#but she chooses to face her demons and let herself heal

[romaritimeharbor]

I'LL SEE YOU WHEN I FALL ASLEEP. — The Tokito family's oldest child returns home.

— trigger & content warnings. contains spoilers for the infinity castle arc & takes place around/after the end of the manga, major character death, grief, self-hatred, survivor's guilt, etc.

— pairings & notes. hurt/comfort. kamado tanjiro, kamado nezuko & reader, but the fic is still muichiro-centric. reader is 16 and is gender neutral (they/them pronouns used). reader was a demon slayer. reader is muichiro and yuichiro's older sibling. 3.1k words.

— author's thoughts. suffer, manga readers :) anyways why are there so few platonic fics about mui and yui??? they are literally my sons. please. begging the kny community to write more platonic content about them sobs weeps cries /lh

       Morning sunlight kisses their skin tenderly, caressing their face with its reassuring touch, but it does nothing to soothe the dull ache in their chest.

       In the absence of all else, that dull ache perpetually remains—a constant, ringing reminder of their utter failures as a person. Of their failures as their family's oldest child. When they feel nothing, when all of their tears have run dry and left them with vacant emptiness, that dull ache remains still. When the tears fall endlessly, ever continuing regardless of how many times they try to dry their face, it remains still.

       Inconsolable, that is what they were. Wholly and truly inconsolable.

       'It wasn't your fault,' Tanjiro would insist over and over, because he knows not what other words he can say to them, because he knows what it is like. What else could he possibly say to ease their grief? He hasn't the slightest idea, because really... there is nothing. Nothing to say, nothing to do, other than sit beside them and let the grief come and go as it does—it is a nonlinear thing, grief. Tanjiro knows the process all too well. It will get better and then worse, before repeating the cycle again and again. He knows there is nothing he can do other than hold their hand throughout it all. There is no getting rid of the pain before it heals on its own time, so the words he chooses are 'You will feel okay one day.'

       'They wouldn't want you to linger on it,' Nezuko would say, but she also knew not what to tell them. She, much like her older brother, is not unfamiliar with the guilt they felt for simply being alive. She knows that feeling all too well. She does not recall much from her time as a demon—she has explained that those memories are more like a distant dream, something she cannot quite touch and can only catch brief glimpses of, rather than actual memories she can recall at will. Despite that, she knows it hurt when she discovered herself to be the only one who survived that day. It still hurts. Less, but it does. She knows not what to say to them, but she knows that time heals, so the words she chooses are 'You will feel okay one day.'

       Dew clings to the grass and leaves. The dirt squishes beneath their steps. A thin fog (a mist, they dare think, but the fleeting thought makes their stomach drop, so they do their best to rid their mind of it) has settled just above ground level, and they absently wonder if it rained the night before; it must have. They hadn't noticed.

       It would be borderline impossible to, with the night they had. Being perceptive of and attentive to minute details such as whether or not it had rained a few hours prior was not in the forefront of their dazed mind at the moment.

       (They did not sleep well, thoughts too preoccupied with the memories of what once was, of what could have still been.

       ...But the reality they dreamed of was not theirs, because they failed. They curse the world for plaguing them with such dreams—it was as if they were forced to peek into another universe, where they are happier now, helpless to snap their gaze away until whatever being tormenting them decided they had suffered enough. A punishment, that's what it was. A vile, awful, enraging punishment. Haven't they suffered enough?

       Though, maybe they should at least be happy for them in that alternate universe. At least they're happy somewhere.

       The thought is both comforting and devastating. Maybe if they hadn't been such a useless older sibling, they would be that joyful, too.)

       The trek up the mountain was not nearly long enough; they hardly had any time at all to gather their thoughts, to swallow back the growing lump in their throat, before a vacant home entered their vision. It has been vacant for quite some time now, but the sting of what happened there almost three years ago feels exceptionally fresh, knowing that the twin who survived that event was also long gone now. The slightly chilly breeze stirs around them, swirling a few green and brown leaves that their trees had begun to shed. It welcomes them home, brushing across their skin and causing goosebumps to raise, beckoning them closer.

       Fall will arrive soon.

       ...It has been some time since the nights have become safer to travel through. For the first time in thousands of years, demons were not a concern; the concerns now were more mundane. Animals, other humans, tripping over a tree root hidden by the darkness and getting wounded... yes, it has been quite some time since demons became a threat of the past. A few months, at the very least, but the pain of loss has grown no easier to bear. If anything, it has dug its vicious claws into their aching chest even further, threatening to tear open their ribcage and rip their bruised heart out at any moment.

       It wouldn't be anything they didn't deserve, if that were to happen. It would be better that way.

       ...Tanjiro would tell them off for thinking like that, in the nicest and gentlest words he could manage. Their brothers would, too. Though, they're relatively certain that both of their brothers would use much harsher words. The thought might've made them laugh under another circumstance.

       Even if they wanted everything to end already, they had no choice but to live, despite how much it pained them to do so. Maybe, just maybe, there will come a day in which living no longer feels like a knife to the chest.

       That's something to look forward to. The day when their heart will not stutter when they see this vacant house. The day where they will not think 'It should have been me.'

       Much to their surprise, there was no moss climbing up the headstones situated at the side of the house, and the grass was neatly tamed.

       Someone had been here recently, then.

       Sanemi? Giyuu? Perhaps Kanamori or Kotetsu. All options were equally likely; Sanemi, who they knew beyond a shadow of a doubt understood how they felt. Giyuu, who routinely paid respects to his fellow Hashira that fell in battle. Kanamori and Kotetsu, who may very well have died if not for their youngest brother's intervention back in the Swordsmith Village. They weren't quite sure who had been here (maybe they would ask around later, if for no other reason but to thank that person or those people), but... the gesture sent a wave of fresh tears to their eyes.

       They hesitate, frozen in place. Shaking hands rise to their chest, clasped together in a poor attempt to put an end the trembling, and they briefly consider leaving.

       It would be rude, though. To make the trek all the way up the mountain, to trick their beloved little brothers into thinking they were visiting, just to leave. They were never that cruel. Grief would not become their excuse for ignoring their brothers... or what was left of them, anyway.

       Ginko sits on their shoulder. She has grown quieter than the used to be, and they know the loss has also impacted her. Still, she isn't completely placated, and she grumbles, "Are you just going to stand here like an idiot?"

       "You've got working wings," they retort. "Go first, if you're so impatient."

       She huffs, batting her comedically long eyelashes as she turns her little head away from them petulantly. She does not leave their shoulder. Ginko has never been nice or pleasant—she was only ever nice to Muichiro, really. Everyone else, including them, would shown get her nastier side. Spoiled princess are the words they would use to describe her, personally... but she isn't heartless. She does not dare move forward before they do.

       (They know she isn't heartless. They still sometimes think about how weak and sick she became after the tragedy, and really, they were no better. She had slept by their side for weeks. Whether to keep them or herself company, they did not know, nor did they really care. She was their closest companion for the first few weeks, when they were too tired and absentminded to bother seeking anyone else out.

       What an odd situation to have been in, where their best company was the bratty crow that used to deliver their brother's mission assignments. It feels unreal to think about, but it is the truth.)

       Steeling their resolve, they move forward.

       In front of the four grave markers, they kneel, paying no mind to the wet dirt and cool grass sticking to their clothes. If anything, the cold is welcomed. Their flesh burns hot with the weight of their grief. The cold touch feels forgiving, welcoming. Ginko stretches her wings and delicately glides over to perch on top of her former master's headstone.

       Between the middle two stones sits their blade, sunk deep into the dirt, never to be touched again. Vines have begun ascending the half that still stuck out of the ground. It would be difficult to get it out, they think. Good. There it shall remain, never to be used again, a monument honoring their family and the sacrifices made to protect the world when the world never knew it was in danger in the first place.

       They sit like that in silence for a moment, a chill ascending their spine as the cool morning wind kissed the crown of their head and brushed through their hair.

       A moment passes. Then another.

       And finally, they manage something:

       "Hi," they say, voice coming out unsurprisingly meek and quiet. They're sure that if they tried to speak any louder, any clearer, their voice would crack and break. "Mama, papa, Yuichiro, Muichiro... I'm home. Again." It is at this point that their tone wavers somewhat. Their hands, now situated in their lap, immediately latch onto one another again in an attempt to steady themselves somehow. "Um, Tanjiro and Nezuko are here too. Or they will be. They just wanted to give me space first."

       Muichiro would be excited to see the two, they think. He always got along particularly well with Tanjiro, and Nezuko was the kind of child who had a very kind demeanor about her, so most people grew to like her even when she was a demon.

       They're hardly aware of the stinging in their eyes—it's a feeling they've grown very used to, as if it was their most natural state of being. It may as well have been. It's what they had become accustomed to feeling in the past months; it was either that, or a dreadful emptiness that made their entire body feel weightless, as if they barely existed. 

       It was always too little or too much.

       When would they be able to come here without crying?

       "I'm sorry," they choke out, folding in on themselves. Locks of their hair fall forward, forming a curtain around their face that hides their pitifully broken expression from prying eyes, and their forehead ever so slightly comes into contact with the damp dirt below. "I'm so— I'm so sorry," they weep, "I should have done more. It should— should be me buried, n— not you, not any of you—"

       There is a dagger stuck inches deep in their gut. It feels as if someone has twisted it, now, because as they speak through their cries, they remember that Muichiro was never buried. His body was never recovered. It only makes the hot tears stinging their cheeks pour out with more force.

       Buried in the spot the grave marked were only some of his personal belongings along with things he was known to like.

       There was nothing they could have possibly done to change what happened to their parents; it was just a stroke of terrible luck for the both of them that would not have been changed regardless of what they did differently, but in a hysterical state, there is no room for nuance. Grief blends together, and they can't think clearly enough to verbally distinguish between if they meant 'It should have been me' in reference the twins or for their parents.

       The answer was clear nonetheless. It hung in the air, ever present.

       It should have been them instead of Yuichiro that day.

       It should have been them instead of Muichiro that day.

       Would either of those outcomes have changed anything?

       If it had been them dying in Yuichiro's place, what would have happened that night in the Infinity Castle? Would both twins have died regardless, making their sacrifice utterly meaningless? Would only one have died, leaving the other to exist completely and entirely alone in the world? If they had died in Muichiro's place, would he be the one knelt before their grave, wishing it'd been him instead?

       How selfish of them to wish it had been them instead.

       How selfish of them to want their brothers to hurt like this instead of them.

       ...But they know that isn't what they're trying to imply. No, they would rather suffer this pain a million times over to spare their siblings the pain of having to feel it even once.

       What they wanted was to give even one of the twins a chance to live past twelve or fourteen; both died far too young, meanwhile they lived on. They had turned sixteen recently (or was it a while ago? They were uncertain; the days, weeks, and months had all blended together in a blur of agony). They had no choice but to keep living, to keep aging, when it should be their little brothers instead of them living on and growing up together.

       A soft hand on their shoulder causes their breath to hitch, and they adjust, peering upwards.

       Tanjiro is there now. 

       He's crouching down, fingers softly kneading their shoulder. When he sees that they're looking at them, his half-blind gaze softens, and he smiles.

       It makes their heart ache.

       "It's okay," he whispers, and they are suddenly hyper-aware of the gloss over his eyes. He must have heard them. 'Don't cry for me,' they want to say, but the words don't come out, and they know he would cry for them regardless of if they told him not to. "It's going to be okay one day."

       Ginko glares at him a bit. It's her least favorite rhetoric to hear—'It's okay.' She doesn't say anything, though. because he is not saying it to her, and if it comforts them even the slightest bit... well, she supposes she can tolerate it.

       A stifled whine manages to shove its way past their barely parted lips. They squeeze their eyes shut, hoping to stop the tears.

       It doesn't work, of course, and they can only break out into another sob.

       The boy's gaze is warm, too warm—it looks too much like their father's. 

       Tanjiro, ever the patient and kindly person that he was, sits there with them until their tears run dry. They want to cry more. They want to curl up into a ball and let the Earth take their body so that the pain would finally cease.

       They cannot, however. Their only choice is to sit up and continue forward, one day at a time.

       Straightening their spine, they sit up, turning fully to Tanjiro with tired eyes.

       "Do you feel better?"

       "No."

       He reaches out and squeezes one of their hands, face twisted in empathy. He doesn't seem to care about the dirt that has clung onto their palms. In silence, with only Tanjiro and Ginko at their side (more or less; the crow has yet to move from Muichiro's headstone, but her presence is enough for them), they sit.

       It's a few moments later that they register the sound of dirt squishing under someone's steps, and they turn their head.

       It's Nezuko. In her hands is a small basket.

       "I'm here," she says with a kind smile. She looks like her brother when she smiles like that, they think. Her gaze is just as warm as Tanjiro's is when her eyes land on them. "I brought rice balls and paper."

       ...Rice balls. She brought food.

       Nezuko was always adamant on pestering them about self-care in the first few weeks following Muichiro's death. 'He wouldn't want you to destroy yourself like this,' she had said at one point, a stern glare fixed on her face. 'Your brother being gone now is no excuse to neglect your health. Please eat, [Name], if not for him or for yourself, then for me. For Tanjiro. For everyone living who still loves you and worries about you.'

       Her tender, worried attentiveness almost makes them want to cry again, but they have no tears left to give

       On the rare occasion where they would not listen to her, she would get Sanemi, who would threaten to kick their ass if they didn't get themselves together. The threat of being beat up by the former Wind Hashira was usually enough to convince them, but they doubt that he ever would have actually done it—Shinazugawa Sanemi is many things. He is not a hypocrite when it comes to the matters of being the eldest sibling... not anymore, anyway. He was once, but he is not now. The grief he carries resonates deeply with theirs, and he was not taking particularly good care of himself, either.

       They should probably visit him one of these days. He might be in need of the company, though he would never say that out loud.

       "Paper?" they wonder quietly, hoarsely, head tilting to the side inquisitively. Neither sibling seems to mind the scratchiness of their voice. "

       Tanjiro's face then brightens. "Want to see who can throw a paper airplane the farthest out of the three of us?"

       Oh. Oh.

       "...I'm going to absolutely annihilate you both at that." Something stirs in their chest. For the first time in a while, the dullness fades somewhat, and there's a thrilling edge taking its place. Their eyes shift between the Kamado siblings. "I'm the one who taught Mui how to get so good at it. You don't stand a chance. You do realize that, right?"

       He grins. "We'll see!"

       For the first time in months, they feel something other than void emptiness or overwhelming grief.

       The wind rustles around them again, and they like to think that Muichiro is there, cheering them on from where they cannot see or hear him.

       ...But they do feel him, and that is enough for now.

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[marauderingpaige]

Which one of my Good Omens fic ideas would you like me to start writing first?

Hiya, how are you all?

I have a number of ideas for Good Omens fanfics, however, I cannot choose which one I was to start on first, so I figured I would let you all choose which one you think I should start/which one you would like to start reading first.

1: Shortly after the nopepocalypse, and the two switching faces for their punishments, Crowley gets dragged to Hell for more punishment. He is to carry the next antichrist and watch as Satan raised the child, abusing them so that they do his bidding. The punishment being Crowley's child being turned away from him, declaring that he isn't their parent. Aziraphale realises that something is wrong when he doesn't see Crowley for a while and goes to Crowley's apartment, finding signs of a struggle and he is immediately alarmed. He makes plans to go to Hell to rescue Crowley. He ends up with the flaming sword again.

2: Crowley is Adam's birth mother. He was kidnapped by Hell and tortured... by Satan. It is a painful pregnancy but he connects with the baby mentally and through their souls. He and Adam communicate mentally. He gives birth alone and is allowed an hour alone with Adam before they come and snatch him from Crowley's arms and they hold him down, making Crowley watch as Satan changes Adam, blocks their connection, makes him able to adapt to look like who his human parents would be, and make sure he is unable to be sensed by demons and angels. Satan puts the human looking baby in the basket and heals Crowley, changing his clothes to what he was wearing when he was taken, and threatens Crowley that if he doesn't do exactly as he wants Crowley to do then he will take him and the baby back to Hell and make Crowley watch as he tortures and kills the baby, before slowly killing Crowley also. He sends Crowley and the baby back to Earth, they are placed near the Bentley, and the plans are forced into his head. Crowley has a moment with his baby before he takes the baby to the hospital, knowing that he can't go against the plan, for the sake of his baby. When the baby is in place he goes straight to Aziraphale to come up with a plan, though he doesn't say anything about Adam being his baby yet. Aziraphale notices something's wrong though and will figure it out at some point. Crowley makes sure the Dowling's are living in London and becomes the nanny, and Aziraphale the gardener, and he raises the boy he thinks is his son.

3. Maggie is Aziraphale's and Crowley's daughter from before the Fall, Crowley being her mother, but their memories were taken shortly after her birth. She knows who they are to her but can't say anything directly to them. She opened the record shop to be close to them, she miracles herself to appear that she is aging and disappears for a little while, only to reappear as her own daughter/granddaughter so that no one knows she isn't human. Crowley and Aziraphale find out the truth, however, when Crowley's memories are forcefully returned to him, Aziraphale's memories return at the same time due to a soul bond they share.

4. TW: mentions of unwanted abortion. After the Job incident, or after the flood (but probably after Job), Crowley and Aziraphale spend some time together, becoming... closer. They... sleep together ;) and Crowley becomes pregnant. However they both know that they can't be together, not properly, not yet, and they certainly can't have a baby yet, no matter how much they want to keep it. They aren't able to miracle the baby away, so they have to go the classic abortion route, Aziraphale stays with Crowley during it, and for a while after, but eventually they have to part ways so as to not arouse suspicion, with the promise that "one day" when it is safe for them to be together, they will be, and they will have a family also. Cut to the final 15 and after the kiss they rest their foreheads against the other's and Aziraphale rests his hand on Crowley's stomach, whispering, "One day. Trust me." This is the endgame. Their chance to be free. Following their 'divorce' is the events leading up to the second coming and Aziraphale, Crowley and others trying to stop it, then them getting back together, officially, and so on and so forth. Will probably be a rather long story, filled with flashbacks and such, too. And a lot of other revelations in the form of memories being returned and such, but I don't want to bore you all too much with super long explanations of these fics I want to, and will write, haha.

5. After the nopepocolypse and the switch and such Crowley and Aziraphale get together, thinking that they might finally be free enough to settle down. At some point Crowley gets pregnant (I think you guys can tell by this point that I am obsessed with this genderless being getting pregnant, but I have just read so many wonderful fics and... anyways, I shan't ramble too much). Crowley is just about to leave his apartment to tell Aziraphale about their baby, however, he hears intruders. After putting up quite a fight he is kidnapped by either Heaven or Hell (probably Hell) and hurt quite badly by a number of demons and Satan as he is held captive (there may possibly be a miscarriage, but if there is, once they have had some time to heal, then they will get pregnant again because I am obsessed with them having a family.) After a week or so of not hearing from Crowley, Aziraphale is incredibly worried and goes to Crowley's apartment to find out what is going on, to find the apartment a mess and one of the pregnancy tests that Crowley used, a note that Crowley quickly wrote when he heard the intruders, along with signs of whoever took his demon. Aziraphale works to rescue Crowley. They heal, and so on. Eventual happy ending.

6. This is a very basic idea that involves a bet, I don't know what yet because this idea isn't quite fully formed, between God and Satan involving Crowley and Aziraphale. But if you want to read this kind of a story first then I shall definitely formulate a plan.

Anyways, I think that is enough for now. Which one would you like to read first, feel free to ask questions, drop a comment, and vote in the poll. I am hoping to work on the first chapter this week as I have the week off work, and other than going to an Olivia Rodrigo concert, and my dad's birthday, the only thing I plan to do is write (both fanfic and the book I am writing). So yeah, please do let me know what is, hopefully taking your fancy.

I hope you are all having a wonderful day! xx

[zapreportsblog]

In Love With The Same Cat

➥ summary : There’s no Spider-Man without the Black Cat just like there’s no Black Cat without Spider-Man. But what if we had a multiverse dimensional traveling jewelry stealing burglar Black Cat (try saying that seven times fast aye) that traveled across dimensions not only stealing the worlds finest jewels but also the hearts of four unlucky, or lucky depending on how you see it Spider-Man’s and Spider-Women’s hearts.

➥ 3: Seeking Redemption, Not Revenge

Months of tireless training in martial arts and acrobatics had transformed (y/n) into a formidable force to be reckoned with. She had honed her skills and mastered her body, mentally preparing herself for a confrontation that would serve as the ultimate test of her newfound strength.

As (y/n) delved deeper into her mission, her initial mindset of seeking revenge began to shift. Revenge, she realized, was a dark path that could consume her soul and perpetuate a cycle of violence. Instead, she resolved to use this confrontation to reclaim her power and seek a form of redemption for the pain inflicted upon her.

After tirelessly scouring the city, (y/n) finally found a lead that would point her in the direction of Blake, the college guy who had assaulted her that fateful night. It was a trail speckled with danger, but she was no stranger to adversity. With her heart pounding and her determination unwavering, she embarked on this treacherous journey, armed not only with physical prowess but also the strength of her spirit.

When she finally located Blake, (y/n) discovered a man plagued by demons of his own, existing in a world of self-destruction and regret. It was a sobering sight, one that stirred empathy within her. As anger simmered within her veins, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of sorrow for what he had become.

Drawing deep from the well of her newfound strength, she stepped out of the shadows to confront her assaulter. Blake's eyes met hers, and for a brief moment, time stood still. In that charged silence, (y/n) measured his every move, her training guiding her like an invisible hand.

But instead of lashing out with a fury fueled by revenge, (y/n) chose a different path. She embraced forgiveness, recognizing that it was not weakness, but rather a testament to her own strength.

She looked into Blake's eyes and spoke words that echoed with both pain and resilience. "I refuse to let your actions consume me any longer. I've come here not to take your life, but to claim back mine." Her voice trembled, yet carried an inescapable conviction.

Tears streamed down Blake's face as he finally comprehended the gravity of his actions. He wanted to beg for forgiveness, to find redemption for the pain he had caused. But (y/n) knew that the burden he carried was his alone to bear.

With her head held high, (y/n) turned away from Blake, leaving him in the haunted labyrinth of his own remorse. Redemption, she realized, was a personal journey that required an individual to face their demons, seek amends, and make peace with their past—a journey in which she had no power to escort him.

As (y/n) walked away, she could feel the weight of her past beginning to lift. She wasn't just a survivor anymore; she was a warrior who had triumphed over darkness. The scars on her body were now a testament to her strength, resilience, and reclamation of her identity.

From that point forward, (y/n) dedicated herself to helping others navigate the complex path of healing after trauma. She became an advocate, breaking the cycle of sexual assault, and transforming her pain into a catalyst for change.

In the wake of that confrontation, (y/n) found peace within herself—a peace crafted from the shards of her shattered innocence. She understood that revenge would only breed more anguish, but by choosing forgiveness and reclaiming her power, she had transcended the confines of victimhood.

In the annals of (y/n)'s journey, Chapter 3 marked a significant turning point. It was a chapter that showcased not only her physical growth but, more importantly, her emotional evolution. She learned that true strength resided in rising above the urge for revenge, embracing forgiveness, and forging a new path filled with healing, understanding, and compassion.

[rosedragonblast]

This bitch makes me go from Asexual to Doubtsexual, so here is my take about how, imo, Melinoe and Zagreus can properly meet each other.

Hades sits upon his throne, finally feeling a bit of relief. His heart beating slowly, tension disappearing into the air. There is still a lot to be done, a lot of things to be put in place.

Some of the gods are still trapped, unable to break free of the chains which Chronos and his minions casted upon the realm. But, even so. With much arrogance, the Titan stated that his chains are not to be broken by any godly creature. Yet, Melinoe found a way. Her stubbornness, combined with wit, sharp mind and compassion promised to bring a beam of light into this dark world in it's worst times.

House of Hades stands strong still, among the demon spawn who try to brake in, desperate to free their master. In the dark depths of the Underworld itself, somewhere where only Chaos may reach, stands a prison, which now serves as a permanent place of rest for the Titan of Time himself. Chronos screams into the void, but only turning it to the music of victory for one young goddess.

She stares into the darkness. Not scared, joyous or sad. Tired, but satisfied. Her purpose, her life-long dream of vengeance. Finally coming true before her own eyes, by her own hand. A feeling, sweeter than anything nectar could provide, lingers on the tongue. It's not how Melinoe imagined it, but she can't complain. If the fates so decided, it's not her place to argue about the taste of her triumph.

The goddess stretches herself, rubbing her hand and turning around. Coming out of the pits of the Underworld, feeling a hard floor under her burning feet, Mel lets herself adjust again, before making a few steps forward.

Hades, already deep in his work, notices his daughter. He feels her more than sees her. Turning his head, the God of the Dead looks at her with a hint of soft expression.

— Are you feeling well, Melinoe?

— I'm quite well, father. Just...Tired, i suppose. There is still a lot of blood of the Surface running through those veins. I need to adjust, heal. But all will be fine, I know it. Nothing shall stop me from completing my quest.

— Don't rush, daughter, — Hades sighs, his face shifting into slight concern. — You shouldn't go at it alone. Now, that you have support of the House, of Hekate and your associates, you shall lean more into their help. I think they'll be happy to oblige.

— I think I shall choose my own path in regards to finishing off Chronos' forces. But, thank you for the concern, father. I really should let myself breathe out for a bit.

Hades puts his hands against the table. Melinoe adjusts her hair, going further into the House. Something always rings, sounds and bangs in here. Souls moving along, some of the workers getting head first into their work. Melinoe goes out of the way, going towards the river Stix.

A pair of green and red eyes look at her from the reflection. Mel leans into the railing, as if trying to ask something of the red water. She listens. And it answers.

Hearing a faint whisper, guiding her up the stream, Melinoe hesitates. Another one of Chronos' tricks? Doesn't seem like it. The titan shouldn't have such an influence on the realm to affect the waters of the Stix to such an extent. Thinking for just a bit, Mel braces herself, closes her eyes and lets her body fall into the water.

Hearing distant gasps, the princess looks around. If feels...Like home. The water doesn't reject. It embraces, with all the arms of the dead swimming through. Melinoe holds her breath, trying to hear the whisper again.

It catches up to her. Louring her away. Feeling like she has to catch a breath, the goddess sees something familiar. A figure frozen in time. It holds up a sword, as if it's trying to fight an unseen foe. Opening her eyes wider, Mel reaches out. Further and further in, the water becomes thicker. It almost stops, barely holding on. Melinoe makes a final effort to grab the silhouette, her fingers holding onto their clothes.

Suddenly feeling herself being pulled up, Melinoe swings the frozen body into her arms.

Stix spits them out in a flash, with goddess gasping for air and coughing out the red liquid. Catching her breath, Mel sits up, trying to fill her lungs with the much needed cold air of the Underworld. Turning around, taking in another breath, she opens her eyes even wider, flapping her wet eyelashes.

Zagreus, laying on his back, stares into the seeling, as if he's trying to understand if it's another part of his endless dream. Melinoe goes closer, leaning over the god of blood. Zag rubs his eyes open, seeing a mirrored pair of red and green. Mel gifts him with a very soft smile, knowing exactly who she's staring at.

— Who is this water-drenched goddess, if I may ask?

— Your little sister, I suppose.

— You seem a little too big to be a little sister.

Melinoe laughs. She smiles just like their mother does. Zag pauses for a second, seeing Mel's beautiful, relaxed face surrounded by lights, created by fire lamps.

— Silly.

Mel leans closer, leaving a gentle kiss on her older brother's forehead.

[tanjamikaelson]

STRANGE LOVE - CHAPTER 27

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 27: | THERAPY SESSION |

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. It was a new day, a chance for Allison to reclaim her life, but the weight of what lay ahead pressed heavily on her chest. She woke early, the tension in her body making sleep impossible. The night had been filled with restless dreams—memories of Rafe, the overdose, and the stark reality that she was about to face her deepest fears in a place designed to strip her down to the rawest version of herself.

She dressed in a simple outfit, choosing comfort over style, and checked her suitcase one last time. Her mother, who had been a quiet but steady presence since the hospital, was already in the kitchen, preparing a light breakfast. The aroma of toast and coffee filled the air, but Allison’s appetite was nowhere to be found. She forced down a few bites, knowing she would need her strength for the day ahead.

"It's time," her mother said softly, placing a comforting hand on Allison's shoulder. Her voice was gentle, yet firm, as if she knew that the slightest crack in her composure could unravel them both.

Allison nodded, taking a deep breath as she picked up her suitcase. Each step toward the car felt like a final farewell to the life she had known—the life she was now determined to leave behind. As they walked, the familiar surroundings of the house seemed to blur, fading into the background as the future loomed ahead.

Before getting into the car, Allison turned back for one last look at the house. The memories of the night before played like a film reel in her mind—the painful confrontation with Rafe, the tears, and the final, heartbreaking realization that they were on different paths now. She didn’t know what the future held, but she was ready to face it, no matter how uncertain it might be.

The drive to the rehab facility was a silent journey through a landscape that seemed both familiar and alien. Allison’s mother sat beside her, radiating a calm strength that Allison clung to. She wished she could draw from that strength, and let it bolster her courage, but all she felt was a swirling mix of fear, regret, and a fragile hope that she could rebuild herself from the ground up.

When the sprawling grounds of the rehab center came into view, a lump formed in Allison’s throat. The center was beautiful—serene, with gardens and walking paths that promised peace and healing—but it was also intimidating. This was where she would confront her demons, where she would strip away the layers of denial and self-destruction that had brought her to the brink of death.

Inside, the atmosphere was a mix of clinical efficiency and a warm welcome. The staff moved with purpose, but their smiles were genuine, their eyes filled with the promise that healing was possible. Allison was shown to her room, a simple yet comforting space with pale walls and soft linens. The bed was neatly made, the wardrobe empty and waiting for her belongings. This would be her sanctuary, the place where she would confront the darkest parts of herself and hopefully, begin to heal.

As she unpacked her suitcase, each item of clothing felt like a relic from a life she was leaving behind. When she pulled out Rafe’s t-shirt—she held it close, inhaling the faint scent that still clung to the fabric. It brought back a flood of memories, both good and bad, and she wasn’t sure whether to keep it or let it go. Eventually, she folded it neatly and placed it at the bottom of a drawer, a reminder of the past she wasn’t quite ready to discard.

・ • ・ • ・

The first few days at the facility were a whirlwind of introductions, group meetings, and orientation sessions. Each new face was a reminder that she wasn’t alone, that others were fighting their own battles against addiction and despair. The detox process was brutal, a physical and emotional purging that left her weak and vulnerable. Sweats, chills, nausea, and sleepless nights became her constant companions, but it was the emotional pain that cut the deepest. The memories of her overdose haunted her, vivid and terrifying reminders of how close she had come to losing everything.

And then there was Rafe—his face, his voice, his pleas for her to run away with him. He was a constant presence in her mind, a ghost she couldn’t shake. She knew she had to focus on herself, to take each moment as it came, but the past lingered like a shadow, darkening her every thought.

Therapy sessions became the cornerstone of Allison’s recovery. Her therapist, Dr. Avery, was a calm and patient woman with kind eyes that seemed to see straight into Allison’s soul. In their sessions, Allison began to untangle the web of emotions that had brought her to this point. The process was painful, each revelation a sharp reminder of the lies, the betrayals, and the fear that had driven her to self-destruction.

One day, during a particularly difficult session, Allison found herself confessing the depth of Rafe’s betrayal. “He lied to me,” she said, her voice trembling with the weight of her pain.

“A big lie?” Dr. Avery asked gently, her gaze steady and supportive.

Allison nodded, swallowing hard. “A massive lie.”

Dr. Avery remained silent, allowing Allison the space to continue. Allison’s heart raced as she considered how much to reveal. She wanted to protect Rafe, but she also needed to unburden herself from the secrets that were suffocating her.

“He told me everything would be okay, that we could be together,” Allison continued, her voice thick with emotion. “But it wasn’t true. I overdosed because I was so afraid of losing him forever.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she didn’t try to hold them back. The pain of betrayal, the fear of being alone—it all came rushing to the surface, overwhelming her.

Dr. Avery leaned forward slightly, her expression one of deep understanding. “It sounds like you were carrying a lot of fear and pain, Allison. It’s important to recognize those feelings and understand how they contributed to your actions.”

Allison nodded, feeling a strange sense of relief as the tears fell. She still couldn’t bring herself to tell Dr. Avery everything—about the murders, the violence, and the full extent of Rafe’s darkness. Those secrets had to stay buried, for both their sakes.

・ • ・ • ・

As the weeks passed, Allison slowly began to find a semblance of peace. Her days were structured around therapy sessions, physical activities, and lessons in coping mechanisms to manage her addiction. She formed tentative connections with others in the facility, sharing stories and supporting each other through the tough times. It wasn’t easy—every day was a battle against the cravings, the memories, the deep-seated fears that she was fighting to overcome. But she was determined to make it through, one step at a time.

During quiet moments, Allison often found herself reflecting on her relationship with Rafe. The highs and lows, the love and the lies—they all played out in her mind like a film she couldn’t turn off. Trust, honesty, and respect—those were the foundations of a healthy relationship, and those had been sorely lacking in theirs.

Rafe had been a part of her life, a constant presence, but now she was learning to live without him. It was a painful process, filled with moments of deep loneliness and regret, but it was also a journey toward rediscovering herself.

Allison knew that the road ahead would be long and difficult, filled with challenges she couldn’t yet foresee. But for the first time in a long while, she felt a glimmer of hope—a small, fragile light that promised a future beyond the darkness she had known. It wasn’t going to be easy, but she was ready to fight for her life, to build something new and beautiful out of the ashes of her past.

・ • ・ • ・

Allison stood by the window of her rehab room, gazing out at the sprawling lawns and gardens that had become so familiar over the past month. The sunlight poured in, casting a warm, golden glow that contrasted sharply with the storm of emotions brewing inside her. Today marked the end of her time in rehab—a place that had both challenged and protected her, where she had faced the darkest parts of herself and begun to find a way forward.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the flutter of anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her. The outside world felt like an intimidating unknown, full of the triggers and temptations she had been sheltered from during her time here. Rehab had been a sanctuary, a cocoon where she could focus on healing, but stepping out of it meant facing reality once again—a reality that she wasn’t sure she was fully prepared for.

With a heavy sigh, Allison turned away from the window and began packing her belongings. Each item she folded and placed in her suitcase felt like a small piece of her recovery journey, tangible reminders of the strength she had found and the battles she had fought. As she zipped up the suitcase, a surge of determination washed over her. She had come too far to give up now.

When Allison emerged from her room, her mother was waiting for her in the lobby. The moment their eyes met, her mother’s face lit up with a mixture of pride, and relief. Allison had seen that look before, but today it carried a deeper weight—a recognition of how far she had come, and how much they had both endured.

"Sweetheart," her mother whispered, stepping forward to wrap her arms around her. "You did it. I’m so proud of you."

Allison melted into the embrace, feeling the warmth and love she had longed for, even in her darkest moments. "Thank you, Mom," she replied, her voice thick with emotion. "I couldn’t have done it without you."

As they drove back to the house in the Outer Banks, the tension that had been gripping Allison’s chest slowly began to ease. The familiar sights of the winding roads, the towering trees, and the expansive water all reminded her of the life she had before addiction took hold—a life she was determined to reclaim.

The house felt like a fresh start. The rooms were filled with the belongings her mother had kept, each item a reminder of the life Allison had before drugs took over. She felt a pang of gratitude for her mother’s unwavering support and love.

But the return home was bittersweet. The joy of Allison’s recovery was tempered by a deeper sorrow that had settled over the family like a heavy fog. Her mother had stayed with her sister Anna, Kie’s mother, to support her through this devastating time. Allison’s sister, Kie, had gone missing. No one knew where she was, and the fear that she might be dead cast a long shadow over the family.

Allison and Kie had a complicated relationship. Their bond, once strong, had frayed over time, especially after Allison got involved with Rafe. Kie had warned her repeatedly about Rafe, had tried to pull her away from the toxic relationship, but Allison had been too lost in her own world to listen. Their arguments had driven them apart, and Allison hadn’t seen or spoken to Kie in what felt like an eternity. Now, the thought that Kie might be gone forever haunted her, filling her with guilt so deep it felt like a physical ache.

・ • ・ • ・

As the days passed, Allison settled back into a routine, but the shadow of Rafe loomed large in her mind. He had disappeared after that final, tumultuous night, and no one seemed to know where he had gone. The uncertainty gnawed at her, but she pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on her own healing. She knew that dwelling on Rafe would only hinder her progress, and she couldn’t afford to fall back into old patterns.

To keep herself on the right path, Allison continued attending group therapy sessions. The sessions provided a sense of community, a place where she could share her struggles and hear the stories of others who understood the daily battle against addiction. It was there that she met Cole.

Cole was different from anyone Allison had met before. He was a few years older, with a rugged handsomeness softened by the kindness in his blue eyes. Like Allison, he had a history of addiction and was fighting his own demons. They bonded over their shared experiences, finding comfort and strength in each other’s company.

As their friendship deepened, a new connection blossomed between them. Cole became a steady presence in Allison’s life, offering support without judgment, and a companionship that helped fill the void left by her turbulent relationship with Rafe. Their relationship wasn’t just about romance; it was about survival, about finding someone who understood the depths of her pain and the heights of her hope.

Despite the growing closeness between them, Allison was careful to set boundaries. She wasn’t ready for a serious relationship—not after everything she had been through. She needed time to focus on herself, to ensure that her recovery was solid before she could think about building something new with someone else. Cole respected her wishes, understanding that the road to recovery was one she had to walk at her own pace.

Their relationship remained a source of stability and comfort, a reminder that she wasn’t alone in her journey. For the first time in a long while, Allison felt a sense of hope—a belief that she could build a new life, one that wasn’t defined by her past mistakes but by the strength she had found in overcoming them.

But even as Allison took these steps forward, she knew the past wasn’t something she could simply leave behind. The memories of Kie’s disappearance and Rafe’s final words lingered like ghosts, reminders of the unfinished business that still haunted her.

One evening, after a particularly intense therapy session, Allison sat by the water, watching the sunset. The sky was ablaze with colors, a beautiful contrast to the turmoil inside her. As the waves lapped at the shore, she thought of Kie, hoping that wherever her sister was, she was safe. She thought of Rafe too, wondering if he had found any peace in his own troubled heart.

In that moment, Allison realized that recovery wasn’t just about staying sober—it was about making peace with the past, with the people she had hurt and the people who had hurt her. It was about finding a way to live with the memories without letting them control her.

And so, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Allison made a promise to herself. She would keep moving forward, one step at a time. She would rebuild her life, piece by piece, and she would find a way to heal, not just for herself, but for Kie, for her mother, and even for Rafe.

The road ahead was long and uncertain, but Allison was no longer afraid. She had faced her demons, and though they would always be a part of her, they no longer held her captive. With each day that passed, she grew stronger, more determined to live a life defined not by her past, but by the choices she made in the future.

TAGS: @tiaamberxx @dominicfikexoxo

[kittenintheden]

Not Your Sweetheart Ch 38 - UH OH!

Not Your Sweetheart Chapter 38 - UH OH!

Once, there was a haunted bluegrass-playing half-elf bard with a dark past who met a charmingly cringefail elven vampire with a dark past and they flirted one another into oblivion until they fell in love. They collect a group of delightful chucklefucks on the road and they all banter their way through the darkness to face their demons and save the world together.

A retelling of the campaign written with sitcom-level dialogue and tons of found family and healing from trauma tropes. Very Schitt's Creek but with more violence.

AKA 18 Charisma bard sees through 10 Charisma vamp-boy's bullshit and falls for him anyway. But he falls first.

---

Enter the villains. They suck real bad. Everybody's nervous and they all kiss. Shadowheart has some light voyeurism, as a treat. Read on AO3. Also I'm on Twitter now.

Commissioned piece of the dorks by the fantastically talented @hamrikaa (see the full thing in Ch 10).

---

High on the hills of the Upper City, a horned woman stands on a third-floor balcony and ruminates, her clever fingers running over the length of the long white braid falling over her shoulder.

It’s no Menzoberranzan, this odd little anthill on the Sword Coast, but it holds its fair share of secrets and scandals nonetheless. It hadn’t been difficult to settle in and rebuild, especially once the former College head found themselves on the unfortunate end of a poisoned crossbow bolt. The network of Whispers needed guidance and far be it for her to leave them wanting.

But Belladawn did not choose to rebuild. Her hand was forced.

And for that, her daughter must die screaming.

She hasn't heard from her informant since yesterday, which is unfortunate, but ultimately neither here nor there. They served their purpose when they let her know a woman matching her prodige's description set foot in one of the outer villages.

Belladawn curls her lip. Pink hair, they'd told her before she lost contact. Not the white of her birth. Cut short and enchanted petal pink, of all things. Gods below, Orianna had always been such a child. For so long, Belladawn felt certain she could be taught. But no. Frivolity and weak-willed attachment ran in her blood.

The elf raises her fingers in front of her lips, rubbing them together as she curses her own weakness for the thousandth time. What a fool she'd been to spread her legs for a human, no matter how charming or clever. Even a drow-son would have aided in a better heir.

Humans. Baldur's Gate crawls with the things, much as it does with vermin. Two-thirds of the informants she's gathered are human and their skills are sorely lacking. They play the game and think themselves brilliant for it. Pathetic, power-hungry trash.

With a huff, she turns to reenter her suite, hair whipping behind her in discontent. If nothing else, at least she knows now that Orianna has finally rid herself of her own human burden. Belladawn hopes it was miserable for them both.

[fastlikealambo]

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚏 𝚊 𝚜𝚊𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚎𝚛.||𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚡 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔!𝚏𝚎𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚊 𝚊𝚞  𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 1/2

summary:when the targeting of y/n reaches a boiling point, her soon to be lovers feed into their innermost monstrous selves in order to lose themselves in vengeance.

triggering: trauma,bullying, assault, blood, illness, classism, this is darker than I usually do so please use your discretion. 

minors dni, this is not for you

                                                     𝖆𝖈𝖙 𝖔𝖓𝖊.

504 hours. 

Five hundred and four hours is all you had to get through before it was holiday break and you’d officially put your transfer request in to leave the college you’d worked so hard to get accepted into, perfect grades, excellent professor recommendations, not a thing out of place.

 You didn’t want to leave, you enjoyed working on the newspaper, you had the perfect study carrel right next to the library’s fireplace, for the most part your relationship with your professors were good.

You had them, well sort of. 

You had Nancy, you couldn’t lie about the way your heart flip-flopped in your chest at the sight of her, the way her hand always managed to brush yours when you two poured over old editions of the newspaper together, spending the night with her and her well, what were they to her? 

You’d never seen looks of such devotion between four people before yet it was easy for you to understand their heighted affection for each other as Robin, Eddie, and Steve somehow folded into your life with ease.

They always seemed to be right around the corner.

But they couldn’t be everywhere and in the corners where their warmth could not be felt, an all consuming darkness had crept in.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there! My mistake.”

Searing hot coffee soaked through your coat, burning your arm and ruined your journalism notes. 

480 Hours.

You didn’t move,in fact, you sat so perfectly still that Elodie St. James, bubblegum pink Chanel coat and all, the one who burned you, repeated herself.  She wanted a reaction, a reason to cry to daddy warbucks if your voice so much as escalated in volume.

The snickers behind you faded away when a gentle hand removed your arm from your coat and there was a sudden coldness running over your burned arm.

“I burn myself a least twice a day and I keep telling my boss no one needs coffee that fucking hot. But no one’s ever spilled their coffee on me on purpose like a demon so what do I know, huh?”

Time resumes and you’re no longer stone, not with Robin’s hands gently stroking the unburned part of your arm, a cold wet paper towel wrapped around the burn.

“Thanks, Robin, you don’t have to do this.” You said, quietly.

“But I like to, not that I want you to be burned constantly so I can touch you! Who am I kidding, how could anyone know what I mean-

Without thinking, you took Robin’s hand in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“I know what you mean, I always know what you mean.” You said with a soft smile on your face, a joyous glimmer in Robin’s eyes meets yours.

“You know, I’m always burning myself at home too so I always have Nancy look at them. My shift is pretty much over, why don’t you come home with me and have Nancy take a look at it?”

The laughter returns at first and Elodie is on the other side of the glass window, staring at you. You quickly let go of Robin’s hand, grabbing all of your books and papers, shoving them in your bag, tired and afraid.

“I better go, it’s getting late.” You muttered, turning on your heel.

Elodie’s eyes follow you but you don’t look back. Looking back would confirm that in a school with hundreds of students with hundreds of paths to choose from, that you had stumbled upon the one that would lead to your destruction.  

These weren’t high school assholes, these were people with more money than you’d ever see, they had known no consequence, no pain that pleasure or pharmaceutical couldn’t heal. 

They were eating you, growing plump on your torment and if they had their way, they would soon pick their teeth with you.

But while Elodie watched you, Robin was watching Elodie, wondering just how easy it would be to take the same hand that held yours for that brief moment of delight and wrap it around Elodie St. James’ pink little throat.

“Bonjore, jay maple Eddie Munson.”

308 hours. 

“Bonjour, je m’appelle Eddie Munson.”

“Bonjour, je m’appelle Eddie Munson.” Eddie repeated back to you slowly, accent somewhat better yet somehow worse at the same time.

“That was so much better this time!” You said with a weak smile, looking out at the fireplace with tired eyes.

“You’re lying, sweetheart.”

“I’m not, it definitely sounded like French this time.” 

“The lady wounds me, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

“En français s'il vous plaît.”

“We both know I can’t say that shit.” Eddie said, a mischievous smile on his face and laughed. You tried to join him but instead did not meet his gaze.

“Everything alright?” He asked, a ringed hand on your shoulder. Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes, but you pushed it back.

“I’m going to miss tutoring you, that’s all.” You said.

Eddie sat straight up against the couch, brown eyes burning with confusion and fear. 

“I haven’t told anyone yet, but I’ll be transferring to another school after winter break. I’ll make sure to set you up with another tutor before I go, I promise.” You explained sadly, starting to pack up your things but Eddie’s hand on your wrist makes you stop.

“Is there something going on? I can smell shit from a mile away.” Eddie said darkly but you shook your head, quickly standing to your feet, too quickly.  Suddenly the comforting fire was suffocating and you swayed on your feet. A strong arm around your waist stops you from damn nearly falling face first into a fire gate.

“Now, I know something’s wrong. What’s going on? When’s the last time you eat something?” Eddie asked steering you back to the couch with a hand on the small of your back.

“ I overslept this morning.”

Your alarm clock had been ripped out of the wall.

“ It’s no big deal really, I’m-”  You didn’t finish your sentence, looking past Eddie at Ethan Clairmont strolling into the library loudly.  

You hadn’t seen him since that day in the dean’s office with your proof that he cheated off your test, the day that shoved you down this path.

Eddie saw the terror in your eyes, turning to ask you whom the fuck that was but you had vanished, your threadbare jacket the only thing left.

Of all the places to hear your name, Steve wasn’t expecting to hear it in the men’s locker room. 

72 hours. 

“Did you get the camera?”

“ All set, who’s letting us into the girl’s dorm?”

“Elodie. She’ll never know what hit her.”

Steve turned around to confirm the voices belonged to Ethan Clairmont, captain of the swim team and his friend Preston Bamford III, the bane of Steve’s swim career and current existence.

“Up to something fun, gentlemen?” Steve said, slamming his locker closed.

“Like we’d tell you, fucking prick.”

In a matter of seconds, Steve had Ethan Clairmont up against the locker, his coach and Preston pulling him off.

“What are you going to do to her you little shit, fucking tell me!” 

“You should have accepted my offer Harrington, you and your little bitch.” Ethan called out as Steve was hauled out of the locker room.

“You okay, man?”  Preston asked his friend who just smiled, straightening his polo shirt.

“Get Elodie, we’re moving the plan up tonight.”

30 minutes.

“Nancy? Nancy, can you hear me?” You said, practically shouting into the payphone in the girl’s dorm.

“I can hear you. Listen, there’s something I need to talk to you about, it can’t wait. As soon as Robin gets here in an hour, we’re gonna come pick you up, just try and stay in your room with the door locked till then. Can you do that for me?”  Nancy asked, the panic in her voice making your heart speed up.

“Yeah, I’m just going to hop in the shower and then I’ll be in my room.  Are you all okay?  You’re scaring me.” 

“Don’t be scared, we’ll be there-

“THIS CALL HAS BEEN DISCONNECTED, TO RECONNECT PLEASE INSERT ADDITIONAL FUNDS.” The payphone’s automated voice screamed over Nancy’s, ending the call.

 Confused as fuck yet focused on making this the quickest shower of your life, you grabbed your toiletries, towel, and robe, running to the showers, half expecting to see some sort of monster running through the halls but there was nobody there. Thankfully, the showers were all empty for a Friday night and you didn’t have to use the janky one.

You were nearly done when the lights went out.

“Hello? Is someone there?” You called out, pushing your shower cap out of your face. All you got in return were not so quiet footsteps and quiet laughter. 

“Fuck this, I’m out.” You said, fumbling for the shower stall lock and your towel.

Instead of terry cloth hanging on the other side of the stall, your hand grasped at air.

Your towel and robe were gone. 

“Smile, bitch.”

The shower stall door was yanked open and a flash went off in your face. 

You screamed first in shock, then horror as the slow realization that it was a camera flash.

The lights went on and suddenly the laughter was loud, echoing through the showers like a funhouse and with shaky hands you covered yourself but the flashes kept coming. 

“Looking for this?” A familiar voice snarled and your towel was thrown onto the soaking wet shower floor. Panic took over and you grabbed the damp fabric, wrapping it around yourself before swinging open the door into someone hard.

Ethan Clairmont.

Elodie St. James.

Preston Bamford.

 You shoved past them but in your haste you slid in your flip flops and fell, head connecting with the floor. A sudden wetness spilled from your nose and their laughter went to a halt.

“Shit, she’s fucking bleeding.” Elodie said, disgusted. 

“She’ll whine to the dean again-” Preston

“Not if she doesn’t want everyone to see her little photoshoot.”

You dizzily got to your feet, blood dripping down your face and stumbled into the strangely empty hallway and to your dorm room door which was locked.

“I paid your roommate to lock you out, there’s nowhere for you to go.” Ethan said in a singsong voice.

“Why are you doing this?” You asked, back against the door.

“You almost cost me captain of the swim team. If you had just shut the fuck up, maybe I would have paid you for cheating but you complained to the dean and here we fucking are. Now you’re gonna learn that people like me always get what they want when they want it. Before, I wanted your test answers, now I just want you to  fucking suffer.” Ethan said.

You don’t remember what happened next. 

One minute, your fist connected with Ethan’s face, the next you were walking down the street barefoot in a towel in December.

Ethan Clairmont.

Elodie St. James.

Preston Bamford.

And your roommate, Bethany Astor.

4 names.

Somewhere behind you, a car came to a screeching halt.

You’re vaguely aware of multiple people calling your name and the fog only begins to lift when gentle hands turn you around to face them.

Them.

Nancy is the first to step forward, hands warm on your bloody face.

“Did they do this?”

You nodded, but the tiny action was enough to make you see stars and your knees to buckle. You’re in Steve’s arms before you even realize what’s happening, a teary eyed Robin holding your dangling other hand, Eddie a few inches away, rage coursing through him too fast to do anything but shrug out of his jacket and place it over you.

Nancy kissed the top of your head before looking at her lovers, a shadow falling across her features.

“Then let’s begin.”

that’s it for now, part 2 to be posted tomorrow!

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚡 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚊 𝚊𝚞

[grxvebcnes]

⸻ the photo on the missing poster is of ROUX CHASE. she is TWENTY NINE, and have been missing for TEN YEARS. when the sun rises, she works as a HUNTER. rumors in town say she can be UNRELIABLE and ADAPTABLE. she chose to live in TOWN at THE RADIO STATION, and have an uncanny resemblance to Mazikeen (Lucifer), Alex (Voleuses), and Eurydice (Hadestown). can they survive another night ?…⸻ cat eyes glinting in the dark, combat boots with the soles worn through, dirty gauze wrapped around swollen knuckles.

FACTS

- chaotic loose canon with no filter or impulse control - is forcibly left handed after an fracture injury to her right hand never healed correctly, leaving it occasionally tender or subject to flares of chronic pain - prefers hunting with practical objects such as knives or her own fists that require only a vague amount of co-ordination and make a bit of a mess - thinks being covered in blood is a cool personality trait - hates small talk - loves fighting (verbally or physically, it's like a reward) - quite athletic and Built from submitting to her demons at all times aka the incessant inner competitive voice which goads her to try carrying every heavy object/s she encounters (but don't expect her to do cardio anytime soon) - cannot be trusted with intel / will spill any secrets shared with her - not in a gushing gossip-y way but a 'i don't care about your bs issues enough to preserve your privacy and i doubt anyone really cares so get over yourself' way - loves being a hunter so she can have permission to hurt something outside of herself and feel powerful and in full control of her reality for a brief instant. many psychological issues motivating this one but we don't have time to unpack that!! - thinks the makeshift society creating order within the town is ridiculous and delusional and prefers to pick apart how fucked and abnormal everything is. ya girl is still gonna participate and plays her part, but not without complaining - three modes: aggressive, pessimistic, and morbid... but usually in fun nihilistic ways - very handsy - not romantically nor affectionally, but tactile contact helps her better assess and lock in to situations or shake sense into anyone who deserves a lil tousling - strives to punch a monster in the face one day x - allergic to cats and human emotions HISTORY

How did your muse spend their first night in Arcadia, and where? Roux was once a naive and gullible teen who believed there were simple fixes and saviours to all problems. Thus, on her first night, she holed up in the Police Station - because surely there would be someone there who could call for help, provide answers, and diminish the strange feeling that she was being followed. There had to be laws to enforce and abide by; answers to every question... Alas, an entire sleepless night was enough to convince here there was nothing typical nor any predictable order to what lurked around town. With bigger problems to focus on, a seed was planted that dared her to change.

Why did your muse choose to live where they do? There is a comfort to occupying a space which fails to perform its sole purpose. Roux enjoys the confines of the limited space and how cluttered it feels to navigate. There’s an enjoyable claustrophobic quality to the space, giving her no time to let her guard down or think reasonable thoughts when she’s paranoid a microphone might double as a hidden figure when caught in her peripheral vision, or that the occasional mistaken whisper might not have been just a fragment of her imagination - or worse. At the end of a long day, Roux is most comforted by the snaking cords digging into her back and curled between her fingers. She tinkers occasionally with some of the equipment, soothed by the ghost of potential that once pulsed through the pieces at her fingertips.

What was your muse doing when they came across the tree? Long story short: Roux was running away from home. Mapless, planless, and impulsive - in retrospect, it seemed destined that she foolishly ended up where she did. She grew up amongst 4 brothers in a strict household which valued responsibility, intellect, money, and material success as the best achievements of a person. Roux, on the other hand, barely graduated after nearly flunking out of high school three times, had no desire to attend university, and no knack for a lucrative career. Content to live a life dedicated to poorly brewing corner store coffee, she was unable to keep up with the expectations consistently held above her head and the punishing sense of shame any illusion of free choice left her with. Eventually, her family’s suggestions sounded more like threats - and one too many threats led to fighting back. Cut to: highjacking the family car and driving as far as she could before the fuel tank ran dry and she got lost trying to locate a familiar road sign or gas station. She couldn’t tell you now if her motivation was fearfully throwing herself away from or towards something.

Has your muse left anything behind that they are desperately trying to return to or escape? Roux refuses to allow the meek old version of herself to live on within her, which has meant snuffing out any trace of tenderness, optimism, and weakness. If she thinks about it long enough, she is brimming with regret for the life choices that led her to Arcadia and dead-ended any larger plans she could have had for herself. The aspirations, stresses, and fears which ruled her teenage self suddenly felt so trivial to ever stress about - there was relief, but there was also a gaping hole left behind with the loss of this identity. For the first month she isolated herself, in denial of what haunting figures rattled the cage of her new reality; torturing herself with ‘what if’s’ before a close call allowed that part of her to die and harden over with a new version of her own violent invention. No one knew her enough to question she hadn’t always been so full of grit, audacity, and carelessness. It was a romantic childish notion to imagine her family would be searching for her when they had lacked full attention the first place. Part of her is grateful for the escapism from the pressures attached to her old life, although there is a certain sting to the knowledge of being left behind without a second thought.

[marshmallowprotection]

Mystictober Day 19

Mystictober 2024 | Day 19: RikaxMC/Healing

"I won't forgive you for what you've done. I hope you know that," you said as Rika curled in on herself. She held herself because it seemed as though she would fall apart if she didn't. "The only reason I think I can trust you and V right now is because if I had to choose between the Prime Minister and you? I, unfortunately, have to choose you."

Rika didn't fight back, nor did she try to dispute your claims. "The lesser of two evils, right? I don't think it's fair to say I appreciate you trusting me, since the last thing you want is my appreciation after all I've done."

You snorted. "I don't want anything to do with you, Rika. I can tell you the same can be said of the RFA. You know, Saeran told me about the reason why you created Mint Eye. You wanted to make sure that you would never be alone again, but if you ask me, you were never alone in the first place. You had the RFA, but that wasn't enough for you, so what did you do? You blew it up, too afraid to let them in, and decided the only way to keep others would be to force them to stay so you would never have to face the truth."

She didn't try to argue against that.

You didn't expect her to fight back anymore. After what she told you and Saeran the night before, you could see all the fight escape her in a heartbeat. However, just because she wouldn't fight back didn't mean you wouldn't tell her what you needed to say. You weren't like your lover, you knew you didn’t need to forgive her to move forward and find peace.

Saeran needed that, but you needed her to know you saw her for what she was.

You wouldn't spare her any kindness, and she knew that from the very moment you met her eyes. How could you forgive her when she and V caused everything to burn like it did? You nearly tackled her in the evening the night before when she shackled Saeran. The one and only thing that stopped you was the agents outside with guns. There was nothing but anger in your heart because of that. It took you a few minutes to help him feel safe again.

She knew his childhood trauma, she knew what he suffered, and seeing those chains on him hurt you just as much as they hurt him.

"I deserve your malice," she whispered.

"I don't want to waste my energy on you, Rika," you turned away from her as tears began to crop up in her eyes. "I want to forget you once I know Saeran and I will be safe from your grasp. I won't forgive you... I'll never forgive you. Saeran may not forget you, because he wants to move forward in life knowing he chose kindness, but in time, neither of us will have to think about you, or what you've done. That's how we will heal... that's how everyone will heal, and if you know what's good for you... you'll move on, too."

You could feel her confused eyes on your back.

You weren't doing this for her sake. You were doing this for the sake of everyone else who would never want to again look her in the eye for what she’d done. You couldn't forgive her, you would never forgive her, but she would tell her the one thing you knew that could not only protect your loved ones but allow her to do what Saeran hoped she’d do. 

"This is the only kindness I'll spare you, Rika Kim, and I'm offering it so you and V can show me the last place you saw my love. If you intend to do as Saeran said and change for the better, you need to let go of the RFA, of Saeran, of Saeyoung, of me, and V. The only way you'll ever escape this web you wound yourself into is if you move on. You'll heal and find a way to wake up in the morning, but you'll never escape your demons or the consequences of your actions. If you are determined to do better, you'll take responsibility and leave."

Saeran would be proud of you, you knew, for choosing to hold your head up high. You also knew he wouldn't be mad if you struck low... and hit her where it hurt. But, to make sure you didn't lose him to a monster in broad daylight, you would offer those words to show her you were capable of holding back your gnashing teeth and burning lungs. You wanted her to live with what she did forever, to carry the weight of her sins with her because her victims would have to do the same, but right now?

Your main concern was finding your way back to Saeran.

"I will," she said.

You weren't sure if you could believe her... but you knew you could believe in Saeran.

"Thank you."

[reigningqueenofwords]

Belladonna

Word count: 1,475

Read on AO3

Part 6 of Hello There

Crowley stayed by your side for hours, barely moving. His eyes watched your face twist in agony, his fingers ghosting over your face now and then. Finally, after five hours, the Winchesters summoned him. When he was in their room, he looked around at them. Cas was in the process of healing them, their clothes stained with blood. Some their own, some of the witches they had gone after. There was also someone tied up to a chair near the bed.

“So?” Crowley snapped, not pleased at have been yanked away from you.

Dean shot him a look. “We were able to get in. That’s Jasper.” He stated. “I hope you’re happy. It wasn’t easy capturing him.”

Crowley turned his face to the witch. “So, you’re the bloody witch that had the gall to kidnap Y/N.” His voice was dangerously low, even the boys knew not to mess with him then.

“Who?” Jasper had a smug expression on his face.

“We’ll be in hell, boys. I highly doubt that any other occupants of this establishment would enjoy the sounds that he’ll be making.” Crowley’s eyes never left Jasper, who’s expression faltered just a bit. After a moment, Crowley finally looked at Dean. “I’ll send for Bruce when everything is taken care of. Y/N won’t be leaving hell until I’m sure she’s back to herself and we’ve sorted everything out.” He was referring to her believing that he didn’t care. That would take some serious explaining.

“Well, send someone to let us know she’s okay.” Sam requested. “This way we can stop worrying.” He added. Crowley gave him a quick nod before him and Jasper were gone.

Dean sighed. “I’d hate to be Jasper right about now.” The other two nodded, no explanation was needed. Crowley had one hell of a temper, and it was clear that Jasper had managed to amplify that when he took you. That wasn’t even adding to the fact that you were now in pain, and wanting to marry the witch.

Jasper looked around the dungeon. “Welcome to hell.” Crowley gave him the most devious smile that Jasper had ever seen. “Now, don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you.” He snapped his fingers, letting the witch out of the chair. “I wouldn’t think about running, you won’t get far.” Crowley’s voice was low. “See, you hurt someone I care very deeply for.” Jasper’s eyes followed Crowley, his heart racing. “Then, you had the audacity to make her think you love her. Now, I have some of my best demons working on curing what you’ve done. As she’s currently in an incredible amount of pain.” The thought made Crowley’s eyes flash red. “I will let you choose. Either you cure her, and I give you a quick death. Followed by an eternity in hell as my servant. OR. You refuse. In which case I will cause you the worst pain that you could ever imagine. You will heal every night, and every morning, I will be back. Somewhat like the ale of Prometheus.” He shrugged. “Are you familiar with that story?”

“N-no.” Jasper answered meekly. Apparently, being in hell with the threat of unimaginable pain sucked him of his bravery.

Crowley smirked. “Well, Prometheus liked to mess with the Gods, mostly to better the lives of mankind. Or so the story goes. First he stole the best part of their sacrificial meal. Then, he stole fire, bringing it to the mortals in a fennel-stalk. Not only did that prompt Zeus to make Pandora to deliver misfortune to the ‘house of man’, but Prometheus was arrested.” Jasper could tell that the man in front of him was enjoying this. Toying with him. “He was bound to a stake on Mount Kaukasos, and every day an eagle would feast upon his liver, or heart, depending on who you ask. It would then regenerate.” The witch swallowed.

“Now, that would seem like child’s play compared to the horrors you will face. It won’t be some bloody eagle feasting on your insides. Oh no. It’ll be my hellhounds.” Snapping his fingers, he had one on each side of him. Of course, Jasper couldn’t see them. Only hear them. “And believe me, you don’t want them to play with you. They get a bit…rough.” His face got that look just daring Jasper to try him. “I’ll give you five seconds. You don’t speak up, I send one after you. And he’ll start slow. Work his way up.” Crowley stepped back. “One.” Another step. “Two.” Jasper set his jaw, causing Crowley’s anger to spike. “Three….four….five….” Crowley turned on his heel and moved to stand closer to the door. “Don’t want to get blood on my suit.” He shrugged at Jasper. Despite being untied, he was still frozen in place. “Alright, then. Go get him, Damien.”

Jasper turned and tried to run, not that it would help him any. Damien was on his heels in seconds. Crowley watched as Jasper hit the ground, screaming in pain. Blood splattered on the ground of the dungeon. “I give!” Jasper screamed as Damien moved up towards the back of his ankle.

Crowley smirked. “Down, boy.” Damien whimpered and backed off. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get more play time.” He told the hound as he walked closer to the bleeding witch. “Now. Are you going to help her, or do I let Damien continue using you as a chew toy?” His eyes moved towards Jasper’s leg, which he was failing at holding together. “If you’re trying to heal, it won’t work in here. Special place for you bloody witches.” He shrugged.

Panting, Jasper glared as best he could. “Fine. I’ll help.” He gave in. “I can tell you what we gave her.” Not that he wanted to, but he was in the worst pain of his life, and he had lived an extremely long time. “It’s a love potion, only amped. When it’s given, the person drinking it can’t be away from the giver for long. It starts to burn them from the inside. They’re dead within a week.” He groaned. “She has six days by my count.” Which was true. “The recipe for the cure is in my grimore with my things.” Which meant that Crowley had to visit the Hardy boys again.

“Anything else?” Crowley asked, bored.

“You can numb the pain slightly by giving her Belladonna.”

Crowley shook his head. “The poison?” He wasn’t stupid.

Jasper sighed. “It counteracts what’s in the potion for a bit, but the potion in turn nullifies the poison of the Belladonna.” He explained. “Why would I lie? Look at me. It’s not like I’m in any position to do so!”

He did have a point. “Alright.” Crowley said, turning to walk away.

“Wait, you’re just going to leave me here to bleed out?”

Crowley grinned at him. “No. I’m leaving you here for Jack and Damien to chew on. I’ve got what I needed.” He said, walking out of the door and locking it. Even through the thick door he could hear Jasper’s screams and the hounds snarling. It gave him a feeling of slight peace. Adjusting his suit jacket, he started moving through the halls. He’d need to see the Winchesters, but you were first. Spotting one of the men that was supposed to be working on finding out what this was, he pulled him aside. “Belladonna. Find some, and have it delivered to my chambers. I’ll be in there shortly.” He snapped. Seeing the man’s face, he yelled. “NOW!” The demon ran off to do what he had been ordered.

Shaking his head, he once again zapped himself to the motel room. Dean was there by himself. “Well, what can I do for the King of Hell?” He asked, bored.

“There’s a grimore I need you to fetch.” He began, skipping pleasantries. “It’s in with Jasper’s things. It holds the antidote for what they gave her.” Dean’s face made it clear he was uncomfortable. “What did you bloody morons do?” He asked, anger flaring.

“Cas and Sam? They went to burn the building.” He explained. “Left fifteen minutes ago.”

“Must I do everything myself?” He snapped his fingers, hoping that he could get in. Landing right outside the building, he saw that it was engulfed in flames. “Damien.” He summoned the hound from playing with Jasper. “You’ve got that witches scent, if you can get in there, hunt down where his scent is strongest.” He ordered, staying put. If Damien could get in, and there was a safe enough area, Crowley could zap in to grab what he could. Hoping he got what needed.

Sighing, he couldn’t believe the lengths he was going to for a human. A hunter at that. But the thought of doing anything less was like a knife to the heart. 

[torchwood-99]

Eowyn's Feminist Plotline

The narrative explicitly says that Eowyn's depression is rooted in sexism, and the limitations (such as on fighting) that sexism puts on her. Eowyn riding to fight is very much a feminist moment.

There's been an overcorrection that Eowyn's martial plotline isn't feminist, or isn't part of her feminist arc. Because she went to war partially out of a desire to die gloriously due to her depression, and her endgame of choosing peace has been accused of undermining her feminist arc, it's been overcorrected and now people overlook the feminist themes in Eowyn's arc.

First, the fact Eowyn was kept from fighting was a direct cause of her depression. Gandalf spells it out to Eomer in the House of Healing that unlike him, she couldn't go out and have the benefits of "deeds and open fields (para)" and that was constantly kept confined due to her gender. Sexism and the way that sexism took effect (forbade to ride and out fight, forever kept in the home) was one of the direct causes of her depression, and one of the reasons she wanted to die.

Eowyn also makes Aragorn confront how as a woman she was caged in, left behind to wait and see if her loved ones will come back to her, or if death will. She doesn't let him off the hook by pointing out the underlying sexism in his words.

Like all people, she needs variety in her life, she needs to see new things, and she needs to have control over her life. She also wants thrill and excitement and camaraderie, and to practise the skills she enjoys and takes pride in. She is denied this because she is a woman. And sexism has throughout history robbed women of these rights. The denial of this played a massive part in her depression.

In riding out to fight, she was vindicated by the text. Not in wishing to die, that was refused her and seen as something she had to overcome within herself. However, her right to fight when the world refused her was something she had to overcome with others.

In her fight with the Witch King, her part is part of an important overriding arc in Lord of the Rings that often, it is the overlooked, the underappreciated, like the Hobbits, that save the day. This is emphasised by having Merry be brought along with her, and the two of them being the ones to bring down the Witch King, because they are not "Men", they are a woman and a hobbit. By virtue of not being men, they were denied the right to fight. But this was what allowed them to triumph on the battlefield.

Before riding out to war, it's like Eowyn looks at her life, looks at her desires, sees that the world is possibly ending, and if she doesn't get out of her cage now, she never will. Her depression and her lack of faith in the victory of humanity means she wishes to die gloriously in battle, as opposed to waiting for death to come to her, leaving her to die in the place she has come to see as a cage.

In riding out to war, Eowyn takes what people told her about being a woman, what it means to be a woman, what women are capable of, and she said "no. I'm my own person. I'm not your "sister", your "niece", your trophy or your prize. I know what I can do and what I want to be and I will make that happen, whatever you think women are capable of." She looks at their gender roles, she says no, and she proves victorious.

She also has to overcome her inner demons. There she has to show herself, with the help of others, that's she worthy of life and life is worthy of living. That's her internal arc. Her external arc, the things she has to teach others, is that like Hobbits, women are capable of far more than Men believe them to be.

In many ways, Eowyn's arc is about overcoming sexism. Overcoming the effects that sexism has had on her mental healthy by choosing to live and heal and find hope in the future and what she can be, and overcoming the sexism that others have inflicted on her by taking charge of her destiny, helping others to do so in the face of similar oppression, and showing the world that her capabilities are not diminished or defined by her womanhood.

[kxlinthesky]

EPISODE 6 PART 2 LIGHT NOVEL Chapter 5-8 English Translation

“... Leviathan....”

Owl unconsciously whispered the word as he caught a glimpse of her behind Nick’s wings.

Leviathan. The demon of envy. A monstrous sea serpent, perhaps the monstrous sea serpent. Legend said it was created by Heaven and sent down to Earth, and that no weapon could pierce its impenetrable scales.

“For... for her to – to become a Demon like that –” Owl’s spirits sank. He’d thought she was fine, he hadn’t even noticed how she’d been feeling, it hadn’t even occurred to him –

On the other hand, Krinos was the very picture of pride standing next to her. “What do you think?” they hummed. “Beautiful, isn’t she? She was marvelously lucky, you know. I gave her this special form because she told me she wanted ‘a heart as hard as stone.’ She wanted a heart that could not be hurt... by thorns, by spears, or even by words. That is why I chose to grant unto her the form of the Demon Leviathan, and it would seem the pair are quite compatible. She has truly become a living mineral, one that does not require a heart or free will. I have given her a form that does not feel, just as she wished.” Their eyes flicked all across Ritz’s new form, a satisfied smile rising to their face. “And, as a bonus... fish do not reek like animals.”

Nick stiffened. “A heart... that can’t be hurt...?” His mind flashed back to the police station and the agency, back to when the usually bright and positive Ritz had suddenly let her true feelings slip. How she was looked down on and lorded over by others because she was a woman, no matter how hard she worked to prove herself....

“... Ritz,” he whispered in horror. His fingers dug into the bricks below him, blood trailing in their wake. But he felt no pain. Why would he? Compared to the agony in her soul, this was nothing. “Why – why, how did things get this bad, how – you were in so much pain, why –” His bloodied hands rose to claw at his chest. Tears fell freely from his wide, unseeing eyes. “How – how did I not notice...?! Ritz, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...!! I always listened, I always heard you, but I never helped you...! This is my fault...!!”

Ritz stared back at him, utterly emotionless. Her heart truly had become stone – there was nothing that could move her now.

“Owl,” Nick screamed, “you have to fix her, NOW!!” He picked up Owl’s gun, lying on the ground by its owner. His skin instantly began to smoke and hiss as the metal burned cherry-red – the weapon refused to let any but its wielder hold it. Maybe it would be different if Nick was currently human, but right now he was a Demon, and so the gun scalded him as mercilessly as any other.

But Nick refused to relinquish his hold. He pressed the gun into Owl’s hand. “Please, Owl,” he begged. “You can do it, right?”

Owl was silent for a moment, but he eventually gave a single light dip of his head. But he couldn’t muster the strength to lift his hand, not while he was pouring everything he had into the healing spell. And all the while, the bloodstain underneath his head continued to spread.

Still, his violet eyes remained locked on Krinos in a furious glare. “What... what’s your angle,” he wheezed, “turning Ritz into a Demon?”

Krinos tilted their head. “How do you mean?”

“You picked her for a reason, right?” Nick asked. “Made her a Demon so you could use her power?”

Krinos blinked, their head still tilted. “I did require this specific Demon, yes, but it did not specifically have to be her,” they answered. “It simply worked out this way. She appeared before me entirely by chance, and she just happened to possess the sort of soul and disposition required of Leviathan’s host, one ripe with sadness and hatred. That is the honest truth. It would not have been a great loss had she failed to become the Demon I required; there are, after all, plenty of others to choose from.”

“What...?” It just worked out that way? Owl and Nick stared at them, eyes wide and mouths hanging open.

A gleeful voice rang out. “Haha, HAHAHA!! Oh, what a face you’re making, Mr. Great Detective...! Hahaha! Are you frustrated? Does it hurt you so...?!” It was Low, his howling words echoing throughout the building. “AhhahaHAHA! How does it feel, seeing your oh so precious friend turned into a Demon? HAHAHA!”

Owl squinted in the direction of the building, but he didn’t see Low anywhere. The young man continued taunting him in a voice that absolutely dripped with delight. “How does it feel, knowing your dear friend drank poison...?! I’m the one who broke her. I administered it to her with my own hands! I made her into a Demon! Me! I did this! I wrecked someone so near and dear to you! Because you had to fight back against Master Mastema...!” His laughter continued on, growing more and more manic with each breath.

“Shut up!!” Nick screamed. His eyes widened as far as they could go, staring deep into the inky darkness before him. “Detect scope!!” he shouted. “You can’t hide from me!!”

His eyes scanned the walls of the building, eventually pausing on one of the many windows. The room beyond was too dark to see anything, but that didn’t stop him. His pupils contracted until they were tiny dots, nearly invisible against a crimson background. There was no hiding from his sight. “Subject: unknown. Object: demon dog. Assessment: overly tenacious, clingy, dependency issues, and a persecution complex. Jumps on any prey that wanders in front of him. He’s decided that his ultimate joy is to wag his tail for others until the end of his days. There’s no treatment for an animal who’d bite the hand that tried to heal it before!!” Low was trying to conceal himself, but Nick could clearly see the dog’s tail. His hand gripped his crystal staff tight, his knuckles white. “Plan: zero. Owl’s healing would be wasted on you. I’ll burn you to a crisp!!”

Golden light crackled around the tip of the staff. Nick raised his arm and directed it at that tiny pane of glass off in the distance. “Erase all records!!”

And with a grunt, he bodily hurled the staff right at it.

The air shook with a thunderous CLAP as the glowing staff shot through the darkness like a lightning bolt. The earth trembled with a mighty BOOM as the glass shattered in a massive glittering spray that gleamed in the light like a firework. There might’ve been a bestial howl somewhere in between the ear-shattering roars of thunder and the crashing of glass, but the fireworks completely swallowed up any screams and even his existence in its conflagration.

Nick didn’t stop to watch the outcome, though. He turned immediately to Krinos, eyes narrowed. “You...! I’ll burn you too...!” A fresh staff appeared in his hand even as his chest heaved, gasping for air.

Krinos smiled beatifically at him. “Ahh, good, very good. You are just a tad too lovely, though – not very Demonic of you, is it?”

It was an unsettling sight. Nick was usually beaming and cheerful, but now his expression was so twisted in fury and loathing that it was beyond uncanny. Owl could see the remains of his partner’s humanity crumbling away, the last bits of his kindness and affection that had kept his Demonic impulses at bay for so long. “Nick, wait...!” he gasped, reaching out for his friend.

But Nick slipped out of his grasp. “Don’t worry, Owl,” he said firmly, quietly... almost tonelessly. “It’ll all be over soon.”

“No...! You can’t let your emotions get swallowed up anymore!”

“I, I’m going to, get everything back...! I’m – I’m going to – turn everything – that’s broken – back to normal...!” He was turning incoherent. Nick brandished his staff, his wings flaring. A cloud of scales fell from his beautiful blue wings, which spread in the air like a membrane that threatened to envelop Krinos....

... Who simply tilted their head. “My, what a troublesome little poison you have there,” they hummed. “I’ll be needing to rinse it off.” They snapped their fingers in front of Ritz’s face, and a jolt visibly ran through her body. “She may be a fingerling yet, but she has more than enough power. Now, then, by all means, show me yours.”

“... Ah –”

“Let us make the world beautiful.”

Krinos’ voice was barely a whisper on the breeze, but to Ritz, it was an unyielding typhoon that she couldn’t hope to resist, vibrating from her eardrums to her brainstem. “Beautiful – beautiful,” she repeated. “Make the world – make everything – everything – beautiful.” Her tail rose high, stirred by their words. “Cold spiral...” she hissed, faint as a bubble leaking from a goldfish’s mouth.

SLAM!! Her tail, on the other hand, smashed against the ground with deafening force, sending a rippling shockwave through the earth and uprooting a fire hydrant by an alleyway in front of the gate. A pillar of water gushed from the hole where it had once stood, and Nick found himself momentarily blinded.

“Sweep ripple.”

The droplets scattering throughout the air coalesced into one giant, rippling ball of liquid that rocketed toward Nick and Owl like it had a mind of its own, undulating through the air almost like a giant watery serpent. Nick jolted back to his senses and turned. “Owl!!” he yelled. He leaped at Owl and stood like a shield between him and the oncoming water, wrapping his wings around the injured detective.

The giant ball exploded with a bellowing roar, dousing the pair below and soaking the entire area around them. It was like a flood had hit. The sheer volume of water sent the two sprawling, this time all the way to the gate. The carriage parked outside was swept all the way to the other side of the street, though it didn’t tip.

Nick managed to grab the iron gate and hold on for dear life, Owl still ensconced in his wings. “Owl! You alive?!”

“... Yeah,” came the weak response from within. He could speak, thankfully, but as expected he still wasn’t strong enough to stand. The healing spell still glowed around him. “Leviathan is a sea monster...” he said, each word dragging out of his mouth like molasses. “It can control water.”

Of course Owl knew about it. His brain was a treasure trove of knowledge. Nick pouted. “You couldn’t have told me that sooner?” he grumbled.

The corners of Owl’s mouth twitched up. “... You cooled off now, partner?”

In contrast, Nick’s pout deepened. “Was that on purpose?”

“....”

Owl’s breath stuttered.

“Owl?”

It looked like he was trying to say something, but before he could force the words out, his body finally lost the war it’d been fighting against all the exhaustion and pain. The hand he’d been holding to the wound on his head fell limply to the ground as consciousness fled him.

“Owl?! What’s wrong?!” Nick frantically slapped Owl’s cheeks. “No, c’mon! OWL!”

The detective’s eyes stayed shut. The technique imbued into his bloodied gloves was still going, but his fingertips didn’t so much as twitch. Even when Nick shook him by his collar, he remained dead to the world.

Nick’s breath hitched. He dropped his head so his cheek pressed against Owl’s gilet, shuddering. “You can’t leave me all alone right now, you dummy!” he screamed.

“I believe this is checkmate.” Krinos sedately approached the pair. “Your name is... Nick, yes? Your azoth is wonderful indeed. Despair, remorse, rage, and that last little dash of anguish for spice make for quite the quality soul. I believe I will make an offering of you unto the great and powerful Heaven. I must harvest you right away.” A thin smile rose to their face. “Ah, but those wings of yours are a nuisance, what with that annoying little poison. Ritz, cut them off for me. Best to dispose of them before the harvest.”

With another snap of their fingers, Ritz jolted again. Her head tilted up to the sky, eyes hollow and lifeless. “Cold spiral...” she whispered, faint as the popping of a soap bubble. Her tail rose once more, then crashed into the ground again.

SLAM! A gigantic wave of water rose out of nothing and rushed straight for Nick. As it approached, it swelled and shifted into the form of a gigantic sharp sickle, its razor-sharp edge aimed squarely for the base of Nick’s magnificent wings.

It fell.

“For goodness’ sake, and here I thought the detective was the only princess element around here! Did being his partner make you one, too?”

But just then, a voice spoke from right over Nick’s head. He turned to look, a questioning gasp falling from his lips, in time to see several cards falling down to encircle him....

“But well, if the opponent’s using water, it’s better if I take this one.” Suddenly, without a sound, a slender young man appeared standing beside Nick.

“Louis...?!” Nick gasped.

It was indeed Louis, standing there with one finger proudly raised. “I’ll lend you a hand here, Nick,” he said. He traced his fingers along his cards, then hurled them all at the oncoming sickle. Every single card surrounding them released a furious gale of wind. The sickle instantly froze into ice that crackled and shattered into pieces, the shards clattering to the ground in a glittering little hailstorm.

Nick sat there in stunned disbelief for a few seconds before rounding on Louis. “Why are you here?!” he shouted. “It’s dangerous!”

“You’re really saying that to me?... I wasn’t really going to step in. But you landed yourself in such a pickle, I thought, well, guess I should step in. Plus, now you’ll owe me one, and I can collect dividends on that later.” Louis turned to stare Nick dead in the eye and murmured, “And honestly, I really liked fairies. Do you know that story about the boy who can fly and never grows up, the one with a fairy partner? I loved that book as a kid. Read it all the time.” He squinted. “... Just to check, you are Nick, right?”

“Who else?” Nick replied. “No one’s a cuter fairy than me!”

“Oh, yeah, you’re Nick all right.” Louis drew back his shoulders. He glanced down at the unconscious Owl and muttered to himself, “You’re too careless, you idiot.”

“Another intruder?” Krinos lightly sighed. “I’m getting rather tired of this. I don’t enjoy wasteful plans or hinderances like Mastema, you know.” They brushed their bangs to the side, perhaps a little irritably, and turned a cold stare on the newest arrival. “... I believe I’m done. I quite honestly didn’t need to linger in this zoo for as long as I did. I was a fool for trying to understand Mastema’s little hobbies. There’s no point in wasting so much time developing azoth – how foolish I was. But, well, the preparations are complete, so I’ll just harvest now and return home.”

They snapped their fingers. “Come to me, my hunters,” they called. “The entire city is now your hunting ground. Run down your persecutors as you please.”

A high-pitched noise began echoing through the air, high enough to pierce a person’s brain. Nick clapped his hands to his ears, groaning through clenched teeth. That voice reverberated in his skull... and a second later, he found himself about to kneel before Krinos. Somewhere in a different part of his heart, a signal was blaring, telling him, “Obey Krinos. You must obey Krinos.”

“Ears... hurt...!”

“Your ears?” Louis repeated.

“What is, that voice...!” Nick crouched down, moaning faintly.

“AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!”

A strange voice echoed from inside the building. The pair’s heads snapped in that direction in surprise.

“AAAAHHHHH!!!”

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!”

One voice became two. Then three. Until soon there was a cacophonous chorus screeching from somewhere within. What the – what is that? Louis wondered. He peered into the building, through the doorway Ritz had destroyed earlier... and he could see silhouettes shifting within the darkness inside. Many silhouettes. Who are they? He squinted.

And then he unconsciously took a step back as his eyes blew wide. “It can’t be....”

The shambling, stamping crowd of silhouettes that came dragging out of that room... they weren’t human. No, these women were grotesque. Their long, ratty hair spread in thick, stiff clumps around their skulls like coral. Patches of pale blue scales had grown around their cheeks. They no longer had eyelids, their eyes wide and vacant like a fish. Their mouths split down to their throats. Their top halves were still those of human women, but their bottom halves were covered in the same scales as the ones on their faces. However, unlike Ritz and her tail, these women still had two proper legs that alternated as rhythmically as a soldier’s march as they walked along. Furthermore, each and every one held an identical razor-sharp harpoon in their hands. They looked, in short, like a battalion risen from the depths of the sea. Perhaps they were also Leviathans, just incomplete versions?

One thing was crystal clear though. “Demons...!” Louis gasped. There was nothing else he could say. There, before his eyes, was a horde of half-fish Demons. He and Nick sucked in breaths in unison at the sight.

And then a piercing scream echoed through the air, this time from the other side of the gate, followed by the wet thump of someone slipping and falling on the wet ground. “WAAAH!! D-D-D-DEMONS...!” It was a man’s voice, high-pitched and drenched in fear.

Nick glanced over to the lone man and froze. He recognized that guy! “... That’s... that’s Bigmouth Dave!” he screeched. “Hey! Get outta here!”

The guy looked at Nick, promptly let out another yelp, and scrabbled away.

One of the Demons within the horde raised her head a little, and a voice leaked out from her gaping fish mouth. “David...? Ah – David – it’s – you.” She took a step closer to the fleeing man.

The man paused. “That voice... Jane...?” he mumbled. However, when he glanced back and saw the strange figure shuffling toward him, he screamed again and scrabbled away. “H-HEEEELP! Someone! ANYONE! It’s a Demon! My wife turned into a DEMON!!”

The Demon lady raised her harpoon and chased after him. “Wait – wait – a moment – my husband – David – I won’t – ever – forgive YOU!”

“I’m sorry, Jane, I’m sorry, forgive me, please forgive me!!”

“Won’t – can’t fo-for-forgive – why should I – forgive someone – so violent – who cheated...! Who lies! Only – lies! Everything – from your mouth – is a LIE!!!” She caught up to him in the blink of an eye, her harpoon poised to spear him through.

“Ahh, no, not like that, Jane,” Krinos called from where they were watching. The Demon paused and glanced back. “We need to infect him before we can harvest,” they continued, and snapped their fingers once more.

Thick belches of silvery-violet fog poured from underneath the carriage that had been swept off down the road, which was incidentally right near where the man was as well. The rolling cloud bore down and swallowed him whole. He sputtered and coughed even as he disappeared from sight. “Ugh, wh-what is, this...?!”

And it wasn’t just one carriage, either. All of the abandoned coaches across the city were producing their own masses of the strange, wavering fog.

“C-Can’t... breathe...!” David struggled to put some distance between himself and the carriage, most likely realizing that there had to be some places far enough away from them that the fog was still thin.

But then Krinos quietly murmured, “Ritz,” and motionless, hollow-eyed Ritz waved her tail around and raised it high into the air.

“... Cold spiral.”

Every single fire hydrant in the city exploded with a deafening bang. Pillars of water rocketed into the sky one by one, forming a circle around the carriages already encircling the city.

“Excellent,” praised Krinos. “Your talent surpasses all expectations, far beyond that of those half-baked pseudo-Demons behind you. Now, to put the finishing touches on our grand hunting ground.”

The Demon Leviathan slowly raised one webbed hand. “Mist prison,” she whispered.

The water pillars burst into a fine white mist that began to spread across the city like a barrier, forming a solid wall that kept the purple-tinted fog firmly inside the heart of London. At the same time, screams began to erupt all throughout the streets from inhabitants touched by the creeping fog. Apparently there were still people out and about even in the abandoned parts of town. Like David, they fled down side streets, clawing at their throats and desperate for help.

But there was no help to be found. The struggling citizens collapsed where they stood, one by one. And one by one, their skin turned black before their eyes as they lost the remaining dregs of their humanity.

“Ugh... please, help...!”

The violet-silver fog curled around David as he pleaded and soon masked him from view entirely. As the clouds constricted his throat, his struggling hands also began to change hue, his fingertips turning jet-black as if they’d been dipped in ink and spreading up toward his wrists. Even as the darkness crept up his skin, though, he still scrambled to get away from the Demons.

“This is a specially crafted high-density fog that can infect anyone in mere seconds,” Krinos said. They pointed to the gasping man. “Go and help Jane, everyone. The liar shall be your first prey.”

The mob of Demons lurched toward the man as one, unblinking eyes fixated squarely on his pitiful form.

“Cheater – liar – awful – how awful – of you – how awful – for her –”

“Must – have words – must scold – yes – repent – repent – if you – repent....”

Mutters ran through the crowd as they hefted their harpoons.

“If you – repent – you – can be – a jewel – too!!!”

And they hurled their weapons at him.

“NO!!!” Nick screamed.

But his words were nothing more than air. The harpoons skewered David. His screech of alarm pierced the air like a siren. The man was clearly too stunned to realize what had happened at first, but then he looked down and saw what exactly was sticking out of his body, and his scream rose in both pitch and volume until the sound emanating from his throat could hardly be called human. Then, as his lungs depleted and his voice faded away, so too did his body, falling to the ground with a thud and dissolving into dust.

“Huh?”

“What was –?”

Nick and Louis stared at the spot where the man had been, flabbergasted and alarmed in equal measure. Where’d his body go? They had no idea what was going on.

While they struggled to comprehend what they’d just seen, the Demon called Jane reached her hand into the dust that had once been David and pulled a crimson stone from the pile. “Ha – haha – hahaha,” she chuckled. “So – tiny.” The laughter grew more intense, more gratified, as she held it above her head. “Tiny – so tiny – must – hunt more... more – beautiful – gems....”

“Haha – hahahaha....”

“I – will go – too.”

“So – will I.”

The tittering crowd of Demons shuffled off into the city, leaving Nick and Louis to stare after them in stunned silence.

“That was....” Louis couldn’t get the image of the red stone flashing in the Demon’s grasp out of his head. “Refined azoth, without undergoing Demonization? Is that even possible?” His eyes slid to the fog creeping along the ground toward them. “That’s... highly concentrated infectious vapor,” he muttered, his hands balling into fists. “So that’s it, then. Those carriages... all those abandoned carriages across the city, they’re machines meant to spread the Black Rose Disease, aren’t they?”

Nick jolted and glanced up. “What...? They’re spreading it...?! You said you couldn’t extract it, right?!”

“Even if a layperson couldn’t, it’s possible there’s some spell of technique somewhere that can refine them. Like at this very salon, perhaps.”

“... Ah –”

“You said you first saw them around the city a month ago, right? That’s when they put their plan into motion. The note that woman Maud passed me was written on the back of a scrap that came from a map of the area. She must’ve realized the seedy plans in place underneath the veneer of the reformation parade. What the Demon Parade was really spreading about was a hallucinogen, making it easy for people to see imaginary carriages and masking the real carriages... the poison-spreading apparatuses from sight. They’re the reason there’s been an upswing in infectees recently.”

“But... how could they make someone see something so convenient to them –” How did they control people seeing carriages specifically? Nick couldn’t wrap his brain around it.

“That person’s voice has the power to control people. Maybe they sent out a wave with their voice to the surrounding area, using those weird machines strapped to the top of those things, telling people they could see carriages while they were spreading the disease around?” Louis surmised. “Pair that with the psychedelic gas, and you’ve got yourself all the ingredients for a city full of fake carriages rolling around. Everyone would watch out for moving carriages, but not for stopped ones, right?”

“But, but I never saw anything like that, though?”

“Probably because you’re already a carrier. Those women might’ve conducted their parade to keep an eye on things so they’d know the right timing to infect everyone. If the illusions don’t work on people who’ve already got the Black Rose Disease, eventually no one in the city would see them, and then they’d start noticing all the suspicious abandoned carriages, and someone would eventually start saying they should be removed. That was the signal.”

“Signal?”

“That it was time to harvest.”

Nick sucked in a breath, eyes widening.

“And in order to harvest the entire city, they’d need underlings... they’d need hunters, and they picked the downtrodden, abused women to do it...” Louis continued. “Demonization requires a powerful surge of emotion to trigger. They gathered the dissatisfied, sad, pained women of the city and carefully had them doing their dirty work, and then they used their voice to trigger their Demonization. All to make them their hunters to harvest the new infected people in the city.” Louis glanced at Krinos. “Right?” he asked them.

Krinos met the student’s glare with perfect equanimity. “You’re a sharp boy,” they answered. It wasn’t a straight answer, but the meaning was clear.

“Why would you do something like that?!” Nick shouted.

It was Louis who answered, not Krinos. “They’re after azoth.”

“Azoth?” Nick repeated blankly. “What’s that?”

“It’s the crystallized soul within a Demon... or at least, that’s what I believe. Put simply, it’s a powerful energy source.”

“And what’re they gonna do with the stuff they harvest?”

“Who knows? The minds of their kind aren’t for us mortals to comprehend.”

“Their kind...? What do you mean?”

“If Demons exist, it stands to reason that their opposite exists as well, right?”

“Huh? What’re you... that’s....”

Nick wanted to say that was impossible, but Krinos’ whisper cut through their conversation. “There is no need for you to comprehend,” they murmured. “Everything is Heaven’s plan. You all should simply submit yourselves joyfully, unaware that it is your destiny to be offered unto Heaven... or rather, it is the destiny of the jewels growing in your bodies. Now, come to me.”

Nick and Louis tensed. That order... the second that sweet and melodic order reached their ears, so too did a compulsion to obey flood their brains.

“The... voice!” Louis gritted his teeth and shook his head, doing his utmost to resist. “Nick, watch out! Their voice has the power to enthrall you!”

To Louis, this sensation felt strangely familiar. He’d studied techniques to charm people at college, of course, but he felt like he recognized this from even before that... from a long, long time ago, in a place far, far away, when he was just a child. He remembered studying something back then, listening to someone standing in front of him. That voice in his memories sounded just as tantalizingly sweet as Krinos’.

His role hammered into his skull as he was robbed of his senses, like his mind was wrapped in a soft, silk cocoon –

“... Shit!!”

Louis shook off the memories threatening to encroach on his mind. This wasn’t the time or the place to be thinking about back then. He focused his attention on glaring at Krinos.

The salon owner was staring at Louis’ resistance with a strange expression, but they refrained from commenting and said in their usual disinterested way, “Well, it’s fine, I suppose. If I can awaken everyone in the city, my plan will be complete.” They blew out a breath. “... Mastema was unnecessarily concerned with the quality of the product, but that is complete heresy. What is so entertaining about learning human emotions.... It’s horrifically inefficient to focus so intently on raising the purity of a single stone. Quantity is far superior to quality – that is the efficient way. So I will infect everyone equally and harvest them all at once. They may be small, or dull, but I will take them all the same. Yes, superior or inferior, I will leave none behind. That is ‘equality.’ That is ‘benevolence’....”

Their sigh swirled in the air around them, and before their eyes transformed into a glowing sigil. A transmutation circle.

“Let my voice reach out... to the hearses.”

A bright red light shot out of the roof of the carriage sitting near the building, as if moved by their words. High above them, in the sky, an absolutely colossal transmutation circle spun to life, glowing an eerie, ominous red.

Nick and Louis stared up at it in alarm, twin exclamations falling from their lips, as the circle expanded further, as more circles joined the first, as all the circles overlapped and spread until the entire sky above the city was blanketed in that sick glow.

“Is that... an ancient technique...?” The sigils on the circle were old, and he couldn’t decipher everything, but Louis strung together the parts he could read, and that was enough for him to realize what he was looking at. “Is that a high-level sleeping spell?!”

Nick had cottoned on as well. “Hey, that thing’s shining above where those carriages were left! There’s so many... enough to surround the entire city....”

Louis blinked. Then his eyes widened. “Of course!” he exclaimed. “Those carriages... they don’t just spread the infection around, they’re also tools for amplifying the power of that guy’s voice to activate the spell!!”

Krinos shook their head as Louis swiveled their gaze back to them. “I would prefer if you referred to me with some respect,” they admonished. “That is a divine mechanism, one could say, to more efficiently magnify my voice so that I may awaken the people.” Once again Krinos spoke, and once again their words birthed a spell circle above them. “The time has come for the miserable control that plagues the world of man to shatter! When they hear my signal of the end, the buds of hatred growing within them will awaken...!”

As they called up to the great circle above them, their voice was amplified several times over by the machines strapped to the roofs of the carriages with a groaning sound that shook the very air.

“Wah...!” Nick staggered from the sound like it was a physical blow. He clapped his hands over his ears and curled into a ball.

“Nick?!” Louis reached out to steady him. The poor informant was stiff as a board.

Teeth gritted and face twisted in anguish, Nick gasped, “What, is this...? This is, so much, worse...! My brain’s, gonna, leak out my ears...!”

“You would do well to obey me,” Krinos whispered. “Resistance will only lead to suffering.”

The weight of their words slammed into the nearby buildings, filling the neighborhood with echoes of their displeasure. The shockwaves split the night without mercy. And as their voice wound its way through the air, yet another glowing circle appeared, this time twinkling in front of their face.

“Most Demons are slaves to their desires,” they continued. “In this hunting ground, you, little Demon, would be free to rampage as you please. Release your true self from its shackles, harvest the infected to your heart’s desire, and immerse yourself in pleasure.”

Their siren song was so, so tempting. But still Nick resisted, jaw clenched and limbs locked.

The shockwaves rolled through the air, numbing their brains, but Louis saw through their lie. He sneered, “So you’re going to put a megaphone right to everyone’s ears to wake them up? Don’t make me laugh. There’s nothing divine about that! Planting suggestions, brainwashing... no, you’re rewriting what it is to be human on a cellular level...!”

Nick glanced up at him, his face still screwed up in pain. “That, gives me, a real bad feeling....”

“Yeah, no kidding. This is a person who could forcibly turn a sparrow into an eagle with a single word.”

“And, turn a human, into a Demon?”

Louis hesitated. He didn’t even want to entertain the thought, but... he couldn’t afford not to. “If someone is even the slightest bit infected, then yes, they could probably influence the ‘brainwashed cells’ to multiply rapidly and instantaneously transform someone into a Demon. Usually a strong surge of emotion is the trigger for Demonization, but that wouldn’t matter here. Far from it, actually – there’s even a twisted chance that they could even alter a person’s body or their original Demon’s species. Those women all looked like water Demons, for example.” He clicked his tongue. “‘London Bridge’.... So this is what she meant by ‘don’t become like how the song ends.’”

The idea that the smoking watchman in the nursery rhyme became a human sacrifice to hold the bridge up was a baseless rumor, but all around them, people were inhaling smoke and becoming Demons. They truly had become sacrifices to be harvested and offered.

Maud had foreseen what was to come. She had tried to tell them to run.

“Once they give the signal, every infectee within the technique’s range will Demonize at the same time, and the women they already Demonized will harvest the newborn Demons,” Louis continued. “... It’ll be hell on earth, and it won’t end there. Panic will start to spread throughout the country... and across the borders, too.”

“That’s...!” Nick shuddered at the horrific thought. One shaking hand reached out to grip Louis’ sleeve. “What do we do? How do we stop it?!”

Louis quietly shook his head. “We can’t.”

“Huh...?”

Louis raised his hands to the sky in a hopeless gesture. “Without some amazing, heroic special move or something, nothing we do can destroy that gigantic circle.”

 “... No....” Nick’s face crumpled. Then, with a scowl, he lurched up and grabbed Louis by the collar. “What’s wrong with you?!” he screamed. “How can you just say that?! Owl would never!! He’d never give up like that!!”

Louis looked at Nick flatly. “I’m not Owl,” he simply replied. He pulled a pocket watch out of his pocket, checked the time, and stowed it away again. “I’m not a detective, and I’m no hero. I don’t have any secret ultimate skills up my sleeves. I don’t particularly care about saving random strangers. Once all my magic tricks are used up, I split.” He tugged Nick’s hands off of him none too gently.

Nick stared at him open-mouthed for a few seconds. He hadn’t expected him to be... so cold. His teeth gritted. “But you came to save me, didn’t you?” he pointed out.

“Yes, because I thought I saw some merit in it.” Louis smoothed his rumpled collar and adjusted his necktie, then turned once more to Krinos.

They smiled. “Such graciousness is a virtue,” they said, then breathed out yet another transmutation circle. With each new layer they sighed into existence, the energy above them swelled in intensity. “I enjoy rational folk. As a special treat, I will make you a beautiful Demon. You must have imbibed enough of the fog by now.” They held a hand out to Louis. “You have the distinct honor of making direct contact with a holy hand. Be grateful.”

Louis faced Krinos. He took a step toward them.

“Louis!” Nick lunged to try and stop him, but he couldn’t reach.

Step by step Louis approached Krinos. His arm rose, ready to take their hand.

“But as long as I’ve still got a trick up my sleeve, I’ll keep fighting!”

And he slapped it away.

“... What did you just say?” Krinos’ eyes widened at the sudden rejection, the first sign of cracks in their composure since this whole mess had started.

BOOOOOM!!!

An explosion blasted through the air, followed by a flash of crimson light and a dense plume of smoke outside the gate.

“What?!” Krinos whipped their head around to find that their carriage was on fire. A crackling bonfire enveloped the entire coach.

Nick was similarly bewildered. “What just happened...?” he wondered aloud, glancing between Louis and the burning vehicle.

They all watched as the light emanating up from the carriage vanished as it burned. The technique it was projecting into the air was gone. “My divine apparatus...!” cried Krinos. They were fully flustered now.

Another explosion boomed, this time somewhere off in the distance. Then another, and another, until the air fairly shook with the blasts. Another layer of the spell vanished with each successive outburst.

“Ahh, I guess the firepower was a little strong,” Louis commented as he listened, as casual as anything. “I’m not that well-versed in fire alchemy – must’ve gotten the composition wrong.”

As the sigils began to vanish, the voice echoing through the air also faded away. Nick felt the oppressive force keeping him pinned disappear all at once.

Krinos turned a fearsome glare on Louis. “What have you DONE, you miserable wretch?!”

Louis blatantly ignored them to focus on Nick instead. “You know, these cards also have timers,” he said, twirling one such card around his fingers. “I went looking for all the abandoned carriages based on your map and planted these cards inside them. I was running short on time, so I did ask your adorable little red riding hood girl to help, though.”

“... My map...?”

“Yes, because you kindly noted down their precise locations. Your detective’s illegible scrawls were also handy – ‘presumed sphere of influence,’ ‘possible spots to hide carriages near locations of parade sightings,’ and such. Thanks to that, I was able to look for other factories as well, and I visited one such place being constructed by high-level alchemy the likes of which I’d never seen before.” A tiny smile tickled the edges of his mouth for a split second. “Ahh, of course, if nothing ended up happening I was going to disable them all remotely, I’m not a bomber or anything. That said, I’m glad all my effort didn’t go to waste.” He held a folded paper out to Nick. “If I hadn’t found all the stuff in that new factory that revealed what was really going on, it would’ve been a lot harder to destroy everything.”

Nick accepted the paper and unfolded it. It was the map Owl had jotted his notes down on. A tiny gasp escaped him, and for a brief moment a smile threatened to split his face, but in the next second he pulled his mouth back down into a pout. “Did you nick this? Lousy thief!”

Louis clicked his tongue, waggling his finger with each click. “Please don’t call me that? It sounds so crude.”

“A thief’s a thief. What should I call you, then?”

“Well... the best thing would be –”

A whisper through the roaring blaze of flame interrupted him. “My wonderful plan....”

Nick and Louis turned to look at Krinos. The salon owner was standing in front of the burning carriage. They were trembling. “How... dare you ruin my wonderful plan....” They raised their head and glared daggers at Louis with wild eyes. “I have a suitable punishment in mind for those who would defy Heaven’s will...” they murmured. As they opened their mouth wide, another layered spell circle twinkled in front of their face. “For an unforgivable sin such as this, I will turn you into a Demon in the most painful way imaginable and gouge your heart from your chest...!”

They raised their hands in Louis’ direction and clenched them tight. Louis evaded them by a hair and replied with a carefree chuckle, “That’s fine, I don’t need your forgiveness. I know Byron will forgive me, at least. That’s all I really want.”

Krinos paused. “Did you say Byron?” they whispered.

“He’s my parent, and I’d guess he’s you guys’ enemy, too.” Louis twisted his body and raised one leg overhead to deliver a powerful kick to Krinos’ shoulder. As he knocked them off balance, he whipped a card out of his pocket and slapped it onto their body.

“Nngh...?!” The card floated around for a moment, but in the next instant it mercilessly rocketed into the ground with a resounding SLAM, shoving Krinos’ body into the dirt. They wheezed as they scrabbled in place, as firmly stuck as a butterfly specimen pinned to a wall. The card had them affixed to the ground; they couldn’t get back up.

“Ahh...” sighed Louis. “Yeah, earth techniques are hard, too. I still can’t get them properly working. I should study gravity some more.”

“Damn... you...!!”

“So how does it feel to prostrate yourself on the ground like that? It’s probably your first time, isn’t it?”

The card holding Krinos down held an earth technique inside of it, one that increased the effects of gravity several times over. They were obviously thrown for a loop for a moment, but it wasn’t long before they started trying to push themself back up, their chest puffed out. “You think, you can hold me...?!”

“Oi, don’t push it,” warned Louis.

Krinos didn’t stop, though. They struggled against the burdensome gravity keeping them immobile. And as they did, an ominous, almost metallic creaking sound started echoing around their shoulders and neck.

Louis blinked. “Is that machinery?” he mumbled. That sound... that meant Krinos’ body wasn’t human, it was....

“A technique forged by mere mortals could never hope to overpower me...!!”

With a horrifying crack in their spine, Krinos forced themself to rise. The chugging and clacking of gears grinding together emanated from their form. And as they slowly worked their way up, the card on the ground began to smoke and char at the edges. Krinos’ power was warring with the power of the card, and the force was tearing them both apart.

“‘Mere mortals,’ huh...” Louis murmured to himself. He pulled another card out of his pocket. “Well, what if I tossed the power of the divine creation I brought along with me into the mix?” He flicked the card and called, “Come on out! You’re up!”

And then a shadow hopped out of one of the trees around the building. “I’ll help, too...!”

It was a young girl. As she leaped into the air, the card flashed next to her, and she floated down as gently as a feather, as if gravity had decided to ignore her. She gently landed next to Louis and held out her hand. “With my... my power...!”

Krinos saw the young girl clinging to Louis’ back. They saw her red robe fluttering in the breeze. And their eyes nearly popped out of their skull.

original written by Nagaya Kawaji here

[cosmicangel888]

Setting Boundaries, Standards is SELF LOVE ~ 5D WELCOME To you

Ain't nothing from the past ever coming back

Victory is creating new life with new sacred seed on all lessons of the past

The past is done.

Let it be

Let all level up

At some point all must face their deeds, and energy and they cannot do that if you are there holding balance and giving energy to what all must sort and do on their own.

We all have wings - honour it

Visions, Conduits feel, see, know, sense, and read energy in whatever way Source, Spirit, God, your soul will offer - for continued growth and levelling up

Vision --> Healing times --> Anything is possible - here is proof

I had a vision, a spirited experience, my ancestors and guides allowed a satanist to enter my space, for they had aligned it through the karma board, the energies they all work with, throughout all times, timelines, and generations, and at the soul level, this earthly satanist that has caused my life hell on earth here, with years of spell work and voodoo, and impaling my life - human testing, and games of harm,

After my teams, God, Spirit, vetting her own purity of intent and screening, my ancestors, God allowed this being to enter my space the other night;

She presented herself as her earthly self and showed with her own self ownership of her beliefs by wearing what she presented with choosing -

'how you know when you know' there is genuine energy in the vision, imprint, offering, and spirit is side-by-side and it is not done like a 'vibrational rape' with malice and ill-intent - there is variances to how those play, abuse, and honour energy -

This entity was being tested by her teams, and her soul, could she present herself with deep integrity and apology without being abusive of my rights, energy, and present herself before me, the new 5D queen and leader of the matriarch that I am and now crowned - - 

For she knew of the new ordinances done in the ethers and it was her pure intent to clear karma, and present to offer herself healing by doing so and acting so in a higher vibration for learning, growth - and what her ancestors linked with my ancestors and a presentation was allowed - 

All grow in these situations - 

She operated as a satanist against me and my offering - even though I had never met this person in person but know the group, gangs they all work within to take, con, and harm, derail, and degrade others for their own gain - power, and dominance over others, harvesting light, and so on  It was a very courageous move and of pure intent only - she was allowed to enter my vibrational space to apologize It was a surreal experience - just as facing many demons, some none would imagine the demons conjured to me, of me to me, and I face it all - this merely was a divine feminine exploring darkness and I faced her - for she was a version of God, of me; 

I looked at her, we faced one another as DF and I asked her of her motive and intention 

She merely faced me with her sword down, and symbol at her side so I could recognize her tribe, clan

She said 'I want to apologize' and her heart bled for my forgiveness for she had recognized the damage, harm, and pain she had caused and been a part of causing - this is the work that spirit does behind the scenes, that no deep pocket, no spell caster and voodoo doctor know how God works, and spirit and their own soul works - 

Creation is Creation - 

Creation is our playground and all have equal right to play without interference 

All are meant to understand and explore darkness and the wounds we all have - but we are meant to courageous face who we are and heal it all -

This is soul growth -  I felt the deep apology and offered her forgiveness and declaration to stay out of my energy and business and she left I had an interaction of the underworld diety coming forth on her behalf - and thus declared peace on all levels 

There will be no further wars and tragedies - done is done. Now because new higher practices of soul growth must be practiced, karma will be cleared when there is proven behaviour, thoughts, deeds, and shifting to change, purity of intent is powerful - and those choose to change will have full support of all heavens and spirits in between - this is a promise - heightened becoming must be practiced - for we have never been taught we are infinite - one must choose such - self love is the portal of all potential.

Divine feminine deserve our healing - and all is symbolic and divine and know that there is far reaching love and unity placed before all - if all get to choose who they are and choose with self love and soulful intent - anything is possible and karma is cleared - 

We ALL HAVE WINGS - honour all life - all life is sacred!

Love is  Love is transcendent and crosses all beliefs and notions of separation and better than less than  

- ONENESS IS ONENESS

This is a true story of vibrational healing and love and forgiveness -

FORGIVE and MOVE ON -

LIFE IS ETERNAL Oneness is Oneness and what the life of a conduit is and why you must be prepared and trained to be of such

Destiny is destiny and all are navigating their own mastery - there are laws, and there are protocol in ascension and first contact and all energy, all entities, and matter is spirit -

And so be it

Blessings and light

Joanna

For private sessions, webinars, classes or consulting ~

Email me at JoannaCosmicAngel@yahoo.com

DONATIONs; PayPal link here; paypal.me/JoannaLRoss

Karma is karma for a reason - it is directly related to navigating with honour, respect to universal creational laws, and order - those that want to continue destruction and behaviours of disrespect and disregard, allow them away from you - and have them level up to be in your space - there is a no tolerance from here on out -

Move or be moved; unity is a thing and disrespect for life, human care and reciprocal fairness, equity, and taking account for abhorrent behaviour are where limits and lines are drawn ~

Some before you are there because you offered the light for them and balanced their life out without them even knowing it, and by you being in their airspace, they cannot learn the lessons they need to learn by feeling what they have manifested and created - just as equal as your blessings not manifesting due to those in your space -

All must learn - what vibration you emanate or allow is what you receive

Being on the Oneness journey is a very sacred sacred journey

And so be it

Joanna

JoannaCosmicAngel@yahoo.com DONATIONs; PayPal link here; paypal.me/JoannaLRoss

[nievea]

it was like a dream. lips to lips. body to body. their hearts were racing against one another's as they got even closer. how such a thing was possible was beyond her. she'd scooted closer on his lap until there was no more room to do so, her arms tightened around him. afraid to let him go that this would all fade away. it is real, isn't it? how she breathes him in, now. surely he could feel how desperate she was in this embrace. sighing contently against his lips as he brought her in for more ⸻ her satisfaction plain across her face. the moment feels as if it could continue forever. only parting for air. it's until he parts that she reluctantly follows. foreheads remain together. her eyes remain closed. emotion began to come forward.

he was correct. her patience was immaculate. however it was expected that the time they spent apart ⸻ all thirteen years ⸻ would emotionally destroy the both of them. for what she witnessed were horrors beyond comprehension. he lived a life stunted from love, laughter ⸻ life in itself. he was a militant. one with only one reason to live. that reason that soon became a falsehood. he was fragile. who would she be to take advantage? she herself still had demons to capture. their bond needed to reignite. they needed to begin their healing. there was no bitterness toward the time it took for him to finally realize he could no longer wait. but now there was no reason to. The Hideaway was complete. they would need to lean & support each other further. what better way to do that than as the lovers they had been since childhood.

❛ for you I would have waited even longer. ❜

her eyes became wet with tears. a smile on her lips. she stares into his eyes after foreheads parted for only a moment. arms unlock from around him. instead choosing to cup his newly shaved face. fingers stroke along his cheek. she cries, now. they're happy tears of course. she thinks of her younger self in this moment. how she longed to be with him. the way she fantasized a royal wedding. the way the ladies in the markets always fantasized with her. they were often called a couple without already being one. they were always together. always adventuring. chasing Torgal all around. he took care of her in her saddest moments, while she did the same for him. a breathy laugh leaves her lips. she probably looked so silly. a kiss bringing her to tears. yet both of them knew this moment meant more to them than just any silly kiss.

❛ beyond happy am I that I do not have to wait a second longer. I'm in love with you, Clive. I always have been. you were all I ever wished for over the years. all I ever thought about. you are my whole world. ❜

after all. had it not been for him on that battlefield, she would have been happy to die.

then does she take the initiative. pressing lips together once more. she would no longer entertain the idea of interruptions. should anyone walk in, what they would witness would be a clear sign to get out. they needed to learn how to knock, anyway.

Whatever hints she'd implied still bear their weight from prior attempts, when he'd been gracious in his acceptance of his father's preserved attire, a heirloom of sorts. She'd complimented and teased, laid her emotions bare, but only just slight. He'd been unhurried in his reciprocity. She'd been alright with that. Trauma still leads with havoc and mystifies, entangles emotions with confusion and hesitance and a deep-seated aversion to vulnerability. They'd been cloistered away in a buried cage, dormant, warded from the corruption which conducted him through days sombre and sepulchral. His world was denied any semblance of light until recent days. He'd refused any affection tipping beyond the cusp of chaste care, rebuffed any indications of limerence with haste. Falsehoods became too easy to detect, and in time he'd deemed them the default with how others perceived and approached him, looking to reap the benefit of his brawn. Such is not so with Jill, and something burgeons akin to an enduring, ripened unconditional fondness well above Eros. He is more clear-eyed and conscious of the happenings which environ him and the world.

As well as Jill and her patience. Unmatched. Unparalleled. All those years, clinging still the the blessings of Metia, rewarded with his fated return. Kismet yet connects them, intangible as it may be. That innocuous, consolatory prayer had been a salve in their disconnect ; it's something she'd shared in confidence. He too had his liabilities. Never did she blame him for his languid pace when it came to matching anything remotely amorous, nor was his hand subconsciously forced. Clive was not a simple man to decipher in those militant years ; he'd cloyed himself with isolation, dissected any nuance of care, shut out any want to challenge his psychological bulwark. He'd sanctioned any emotion, and in his rediscovery he'd forgotten love's sway. In that time, she waited. Patient. Knowing. She'd extend her support when needed and allowed the natural progression of their bond to unfurl and blossom with the careful tending of time. The intimacy tugs him now with action and impetus to follow through, and before long he hadn't realized he failed to answer her with words but a press of lips instead ( before long eyes close, too ).

And it's a near boyish mildness, a kiss slow in its prelude before evolving with newfound curiosity. In moments it's ushered instead with confidence guised as innate, dashing aside any present doubt. It felt good to let go, freeing even, to indulge and allow some shred of happiness to unfold rather than submit to habit ⸻ a habit where he'd reserve the joy for someone else, as though it's the right thing to do. The absence of vision only enhances the vastness of this freedom, a counter to the smothering vice oft accompanying sorrow. He knew that well. But this ? This intensity could easily ascend to something far more heady and dizzying and intoxicating ⸻ it felt near taboo. Love felt taboo. Despite her binding to Shiva, never once was she predicted to be cold. It's a similar warmth to the flames he's accustomed to, those he so commonly summons and calls forth. They embrace while wreathed in a different kind of satisfaction ⸻ one familiar and equally unfamiliar ⸻ a dichotomy he struggles to grasp yet welcomes in all its mystery.

A hand is relieved of his glove, raising to dip her chin downward to better receive the plush of a bottom lip. It is she that is tasted and breathed, through parted lips do floral notes and the mingle of dappled oil whip light as a cleanly addition. He hums at that, succumbs to a near hunger which encourages him forth, further choking what little space they shared. They'd been robbed of it, denied it these countless cruel years and he aims to reclaim it for them both, aims to make up for what they'd lost with this feeble attempt to condense it all into one moment. But as always there's the rein which yields him once sense returns, reminds him of the potential of interruptions ⸻ it keeps him from losing himself to the high afforded by pleasure. Already does he pull back an inch to swallow his disbelief, breathes out just short of his soul at the brink of conscious surrender. It feels as though his heart lives in his throat, beating loud. Again and again. There's that guilt again.

❛ You've the patience of a saint. ❜

It’s spoken with identifiable reservation ⸻ it takes all in his power to accept the embrace and blend of dark locks to silver, weaved betwixt the press of brows and limbs and bodily warmth.

[wavebiders]

Thinking about the concept of redemption in Warcraft being about choice first and foremost. Rotating it around in my head.

[ghostonmyfeed]

Girl From Nowhere S2 Theory

MAJOR SPOILER ALERT: I will be talking entirely about events in the 2nd season.

**Very long**

**I will tell the story of the episodes as well**

! ! WHAT I SAY ISN'T CANON IT'S JUST A THEORY !!

In episode 4 We're introduced to Yuri, who's up for revenge on her "friends". This is when Nanno realized it's going to be a whole lot different.

In the last season we see Nanno bringing karma to those around her. May it be a teacher or a student. In those instances, they either regret all the things they did and die or learn from their mistakes and live to be a better person.

In Yuri's case, all she wants is revenge because she's been used by her rich friends. In this episode, everyone is in the wrong and they all deserved bad karma.

Towards the end of that episode we see that Nanno was "dead" and put in a bathtub, while Yuri's head was inside, because she drowned to death in that tub by men she used to get her revenge.

Yuri's plan backfired on her. And of course in old Nanno fashion when the coast is clear, Nanno goes back to life and leaves the room.

But in the last scene, we see Nanno's blood going in Yuri's nose and bringing her back to life.

But was is intentional? We know that Nanno does not make mistakes, at all because everything she does happens for a reason.

For the rest of the season we have Nanno and Yuri competing over what the people in the wrong deserve.

Yuri is impatient and all about death and revenge without teaching them what they did wrong.

Nanno is patient, all about giving them the punishment they deserve and them learning from their mistakes.

Nanno does not doubt her tactics and knows exactly what to do to give the bad people what they deserve.

We know that in the end of every episode, everyone who lived and learned their lesson got to go back to their normal lives with their families.

We see a crack in Nanno's façade in episode 7: JennyX when Jenny slit Nanno's throat that didn't heal and where she had to take Jenny's identity because of Yuri's interferance.

In this episode we see that Nanno is capable of taking people's identities. But that wasn't part of her plan. She herself knew that this was not what Jenny deserved, it was too much and she doubted herself.

JennyX was a failed 'mission' on Nanno's part, because even if Jenny learned her lesson, she didn't get to go back to the life she had and correct her mistakes.

In the season finale Nanno and Yuri were arguing over who deserved to be punished.

Yuri says Junko's the victim because she was bullied by teachers and students and her mother purposely paralyzed her legs.

Nanno calls both Yuri and Junko out by saying both of them are hardly victims because they choose to kill people.

Junko was killing off students and faculty staff and studying their organs (Junko was interested in anatomy) her mother had no choice but to paralyze Junko so she would stop killing people because the mom always had to get rid of the bodies.

Towards the end of the finale Nanno tried to stop Junko from stabbing the mother but she gets injured and it didn't heal.

In the scene we see Nanno being stabbed to death by Junko and her mother, Yuri letting out an evil laugh. After stabbing Nanno to death, Junko slit her mother's throat.

At that final scene we see Yuri giving Junko her blood and going their separate ways. And looking down on them from the rooftop, was none other than Nanno herself narrarating.

"In a world where everyone thinks they are free and does whatever the hell they want. Am I really necessary anymore?" ~ Nanno

THEORY:

From the 4th episode, Nanno has been waiting patiently for the moment to teach Yuri a lesson.

Come to think of it, Nanno still didn't punish Yuri in that 4th episode. Yuri didn't regret any of the horrible things she did because to her it was all necessary for revenge. She didn't deserve to die because that was too easy. So Nanno intentionally made her immortal to teach her a lesson.

In episode 6 Yuri impatiently tried to get rid of Nanno and deliver her "justice" by making the students revolt. It worked for a moment but when the students came to one of them killing a teacher, the students fell apart and started blaming one another. So when their principal said they'll take care of the mess students made as long as they go back to doing everything the faculty says, most of the students agreed leaving the students who believed in revolting to face the consequences for everyone.

Yuri then sees her plan does not work and Nannos (yes plural) appear to finish the job. In the last scenes of the episode, the original Nanno locks Yuri in a room with her clones and the faculty, telling her they'll starve to death unless they start eating each other.

This could have been Yuri's karma if she just learned that her way doesn't help anyone. But it didn't, it just fueled her thirst for revenge more.

In the last scene of the finale, we see Nanno's neck fully healed. Meaning everything was part of her plan. If Yuri thinks Nanno's dead she would let down her guard down and it would be easy for Nanno to strike back.

But then what about the Nanno who was stabbed? It could be none other than one of her clones. We've seen her use her clones before to punish people in S1 ep2.

We don't know for sure if her clones can have lasting effects but in ep7 we see her clone's tongue cut off and it was still cut off in the end of that episode. When it was cut off, we also know that it made them bleed so the thought of of Nanno faking her death in front of Yuri isn't impossible.

Yuri already thinks that when Nanno's in doubt she can lose her immortality and make her vulnerable. Why? Maybe because Nanno planted that idea in Yuri's head.

This is Nanno we're talking about, she's what? a demon? a spirit? Let's say she's the spirit of karma because from what we see, she brings karma to everyone around her. Karma can't die, karma is just there. Nanno can't die, Nanno is just there.

What does she mean by her narration at the finale?

"In a world where everyone thinks they are free and does whatever the hell they want. Am I really necessary anymore?"

She's saying, if everyone does terrible things knowing very clear that they will be caught and there will be consequences but keep doing it anyway, what's the point of karma?

So instead of learning from their mistakes, they continue to make them, if that's it then is punishing them over and over again really necessary when it changes nothing?

THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME IN READING THIS

This is just a theory and my own interpretation, I know there are different opinions and this is my own. You can disagree and find my opinions, interpretations and theories stupid and I'm okay with that and I respect your opinion, but please refrain from harsh/foul language. Thank you!