group of ruthless bandits who like to torture and kill for fun.

“All right,” you say finally.

His fist unclenches one last time and he exhales slowly.

“But when we find them,” you swallow hard, once, but your mouth is completely dry, “I get to decide what happens to them.”

The Mandalorian turns toward you so abruptly that you almost lose your balance. You lean back and hit your elbow on the wall behind you. The pain makes you curse under your breath.

“Agreed,” he whispers. He sounds like a machine again, as if everything that makes him human is shut away beneath that cold, hard, invaluable beskar steel. You too feel cold suddenly, cold and afraid. “But until then you do as I say. Understood?”

You nod, not trusting your voice. He is too close to you, and drowns out everything else, even the sounds that you considered to be too loud mere seconds ago. If he wouldn’t be wearing a helmet, you would be able to feel his breath on your cheek. He takes up your field of vision almost entirely. You’ve never felt more on display, and yet more hidden. And you know that if you say the wrong thing now, it will have terrible consequences.

So you just nod again.

“We leave in the morning,” he tells you, then turns around suddenly and leaves, his cape trailing behind him.

All sounds come rushing back at once, as if you’ve just emerged out of a pool of water. You release your breath quickly, only now realizing you’ve been holding it. Then you slump back against the wall, a shaking, quivering mess.

***

tag list: @bella-ciao​, @filthybookworm​, @frannyzooey​, @khalysa​, @leannawithacapitala​, @mothandpidgeon​, @mrsparknuts​, @mxsamwilson​, @piscespussybabe​, @something-tofightfor​

[n1kolaiz]

"You want to know what death is? I'll tell you. Death is the loss of life. Despite everything doctors like me attempt... a patient's life can still fall through our fingers. You think death lies in the apex of science? Anyone with such little regard for life will die by my hand."

Character Analysis: Yosano Akiko

Age: 25 || Ability: Thou Shalt Not Die

BSD CHAPTER CHAPTER 65-66 SPOILERS

table of contents:

1. Author counterpart.

2. Yosano's history.

3. 'Angel of Death' defined.

4. Yosano and Atsushi.

YOSANO BRAINROT!*(#&!*@#($

1. Author counterpart.

Having been given the “Sho Ho” at birth, Yosano Akiko’s counterpart—the real-life author—was known for her zealous take on both feminism and pacifism.

Side note: Once again, to avoid confusion, I will use the name Sho Ho in reference to the real-life author, and Yosano in reference to the BSD character.

Sho Ho's writings were pretty much out-of-the-ordinary in her time, and despite being suppressed by the social norms of gender hierarchy, she sought to reform society’s view on the cultural perspectives of women and their sexuality (She expressed her love for a woman in one of her poems, but many still argued on whether she identified herself as queer or not.)

"Thou Shalt Not Die," Yosano's ability, is actually named after one of Sho Ho's most famous, controversial poems. She wrote it for her brother, who was a soldier in the war between Russia and Japan (1904-1905). In her poem, she expressed her general distaste for war and how her brother was a part of it.

O my young brother, I cry for you Don't you understand you must not die! You who were born the last of all Command a special store of parents' love

Would parents place a blade in children's hands

Teaching them to murder other men Teaching them to kill and then to die? Have you so learned and grown to twenty-four?

- excerpt from Sho Ho's poem, "Kimi Shinitamou Koto Nakare"

Her words were blunt enough to inflict guilt on her brother's conscience, as she wasn't afraid to express her disapproval over how her brother took part in the typical violent bloodshed and manslaughter of war. Such opinions perturbed the authorities, and her work was eventually banned from the public for a period of time. Later on, it was used as an anti-war statement.

2. Yosano's history.

Now, as for the character in BSD, Yosano is seen to be generally strong-willed, and later on, we see that she is terrifyingly compassionately ambitious in the way she treats her patients. She treasured life itself, and hated the thought of losing a patient.

Yosano had developed her relations with Mori Ougai back in the Great War, when she was just 11 years old. Her ability was a great benefactor in saving lives. Realistically speaking, she was used for her ability to heal injured soldiers and diminish the effect of any casualty acquired.

Initially, she wasn't aware of this, until one of her close friends pointed it out by subtly accusing Mori of manipulating her to participate in the War under the close-to false pretence of 'saving lives.'

As much as her ability did save lives, it also forced soldiers to return to the frontlines and suffer injuries over and over again. The soldiers were never given the opportunity to return to their families because of her ability. This obliged them to carry on in the war without any excuse, inserting them into a vicious cycle they had no escape out of.

Metaphorically speaking, Yosano's hatred for Mori sort of mirrors Sho Ho's disdain for war and fighting, don't you think? The way Kafka materialised Yosano's past was quite interesting because he used chapters 65 and 66 to explain Yosano's dislike for Mori, reflecting how Sho Ho used her poem to explain why she condemned the idea of war and how her brother was part of it.

Before the effect of her ability was fully understood, however, every soldier praised and thanked her for what an angel she was. One of the soldiers she had befriended and gotten close to even kept a tally of the number of times she had saved him. He was the one who gifted her the butterfly hairpin she wore all the time.

The weight of the truth that her ability was a curse rather than a blessing fully dawned on her when her soldier friend ultimately committed suicide, because the fact of being indefinitely trapped in the throes of war agonised him until his spirit gave out. This drove Yosano to loathe her ability, or rather, how it was used.

In the time she participated in the War, Yosano was given the alias 'angel of death' due to the control she retained over the battlefield, but I thought that perhaps Kafka had a reason behind giving her this title, so I did my research.

3. 'Angel of Death' defined.

Side note: I wouldn't want to disrespect any culture or religion, so if my citations are inaccurate and/or disrespectful, do feel free to correct me/let me know! I did research out of pure curiosity, and I don't intend to twist the significance of any of the interpretations.

I had to grow up learning about the basics of religious stuff, so it's kind of nice to study something out of the box, and very much against my father's rigid belief system :D

ARCHANGEL ARIEL

(archangel: an angel of higher rank)

I came across the few characteristics of angels/goddesses and their roles, and the one which really caught my attention was the female archangel, Ariel, the angel of nature.

[ source ]

In Hebrew, the name Ariel means 'altar' or 'lioness of God,' and her role is to heal. In addition to that, she is also recognised as a helper to another one of the seven main archangels, Raphael, whose role is to provide physical and emotional healing, too.

She is the protecter of the environment and the animals therein, and is bestowed with the duty to oversee the order of heavenly bodies as well as earth's natural resources. She assures the sustenance of food, water, shelter, and supplies of human beings, much like how a nurse is to a patient I suppose.

In relation to Yosano, I think this part is pretty self-explanatory, or perhaps this is blown out of proportion HA, so take this as a suggestion rather than a fact, because I'd like to believe that Kafka had a reason for giving Yosano a title as such.

In the past, I've come across the angel of death only to perceive it as a female grim reaper of some sort, so it was pretty cool to find that the word 'angel' and 'death' made up a title of a someone like Ariel, one of the purest forms of humility and compassion.

GREEK GODDESS PANAKEIA

For my beloved (wannabe/or not) students of Greek mythology (much like myself, let's make a cult!), you've probably heard of Panakeia, the goddess of healing. Medicine finds most of its vital significance in Greek history, and in its mythology, Panakeia is actually known for her ability to heal any kind of sickness.

[ source ]

Her name means 'panacea,' which is actually defined as a remedy for all diseases. Terminal diseases and injuries lead to death, right? This would bring us back to Yosano's ability to nullify any injury's effects on a person, keeping them from death itself.

Now, we know that in order for Yosano's ability to work, her patient, or victim, has to be in a near-death condition in order for her treatment to take effect. This can't exactly fit into the description of resurrection, but it can be described as some sort of rebirth.

GREEK GODDESS PERSEPHONE

So another goddess which reminds me of Sho Ho/Yosano, is Persephone, the goddess of spring and rebirth. Before Hades, the god of the underworld, fell in love with Persephone to take her to live with him, Persephone lived a happy life.

Hades, with his nature of darkness and the like, was captivated by how pure Persephone was, and stole her away from her former life to live in an environment which differed sharply from her natural aura of purity.

[ source ]

Remember when Yosano's friend left a note behind before he killed himself? The note said nothing except for, "You are too righteous." Take that as you will, but figuratively speaking, you could say Mori takes the role of Hades in the story, while Yosano can be portrayed as Persephone.

Sho Ho can also be a parallel of Persephone, in that she had to adapt to the realities of war and disharmony, while Persephone had to adapt to the raw darkness of the underworld with Hades.

Sho Ho stood against society's norms and decided to reform it, making her one of the most well-known feministic pacifist in history, while Persephone managed to escape from the underworld to return to her former position, earning the title the 'Bringer of Life,' or the 'Destroyer of Death.'

Furthermore, the way Sho Ho's anti-war poem took its effect later on, reflects the way Persephone restored balance in the world after returning from the underworld.

4. Yosano and Atsushi.

chapter 66; Yosano: "It's my fault that those close to me died... Is there some place where it's okay for me to live?"

chapter 8; Atsushi: "If I have any chance of saving them all, of returning them home safely, would that mean it's okay for me to keep on living?"

I couldn't help but think of Dazai and Atsushi back when I was reading through these panels. Ranpo (my beloved), along with Fukuzawa, accepted Yosano as she was, despite how her ability was a cause of despair and misfortune.

Ranpo looked past her mistakes and the entirety of how dark her past was to welcome her into the Armed Detective Agency. Dazai, on the other hand, knew who Atsushi was and what his ability had made him do before anyone else, and still decided to provide a safe place for Atsushi to find his sense of belonging, journeying with him as he learned to use his ability properly.

For more info about Dazai and Atsushi's dynamic, you can check out the analysis I did for Dazai :D

Atsushi desired to save people to prove his right to live, while Yosano made her wish to achieve the recovery of all her patients the reason for her existence.

Others would prefer to accuse both Yosano and Atsushi of having a saviour complex, but the reason why they pursued to save people with utmost dedication, stems from the nature of what their past was like. You know the saying 'from broken to beautiful?' Yeah, it's something like that.

The way their pasts were written out gave them a desire to change, which was, I daresay, initiated by the people who took them in: Ranpo and Dazai. Their abilities were demonised because of how they were used, but once they broke from their abilities' effect over their lives, they honed their skills to control them for the right cause instead.

In a less cynical point of view, I believe both Yosano and Atsushi stood for what was right, and wanted nothing but to achieve peace and harmony in whatever way they could, even if it meant risking their own lives to save others.

So yeah, that's it for my rants today. Thank you for reading, and if you have anything to add, go ahead! I'm open to discussions ;)

[karlnapity]

i declare war on my body.

chapter 1: it’s sad to know that we are not alone in this.

(tws: nongraphic self-harm)

punz is the first to come back after the egg is destroyed.

it makes sense; after all, he’s the least connected, the least influenced. he only ever existed on the outskirts of the faction, still the most in control of himself of everyone.

it only takes a few days for him to recover, the red receding bit after bit from his eyes. he spends most of those days sleeping, only waking every few hours to stare at the wall. he tells sam his head feels buzzy, like his thoughts are all out of order, and all sam can do is rub his shoulder and encourage him to go back to sleep.

it’s on the fourth or fifth day he starts to regain any sort of energy, tells puffy a little about what it was like to be under the egg’s influence. he’s allergic to any sort of vulnerability, but no one can deny the way his hands shake, and puffy holds them with her own.

the last of the red bleeds through his tears.

>

it takes around two weeks for ant to make any sort of semblance of consciousness. he blinks his cat pupils open on the final day, stares sam in the face, and starts to cry. his eyes are still purple-tinted, but sam can’t care less as he envelopes his friend in a hug. ant is mumbling something that sounds like ‘i’m sorry' over and over and over again, and sam shushes him, runs a hand along the fur on his head in a calming gesture from when they were kids.

they stay there for a long time. whenever sam tries to pull away, ant hooks his claws in sam’s armor and doesn’t let him leave.

sam doesn’t say anything about it, just obliges.

>

it’s a hard and long process, apologizing. punz and ponk speak in quiet, mumbling voices, and no one dares interrupt them. ant begins with puffy, sitting next to her on the beds they set up, and he recounts the story to her.

“i wish i could tell you more,” he says. “but i don’t remember all that much.”

it’s a complete lie, and he has a feeling she knows, but thankfully she doesn’t pry. she just stands, takes his hand, and pulls him to his feet.

his legs are still a bit shaky, but she supports him as she leads them outside.

the vines are gone, and he can’t help but let out a small cry of relief. she grins at him as she leads him to hannah’s house.

the colors are still gone from her house, but as they settle outside he admires the roses that have started to push through the grass once again.

it’s such a wonder to be in control of himself once again. he opens and closes his hands a few times, still relishing in the feeling.

(he’s not sure of the timeline, of how long he wasn’t himself, but he can’t bring himself to ask.)

he looks at puffy, who’s watching him with a complicated expression. he reaches out a paw, and she takes it.

“i missed you,” she murmurs.

he’s been doing a lot of crying in the few short days he’s been awake, but he never seems to run out of tears.

“i missed you too.”

“we were so worried about what would happen to you after it was destroyed. it had such a strong hold on you…”

“i know, i know, but i’m here now, right? everyone’s gonna be ok.”

(it’s a lie. he’s still coasting on adrenaline, on pure unfiltered relief right now, but he knows it can’t last long. he knows they’ll realize they don’t forgive him, and he knows they’ll realize that it was his fault. because it was. he can’t let himself relax for long.)

she doesn’t make eye contact, and he can see her face pinch a bit at that. he feels a bit of a pit growing in his stomach. he almost doesn’t want to ask.

“what is it?”

she purses her lips. “we’re not sure, on bad.”

his stomach drops.

>

he demands to see bad immediately. it’s a long process, on such tired legs, to get down to the area below. they let him and punz recover on the surface, but puffy said they wanted bad as far from any of the egg’s possible influence as the final vines were being destroyed.

he’s sequestered in a room deep below, and as puffy leads ant down the hallway his anxiety grows.

as much as he wants to see his friend, part of him doesn’t.

a lot of him doesn’t. he stills. he can’t bring his legs to move any more. puffy walks a few more strides before she notices he isn’t behind her, and she doubles back.

she notices his expression immediately. “what’s wrong?”

he struggles to get the words out. he’s been struggling with that a lot, lately. he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he can get it out. it’s still surprising to be able to do so.

“i don’t know if i want to see him.” it’s a painful admission, and part of him fears puffy will immediately call him an asshole. hell, he doesn’t fucking want to see his best friend, one of the people he cares most about, his friend who’s comatose. that’s a bit of a dick move.

but she doesn’t. she rests a hand on his shoulder, and he pulls her into a hug as he hiccups. she rubs his back. they sink to the ground, and puffy holds him close.

“why don’t you want to see him?” there’s no judgment in her voice, not like he feared, and something about it unlocks his words.

“i just… part of it… i don’t want to see the effects, because that’ll make it so much more real.” he bites his lip. “and... we... we did such shitty things together- and i don’t want to remember them- i don’t want to remember how we treated each other- and-”

he can’t breathe. she rubs on his back, murmuring reassurances, and little by little the anxiety in his chest dissipates enough for him to think. he pulls back, a bit, gets a clear look at her face. she gives him a small smile, and he returns it.

“you don’t have to, if you don’t want to. we all get it.” she shifts closer, so they’re sitting side by side on the hallway floor. “it’s a hard thing. you deserve to feel comfortable, first of all. you deserve to put yourself and your recovery first.”

he tugs his knees to his chin. he doesn’t deserve to be first, not after what he did to everyone. puffy’s just being nice. they- his victims- they deserve to be first.

(but does bad count as a victim? he can remember, faintly, being horrible to bad. they fought all the time, he knows that, and not just with words.

the egg pit them against each other, had them fight for everything. he remembers more than he cares to.)

old wounds sting, even after they’ve long since healed. he puts a hand on a faint scar on his arm.

bad doesn’t count as a victim. he shivers.

“ant?” puffy asks gently.

“i don’t want to see him,” he murmurs, as horrible as it feels. puffy nods, pulls him into a brief hug, and tells him to go back upstairs, that she’ll be right behind.

he crawls into bed, and he sleeps for a long, long time.

>

“how’s he doing?” puffy asks as she enters the room. sam looks up from the bedside, setting his book on his lap.

“no change,” he says. puffy purses her lips, takes a look.

bad’s been sleeping fitfully ever since the egg was destroyed. he was the first to go down, collapsing the moment the final vine was severed. sam speculates the egg was siphoning the most energy from him, considering he was the leader of their cause.

he looks terrible. he’s hardly been able to sleep consistently for over half an hour, still gasping and wrenching in what seems to be pain, and they can’t figure out how to fix it.

he still has vines curled around his arm and face. they can’t find where it’s coming from, and every time they trim it back it returns within hours.

a few days ago they came in to find it seemingly ripped out. he was bleeding, badly, but when they returned with medical supplies it had already grown back.

(they decided to keep a constant watch, after that.)

she touches a hand to his forehead. none of them are exactly sure what temperature demons are supposed to be, but all the same he seems far too cold. she strokes his cheek, pulls away and adjusts the blankets. it’s a bit tough, with his height, but they make do.

he’s so pale. his skin looks almost gray where it used to be vibrant, and the red accents still haven’t turned from white.

(he looks dead. every time she comes to see him she can’t help but reach for his pulse. can’t help but check.)

she leans back, sighs. “ant didn’t want to see him.”

sam frowns. “punz and ponk didn’t, either.”

“he didn’t say much on it,” she continues, sitting beside him. “but he seemed almost… scared, i’d say. he said they didn’t treat each other too well.”

“it’s not surprising, is it? it must have been torture, it’s not surprising to learn it had them be awful to each other. if they were too close they’d find a way to fight back, and it couldn’t have that.”

she nods, putting her head in her hands. sam rubs her shoulder. she leans into his side, lets herself break just a little.

(only a little.)

“i just wish he’d wake up.”

“i know,” he says quietly. “i miss him. we’ve just got to hope it’s soon.”

>

punz starts out the day with the express need to forget what the fuck happened.

he can’t bear the way they look at him. puffy and sam’s pity makes him sick, and ant’s trying desperately to avoid him at all costs, and ponk still has a hard time looking him in the eye.

it hurts. he wants things to go back to the way they were, but he doesn’t because that was dream. he’s not sure what he wants.

he deserves a fucking break.

he’s not supposed to leave, yet, not without someone to accompany him, but he doesn’t care. the constant care is suffocating, and he just wants to pretend he’s back to normal for five fucking seconds.

so he grabs a bag, a couple loaves of bread, and

his head still hasn’t cleared, and his body is still utterly shot from being stretched to its limits for months, so he can’t run too far, but he doesn’t care.

(the pain is good, means he’s atoning, and when his lungs burn this hard he can’t even focus on memories.)

he coughs, stumbles, and finds himself on the ground. he rolls over, lays flat on his back, and stares at the sky. he wants to scream.

can he not have five seconds?

his brain feels fuzzy again. it’s been hard, lately, to think much of anything beyond a need to escape a mysterious, nonexistent enemy that’s probably just inside his own mind, but he can’t relax, can’t let himself go, can’t concentrate on anything because of sheer fear.

(puffy says it’s hypervigilance, a trauma response, but that doesn’t make sense, because wasn’t he doing the traumatizing?)

none of it makes any fucking sense. he just wants to curl up on the hill he’s found himself on, stay there forever. it’s so hard. he just wants to stay here forever.

he curls onto his side, closes his eyes. everything’s fuzzy.

“punz?”

he jolts, almost screams, but it’s ponk. he can relax around ponk. ponk’s safe. he settles back onto the ground. “you awake, buddy?”

he waves a hand, and ponk grabs it. he feels the other sit beside him.

“you’re not supposed to run, it’s not safe.”

punz grunts, rolls back onto his back. he has to put extra care into making words, now. it’s so much more tiring. he considers just not responding. he does. “yeah.”

ponk sighs. “ok. can you stand?”

it’s a long process to get back to the base.

>

bad wakes up slowly.

the first time, sam barely notices it. he rolls over, raises a hand to rub on his face, which isn’t too uncommon. the keen of pain that follows is still business as usual, much as it makes sam’s heart ache.

then, all of a sudden, he gasps. his hands fly up to pull at the vine on his face. his eyes are still closed, but he’s crying, sobbing, even, and he grasps with what seems to be his full strength. sam stands, trying to figure out what to do, when the vines fly off with a sickening noise that makes sam want to be sick.

they fall to the ground, and he raises a netherite boot to crush them. it makes a horrible squelch, and sam knows he’ll have to burn the boots later to get the stain off, but it doesn’t matter.

what matters is the blinking, too-dim, barely open eyes in front of him.

sam pulls him into a tight hug. bad makes a sort of growl in the back of his throat that makes sam’s hair stand up on end.

bad doesn’t usually speak in his native tongue, anymore, and sam has no idea what he says, but he doesn’t care.

his friend is alive.

>

everything hurts so much. every single nerve in his body feels like it’s on fire, feels like he’s burning up from the inside.

someone- sam, it’s sam, it’s sam it’s samit’ssam- is petting his hair, running his fingers through the knots and working them out gently. he’s saying something, but the rushing in bad’s ears is too much to be able to understand anything at all.

he’s so tired. he wants to fall asleep, wants to sleep forever, but the pain is so much that he can’t do more than collapse against sam, let the other man carry his weight. he wants to bring his arms up to return the hug (it’s the least he can do) but he can’t.

he lets out a whine. everything is too much. the world is too bright, his own breathing is too ragged to his ears, even sam’s touch hurts. sam just continues murmuring words bad doesn’t understand and running his fingers through his hair.

the door opens, or at least he thinks it does. he’s not sure. his weight is passed from sam to another and he cries out. he doesn’t want sam to leave him, but this new person talks in a voice that calms him. he feels a warm washcloth on his face and it’s the only thing that doesn’t burn. the person takes his hands and warms them between their own, and the pain eases just a little.

he relaxes, slowly.

there’s still whispering in his ears and he tries so hard to tune it out.

(it hurts.)

he curls in on himself when it grows too loud.

it gets louder. he doesn’t stay awake for long.

[caffeinatedseri]

Murakami and Ranpo

Some minor spoilers ahead for the third BSD LN, The Untold Story of the Founding of the Detective Agency." If you aren't concerned with spoilers, I did my best with summarizing the plot for anyone who hasn't read the novel.

In the third BSD LN, Fukuzawa and Ranpo are tasked with finding the culprit of an ominous death threat at a theatrical play. The threat is written as follows:

“An angel shall bring death, in the truest sense of the word, to the performer. —V.”

This threat fits perfectly with the play, which is a mystery play where each character gets killed by an "angel" who murders. However, the characters don't know if they're being killed by an angel or a regular person, because there's nothing supernatural about their causes of death (getting stabbed by a knife, poison, strangulation, etc.).

Each character was a former angel who had been banished from the celestial world, because they admired humans so much that God turned them into humans. Therefore, the characters in the play believed that an angel was sent after them to punish them for their sins.

This sets up two mysteries for us to follow:

1. The mystery of the real death threat, sent by "V" — who is the culprit behind it, who will they kill, and why?

2. The mystery within the play — is it an angel or real person killing each character, and why?

Paradoxes (and Things That Don't Make Sense)

The play is called, "The Living World is a Dream, the Nocturnal Dream is Reality," which is a quote from the real Edogawa Ranpo's work, but I couldn't find the exact source. The title proposes a paradox: reality is a dream, and dreams are reality.

Several other paradoxes present themselves in the story, but they appear most prominently in Ranpo's big speech where he solves the mystery of the play, and the murder simultaneously:

“The murder and the play’s story are connected on a deep level. This play reversed the tide of the narrative. A group of fallen angels tried to return to the heavens, but the angel of judgment tried to stop them. Meanwhile, the angel’s judgment was but a show, and the supposed victim, a human, faked it. The angel’s and humans’ roles were reversed, switching the judge and the judged. That’s the kind of play this was. "

"...the narrative is in reverse. Our structures have been swapped along with the victim and killer as well. In other words—he isn’t the killer, but a victim."

This reveal subverts the original expectation that the plot would follow two separate mysteries. Instead, the lines are blurred between reality and fiction, killer and killed, and dreams and reality because now the two mysteries are intertwined.

I think this part of the story is deliberately written to be confusing (or at least not very clearly explained) as to fit in with the themes found in Murakami's writing.

Who is Murakami?

Haruki Murakami is a famous Japanese author, and you may have read some of his famous works, "Norwegian Wood" and "Kafka on the Shore."

Since this is Bungou (Literary) Stray Dogs, Murakami makes an appearance in this light novel as the main actor of the play.

Before I go on to explain Murakami's role in the novel, I'll give a brief background on his real counterpart and explain how the theatrical play in the novel reflects the real Murakami's work.

Murakami writes in the genre of "magical realism", where the lines between fantasy and reality are blurred as magical elements are seamlessly incorporated into the story. I'll be using "Kafka on the Shore" as the main example for this point, since it's a great example of Murakami's expertise in magical realism.

In "Kafka on the Shore," there are 2 interrelated plot lines, alternating with each chapter, similar to the 2 supposed mysteries outlined at the beginning of the novel.

Like its moniker, "Kafka on the Shore" resembles a "Kafkaesque" style of writing due to its surreal elements that are bizarre and illogical in the rules of reality.

In an interview about this novel, Murakami said:

"Kafka on the Shore contains several riddles, but there aren't any solutions provided. Instead, several of these riddles combine, and through their interaction the possibility of a solution takes shape. And the form this solution takes will be different for each reader. To put it another way, the riddles function as part of the solution. It's hard to explain, but that's the kind of novel I set out to write."

The Outcome of the Play

In theme with Murakami's bizarre, magical-realism writings, several illogical events take place within the span of the LN:

1. Before the play even starts, Murakami (the character) and the rest of the cast completely disregard the death threat. Even though the logical and safe solution would be to reschedule the play, it is a very literal representation of "the play must go on" mindset.

2. Murakami gets stabbed mid-sentence, on stage by a white blade that magically disappears.

3. Murakami bleeds real blood and has no pulse, which would signify his death, but he doesn't actually die.

Despite all this, Ranpo is extremely good at observing various elements of a situation and putting them together to form a solution, much like how the interactions of "Kafka on the Shore"'s riddles form their own solution.

Ranpo appears on stage and makes an Oscar-worthy performance out of his announcement that reveals Murakami to be the culprit behind his own death. It doesn't make much logical sense that Murakami would fake his own death for a performance, but rather it's an action motivated by pure passion.

“I…,” muttered Murakami in almost a whisper. He raised his voice and continued, “I am an actor! I become someone I am not and live a life that doesn’t exist! My job is to expose what it means to be human! It doesn’t matter if I play the lead part or a minor part. It doesn’t matter if I am a villain or hero. I become them with every part of my body! There is no other job for me! This is the only way I can live!”

And here, Murakami reveals the final paradox of the play:

"But there is one thing that cannot be avoided while acting on the stage of life, and that is death! Death is not the opposite of life; it is life’s symbol and banner. However, it also provides a great paradox! Nobody alive has ever experienced it! That’s why to me, the greatest job of all would be performing the death of a person. Not death as a device or a mere convention, but real death that I could convey to the audience. That was the pinnacle of theatrical performance to me. And this is the outcome of my toil."

Murakami eventually gets arrested for the fake death threat and deceiving the police, among other things. The most notable moment after this comes in Ranpo's dialogue to Murakami:

“I thought you were amazing,” Ranpo suddenly said from behind as Murakami was being taken away. “I didn’t quite understand all of it myself, but I don’t think it’s something that just anyone could do. By the way, take a look at the audience. Look at their faces.”

1. Ranpo sees Murakami's act as something admirable, most likely because Ranpo appreciates a good mystery and had fun solving it.

2. Ranpo tells Murakami to look at the audience, to which he turns around and sees the faces of a broken audience who came to watch a play and instead witnessed a real not-so-real murder.

“You said your job was entertainment, right? But could you really call it that…when you look at their expressions?” For the first time, Murakami’s eyes showed a sign of weakness. “…I see.” A small voice, unlike what one would expect from a stage actor with a powerful voice, fell from the stage. “I was…only performing for myself.”

Murakami realizes that he traumatized his entire audience on his quest to reach the "pinnacle of theatrical performance." In his small world that consisted of just the stage, he failed to see the outside world and forgot to consider how his actions would impact others. It's also important to mention that it was Ranpo specifically who pointed it out to him.

The focus on the audience mirrors Fukuzawa's thoughts when Ranpo was giving his big speech before Murakami appeared on the stage:

Fukuzawa was at his wits’ end. From the playgoers’ point of view, the fact that people knew there was going to be a murder beforehand completely changed their view of the situation. Was it really okay to tell them that? But Ranpo showed no concern for the audience’s worries.

Ranpo, throughout the entire novel, is portrayed as this extraordinarily ordinary kid who means well but simply doesn't understand what others are thinking. He was taught that he wasn't special, but this only isolated him into his own tiny world, because the outside world was filled with things he didn't understand.

This leads to him upsetting a bunch of people by blatantly calling out things about them that shouldn't be called out, like the theater's owner Ms. Egawa, and even Fukuzawa at one point.

However, this moment when he calls out Murakami is pivotal because it shows how he's grown from this event. He's learned to be considerate of others. He's seen how he can upset other people with the things he says, and he's learned from that enough to show another person who's trapped in their own individual world.

Although Ranpo is depicted to be somewhat self-centered throughout this novel and even after it, Fukuzawa taught him that he isn't alone in this world. Because Fukuzawa showed compassion to Ranpo, a special fifteen-year-old kid who didn't know better in a world of monsters, Ranpo learned how to exist in a world where he was different from everyone else, and that was okay.

Thank you for reading! If you haven't read this LN yet, I would still highly recommend it because I didn't cover the entirety of the mystery, and it's a wonderful read to understand more about Ranpo and Fukuzawa's backstory.