Links to Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Final
This is the translation of the last part (from page 48 to 63) of Side B of the Dazai novel which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.
I HIGHLY recommend you to read Side A first before moving on to this one more context, better understanding, and easier comparison between the two sides. You can find the link to the tag with all Side A translations I have done in my pinned post.
Please also carefully read the notes below before progressing.
- This post contains spoilers. If you plan to read the novel later yourself and think this would ruin your expectation, please stop here.
· I tried to keep the translation as accurate as possible, but as I don’t speak English or Japanese as my native language, I may make some mistakes or use weird words etc. This translation might not be final. I may come back and fix it later if I find any mistakes.
· This is a moviegoers-only benefit, so please be extra careful when discussing it about on Twitter. Use a #spoilers tag on your tweets or your fanarts. You can share the links to this post but don’t take many screenshots.
· Don’t retranslate it. [UPDATE MAY 9, 2023] You can retranslate it but please keep in mind that my translation is not perfect and some meanings will be lost through re-translation. If you are not sure about the meaning at any part, please let me know! Don’t repost this translation anywhere else out of Tumblr.
· DON’T GO TO THE AUTHORS’ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.
I’m sorry if that’s too much but honestly all I want is for everyone to have a good experience, for those who wants to read the novels to be able to read the novels, and for those who don’t want to be spoiled, to be safe from it as much as possible.
If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!
...
I killed that wealthy man, simply because it was a mission. I didn’t know why I was killing him, nor what kind of person he was. I just aimed for his head and pulled the trigger. That was it.
It seemed that the client who ordered the assassination was targeting that painting. I did not find out about it until much later. My job was only to kill the man. Carrying the painting out and cleaning up the aftermath was another professional’s job. They did their job. I did my job. And on my way back after the mission, I casually had my eye on a novel on the desk, so I took it and left the house.
It always starts with the little things.
That novel triggered a lot of things, and I eventually stopped killing. I have not killed a single person since then.
One day about two years after that day, I suddenly came up with an idea that I should go back and return that novel. There was no big reason for it. It was not out of sense of morality or guilt. It was simply because I thought if I did that, I would be able to face that novel directly. I already had another copy of the book that I bought by myself.
In the mansion that was once owed by the wealthy man lived a son of his. He was seventeen years old. I later heard that he was not his real son, but a boy who had lost his parents in an underworld conflict, that the man took in. An orphan.
I must have been out of my mind at that time. To think I would go and meet that son of his. I could have just sneaked into the house, put the book there and left, and it would have been as easy as bending a finger for me. But anyway, I ended up standing in front of the son and introducing myself. As “the person who killed your father.”
There was no word that could describe how angry the son was. He had all the rights to be angry. His family was killed by the underworld, twice. He was hitting me, throwing stuff at me, and attacking me with all sorts of insults. I could easily dodge all of his attacks, but there was no way to avoid the insults.
When he became exhausted from all the rampage and finally sat down, I explained to him about the killing. After that, he demanded a compensation. For his father’s life, and for the rental fee of that book I took without permission.
Bring that painting back, he said.
There was no reason for me to accept that request. First, I didn’t know where the painting was then. It must have been bought by yet another wealthy person far across the sea. I could find some clues if I looked, but that would mean a long, tedious and unprofitable job on top of that.
If it had not been for the book, I would not have accepted it.
As it turned out, my guess was correct. It was a long, tedious and unprofitable job. To add to that, it was a dangerous job. I had to get into a private military company (PMC) of nearly one hundred and fifty armed soldiers and carry the painting out under a rain of bullets, without killing anyone. If I were asked to do it again, I would absolutely refuse. Most of the troubles in my life were brought upon me by myself.
Standing in front of the painting that I brought back, the son of the wealthy man just looked at it in silence. After about thirty minutes, he started talking, little by little. About the reason he wanted the painting back. And how that painting was the object of a bet.
His father wanted his son to become a businessman that would surpass himself. So, he made a promise that if the son could make ten million yen by the time he turned eighteen, he would give him that painting.
“Stupid parents”, he said. In the first place, it was a dirty painting that had been obtained through illegal means. Did he really think that the son would try that hard to get his hand on such a thing?
But the son did try very hard. He managed to earn almost 80% of that ten million by himself. He did not try that hard because he wanted the painting, he said.
There was one year left till the promised eighteen.
That young man asked me to keep that painting for him until then.
The painting had a setup. It had been written on, by a special type of paint that would become visible when exposed to ultraviolet rays. The text covered an aera of about a quarter of the painting. And it said,
“You are my pride.”
If all the art lovers over the world saw that, they would just faint in anger. This kind of graffiti just blew away the whole five million yen worth of the painting. The man caused troubles even after his death. But perhaps, that wealthy man did it exactly because it was trouble.
He probably wanted to say that he wouldn’t care even if the painting’s value was to be reduced to zero, because his son was worth all that much. Or maybe that was why he went through the trouble of buying that painting illegally. Of course, the truth stayed unknown until now.
Because I killed the father.
I kept the painting as requested. I put it in a storage box and stored it in a dark, cool and windy place.
It is under the floor of my house, near the foot of my bed.
It is a painting that no longer has any artistic value. There is no point in preserving it with care.However, it has value to that young man. The son whose father was killed. That painting is the memento of his father, the will of his father, and in a sense, his father himself.
I am still protecting it now.
It is not to atone for my sin. I am not that kind of an admirable person. It is just because a lot of things piled up, that I decided to do so.
“And once I have made up my mind, I am not going to change it, no matter who asks me to.” I say as I walk toward the cop. “Got it? Bandaged man?”
“What?”
Before the cop can react, I quickly snatch the gun from his hand. The cop, whose arms have been injured and cannot even stand up, do not have the strength to steal it back. I bring the gun close to my face and say.
“This is not a gun.” I say. “This is a listening device. You are listening to us over there, right? You have anticipated this and created a situation for me to tell where the painting is, and tried to eavesdrop through this gun.”
“This gun … listening device?” The cop was stunned. So he did not know either.
“I found it odd from the beginning. That this was an automatic gun.” I say as I observe the gun. “When they stormed into my house, they were carrying the revolvers used by the city police. This is a different kind. Perhaps, this automatic pistol was the one you used when you threatened this guy? One more thing, if you want to threaten me, basically, you will have to come to me directly. But all I can see here are injured people. So, this is what I came up with: you, in order to find out where the painting is without showing up here, have created a situation for this cop to threaten me. If that is the case, then there must be a listening device somewhere.”
Of course, the gun does not answer me. It is just there, cold, heavy and quiet. But just by being there, that gun is radiating its unique presence to the surroundings. I continue to talk to the gun.
“This is loaded. But I guess it is just a blank, right?” I point the gun at the ceiling and fire a single shot. It makes an explosive sound and a flash of light cut through the darkness. But that is it. There is no bullet hole on the ceiling.
“That was quite a performance. Did you calculate everything up to this point, and collapse in front of my house on purpose? If so, that was impressive. Now, I have told you everything about the painting. Break the siege as you promised. Or you can let everyone in here and we can have a fun killing party. I am fine either way.”
As I am speaking, I check the gun more closely. Originally, it is my tool of trade. I know the balance of the weight like I know my fingers. The grip is a little heavy. I press the button to release the magazine, it drops into my hand. In the area near the grip screw, the polymer plastic material on the side of the magazine has been removed and a black rectangle part was embedded in it. That is the listening device.
I hold up the magazine like a microphone, and talk into the device. “Within ten seconds, you will make three blasts. After that, you will disappear immediately. If you don’t, I will consider that our negotiation has failed and I will come get you from here.”
I throw away the device and count to ten inside my head. Between eight and nine, a series of shocks shake up the underground basement. Exactly three times. The blasts sound like thunders from afar, and then the sound suddenly stops as if it has been chopped off. All that is left is silence. A silence that makes my ears ache.
“It is over.” I take a breath and walk away. “I will call the cops once I get out. The real ones, you know. All of you will be arrested, but at least you will be treated a little better. Compared to the Mafia.”
“Wa… wait a minute.” The cop says with a hard voice. “You…. Why? You said yourself that you alone could get away with this. You even knew that the gun I pointed at you couldn’t be used? Could it be that… you… you saved me? For what?”
The answer to that question is simple. But I don’t want to answer him. What is the point of answering anyway? I feel empty. I am tired, wounded, betrayed by people, and betraying people.”
“I am thirsty.” I say to myself. “I’m going home.”
The guy says something but I don’t hear it. I keep walking out of that place.
***
The light from the gas lamp illuminates the profiles of people walking through the ticket gate.
The blue stars of the city, of which there are only a few, are scattered in the night sky like a film.
The station is surrounded by the night sky, the night scenery, and a group of people walking home in silence. There is no explosion, no gun shot, no bargaining for your life here. It is the plain scene of the closing of a day like every day, which starts mechanically and ends mechanically.
Dazai Osamu and Oda Sakunosuke are there at that same station. In different places.
Oda is exhausted. Covering his aching back, he walks among the crowd rushing out of that station.
Dazai stands in the darkness, away from the street lights of the station front, watching Oda as he becomes one with the night.
Oda walks along the station platform, out of the ticket gate, and stesp into the night of the city. After getting out of the underground bunker, he crossed the mountain and walked over to a nearby village. He negotiated with the farmers there for them to give him a ride. He then got on buses and trains one after another, back to the nearest station to his home. When he arrives, it has become completely dark.
Oda rubs his own shoulders, and walks home with an exhausted face as he cracks his neck. His clothes are wrinkled and covered in mud. Sometimes, people passing by Oda look at him as if they are looking at a strange, foreign creature. But no one calls out to him. People in the city just don’t do that.
Oda gets through the ticket gate and walks under the street lights, as he takes out a cigarette and puts it in his mouth. Then he starts searching for something in his jacket. He is looking for a fire.
“Here you go.”
Suddenly, a voice comes from behind him. Oda turns around. In front of his eyes, there is a light from a match. And a hand holding it.
Oda is caught by surprise for a second, but he immediately places the cigarette in his mouth on that. He closes his eyes, breathes in the smoke, and breathes it out into the dark night. Then he looks at the person.
“Hi. What a look you’ve got there. Are you okay?”
That is Dazai.
Dazai, who has half melted into the dark, is standing there silently, smiling a smile that does not look like one.
“Nothing.” Oda says so as he looks at the other person through the smoke. “I just tripped.”
“This matchbox is yours, isn’t? I saw you drop it at the ticket gate.”
Oda looks at the matchbox Dazai is holding. It is black on the sides, white on top, and has a logo of a bar in front. It is clearly the one that Oda always carry with him.
“Yes.” Oda says, looking at the matchbox.
Then he observes the man. He stays silent for a few seconds before asking with a blank expression.
“Have I met you anywhere?”
Dazai smiles a smile of no personality. “No. This is the first time we met.”
The bandages that have covered most of Dazai’s face the whole time are no longer there. He is wearing a flat cap to cover his eyes, and a black inverness coat to hide his shape and his wounds. As for the voice, Oda has not heard Dazai speak even once.
“Is that so?” Oda says as he takes the matchbox from Dazai and turns his back on him. “Thanks for the match. Good night then.”
Oda is just taking a few steps when Dazai calls out to him from behind.
“Looks like you got into quite a bit of trouble.”
Oda stops and slowly turns around. “What?”
“Just… You seem so worn out. Your face looks so bad… Also, that thing on your hand and clothes, I can’t see very well in the dark, but it’s not just dirt. There is blood too, right?”
Oda looks at his own hands. It is true that there is still some blood from when he tried to help the injured cop on his wrists.
“Well, there was a bit of a situation.” Oda says, checking the smell on his hands. “It is not my blood. But it’s true that I got into some trouble. I got something important taken from me. Something I have always protected.”
“If it has been taken”, Dazai smiles helplessly, “then at least you don’t have to worry about it being taken anymore.”
Oda looks at the other for a while. As if he is trying to look for an answer there.
“Probably.” Oda says. “I can’t forgive the guy who took it, though.”
Dazai slowly nods. Trying to hide his expression.
Oda watches his expression for a moment but he finally turns away. “Thanks for the match. That was a big help. Bye then.”
Dazai looks at the back walking away from him and speaks quickly. “If you ever get into trouble in the future…”
Oda turns around, “Huh?”
“You can turn to The Armed Detective Agency in Yokohama for help. They will take on even the troublesome stuff. And they will get the job done without fail. I was helped by them in the past, too.”
“I see.” Oda says after he gives it a moment of thought. “I’ll do so then. That is very kind of you. You are a good guy.”
Dazai’s expression becomes distorted.
He opens his mouth, and closes it again, as if he can no longer breathe.
If he tells him everything now, maybe things will go back to how they were. The two of them will go to the bar together and have a toast. Just like that night.
“Odasa…”
Just as Dazai is about to say that name, a train passes by. The express train passing through that station cuts through the silence of the night, right next to where Dazai and Oda is.
The darkness and the light alternatively hit the road, and the roar of the steel blows away the silence of the whole surrounding. Oda narrows his eyes.
The train is long, and the sound it makes sounds like an extended sorrow. Dazai looks down so that no one can see him, his face twisted in grief. It is as if that long roar is promising him six long years of heartlessness to come.
The train finally passes through.
Oda looks around, trying to get what the other was saying again.
There is nobody there anymore.
Oda blinks his eyes, feeling confused. He looks around. Then he shakes his head as if to shake off all the thoughts, and walks away with a resigned expression.
Only the cold and quiet night breeze is left blowing through the space where no one remains, trying to fill up the emptiness.
Nobody says a word.
The painting is kept by the Port Mafia for a year, before it is returned to its owner, the son of the wealthy man.
The son keeps it for a few years, and later donates it to a museum anonymously.
That way, Dazai has achieved his goal. Getting Oda to tell him where the painting is without facing him, nor having his face remembered. And by doing that, Oda will never be targeted by a criminal organization again. That is Dazai’s goal.
He has another goal.
To make Oda despise the Port Mafia. So that he will not join the Port Mafia, thus avoiding his coming death.
That goal is accomplished. Oda becomes involved with not the Port Mafia but the Armed Detective Agency, and joins the Agency two years later.
And then two years after that, Oda meets Dazai again one more time.
At the bar counter, in the sad melody of a parting song.
That is where Oda points his gun at Dazai, and Dazai says the last goodbye.
Links to Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Final
This is the first few pages of Side B of the new Dazai novel, which was given out as free bonus for those who come to the cinema to watch the BEAST live action movie in Japan.
I said on Twitter that I will not spoil Side B any time soon, but as I have finished the translation for the first part of Side A, I think there is already enough context to move on with this one. Actually, it's pretty interesting to read and compare between 2 sides.
For that reason, I HIGHLY recommend you to read the first 3 parts of Side A that I have translated first, before moving on to this one, for better understanding. You can find the link to the tag with all Side A translations I have done in my pinned post.
Please also carefully read the notes below before progressing.
- This post contains spoilers. It is not a summary, but a full translation of the first few pages of the novel. So if you plan to read the novel later yourself and think this would ruin your expectation, please stop here.
· I tried to keep the translation as accurate as possible, but as I don't speak English or Japanese as my native language, I may make some mistakes or use weird words etc. This translation might not be final. I may come back and fix it later if I find any mistakes.
· This is a moviegoers-only benefit, so please be extra careful when discussing it about on Twitter. Use a #spoiler tag on your tweets or your fanarts. You can share the links to this post but don't take many screenshots.
· Don’t retranslate it. [UPDATE MAY 9, 2023] You can retranslate it but please keep in mind that my translation is not perfect and some meanings will be lost through re-translation. If you are not sure about the meaning at any part, please let me know! Don’t repost this translation anywhere else out of Tumblr. If you ever decide to do it without my permission, at least don't mention my name. I don't need the credits for that.
· DON’T GO TO THE AUTHORS’ OR OFFICIAL TWITTERS TO COMMENT ABOUT THE CONTENTS OF IT.
I'm sorry if that's too much but honestly all I want is for everyone to have a good experience, for those who wants to read the novels to be able to read the novels, and for those who don't want to be spoiled, to be safe from it as much as possible.
If you have read and are okay with all the above, please continue to move forward and enjoy the novel. Have a good day!
A bloody corpse of a young man is lying on my front porch.
I look down at the corpse, then at the front of the house. It is a quiet morning. The apartment across the street is casting a long black shadow on the pavement in front of me. The trumpet vines planted in the hedge are rustling in the breeze, and whispering to each other in a way that human cannot decipher. Somewhere in the distance, I can hear the sound of the long-distance trucks scraping against the road surface. And there is a corpse in the middle of the stairs in front of me.
In any case, to our eyes, a corpse is always a strangely exaggerated presence. But this time it is different. This corpse blends in with the landscape, becoming one with the everyday peaceful morning scenery. After a while, I realize the reason. The corpse’s chest is moving up and down faintly. It is not a corpse, it is alive.
I look at the young man. He is all black. A high-collar black cloak, a three-piece suit, a black tie. The things that are not black are his button-down shirt, and the bandages around his head. This one is a mottled color of white and red. This color pattern reminds me of some ominous Chinese prophetic characters. The place he is lying is the middle of the stairs that leads to the front porch. The blood stains continuing down the cracked concrete stairs looks like he has been crawling.
Question. What should I do with this nearly-corpse in front of my eyes?
The answer is simple. If I touch him with the tips of my toes and put some weight on him, he will just roll down to the ground below. If I do so, then he will not be on my premise anymore. He will be on a public road. The country’s territory. All those who are in trouble within the territory of the country should be saved by the mercy of the country. An ordinary postman like me should go home and have breakfast.
I am not doing that because I am a cold and heartless person. I am doing that because it is a survival necessity. The young man’s wounds are clearly from gunshots. He has been shot multiple times. There are probably more holes in his body than I can see from here.
I look at the young man, at the road, and the sky, and at him again.
And then I start to act. First, I approach the guy and lift him up by his sides. Then I drag him by his heels into the house and lay him down on the wall-mounted bed. He is much lighter than he looks. Carrying him alone is not that much of a trouble. I check his wounds. There are many deep wounds, and the bleeding is not usual, but if he receives immediate proper treatment, it is not like he will die.
I take out my medical kit box from the back of the closet, and give him some simple first aid treatments. I put a towel under his upper body, cut his clothes with a pair of scissors to expose the wounds, and check if there is any bullet left inside. In order to stop the blood flow, I apply pressure on the pressure points: below the armpits, inner elbows, ankles, backs of knees, and tie them tightly with a clean cloth. Then I put disinfected tourniquets to the wounds to stop the bleeding. Fortunately for him, I can do this kind of first aid even with my eyes closed.
After I am done with the treatment, I look down at the young man and cross my arms. His breathing has stabilized. His respiratory system and bones seem to be intact. But he does not seem to be waking up. “It’s fine already, just kick him out.”, I can hear the angel’s voice in my head. There is nothing more stupid than treating a suspicious guy like this. I guess I should listen to that voice. That is what a wise man would do.
Before following the angel’s advice, I take another look at the young man. I don’t recognize his face. Probably not someone I know. I say probably, because the bandages covering most of his face makes it impossible to make out his features.
I feel an uneasiness in my chest.
There is something strange about this young man. It is impossible to say that seeing someone covered in blood in front of your house is not strange, but I am feeling a completely different kind of discomfort than when I first saw him. I go around and look at his face. His eyes are closed. His face is pale and tired. His breathing is so faint that it is hard to tell without paying close attention. But still, I feel a strange power coming from his presence. It’s like will power, a certain sense of trust in his own body. And more specifically, right…
It is as if the whole thing about him collapsing here is all according to his plan.
The young man opens his eyes and looks at me.
I am startled and jump up. I didn’t notice when he opened his eyes at all. He moves without any sign of movement. He looks without a sign of looking. He seems to be one of “those people”, the kind of people you will never encounter if you are to lead a normal life.
Those eyes.
I’m not a person with an excellent observation skill. But even so, just by looking at those eyes, I understand a few things right away. He probably has killed before. Not one or two digits. Hundreds of people. When you have killed that many people, you will reach the other side of the mentality that ordinary humans can possess, beyond the other shore where neither light nor gravity can reach. The spirit of those who have reached that state will be seen first in their eyes, then in their mouth. Their eyeballs become black holes, and the muscles around their mouth become organs to show the depth of their sin, not their facial expressions.
And I also know one more thing instantly.
This young man knows me.
“Who are you?”
I ask without thinking.
The voice coming out of my mouth is so cracked, I cannot believe that it’s my own voice. If I didn’t hold my leg strong, it would have backed up a step on its own.
“Who are you?”
I ask again. There is no answer. I don’t even know if he is listening. Because the light in his eyes show no reactions to my question. No matter how cold-hearted a person is, if you look at him in the eyes and throw words at him, you can still see some kind of responses. But this young man does not have any of that. Just black eyes looking at where my figure is.
I cannot say anything much in details, but I associate this young man with a certain state.
There is no heart here. Just a heart-shaped emptiness.
Just as I am thinking this, the young man opens his mouth. He is trying to say something.
To make sure I do not miss anything, I stare at his lips and listen carefully.
But he doesn’t say anything. He just opens his mouth in a certain way. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t show any emotions. He just changes the shape of his lips. That’s it.
“Do you know me?” I try asking. “Why did you collapse in front of my house? How did you get all those wounds?”
The young man looks at me. He opens his mouth and breathes in as if he is going to say something, but he ends up not saying anything. His mouth is quietly closed, together with a sign that it should not have been opened from the beginning.
Maybe he cannot speak? Aphasia, or probably congenital speech impediment. People can lose their voices for various reasons. Mental reasons, brain conditions. Having their throat burn in a fire, or having their pharynx removed through surgeries. However, I feel that none of those applies to this young man. There is a sign that he has been suppressing the sounds coming right up to his throat.
He can speak but he doesn’t.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk. But if I leave you untreated, you will die. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
He doesn’t reply. Those eyes are filled with a quiet emptiness. From that, I assume that he is listening. Because if he is deaf, there should be a reasonable amount of confusion and signs of claiming that he cannot hear.
“To treat you, or to kick you out, it is up to me to decide. As long as you don’t speak, you have no rights to decide. Is that okay? If it’s not, say something.”
The young man stares at me. A few seconds, then tens of seconds. Then he gently looks away and closes his eyes. Quietly, emotionlessly.
He can hear, he can speak. The reason he does not talk is because his door is closed. A door built of thick, huge iron that will not open now matter how hard you try.
“I see. Then I will do as I like.”
I say, my words echoing in the emptiness and dropping into the corner of the room, in the middle of nowhere.
And so begins my communal life between me and the young man.
Strictly speaking, it cannot be called a communal life. It cannot even be called nursing. It’s more like an adjustment work, a monitoring work, and a maintenance work. If I dare to put it in a terribly devious way, it is like keeping a fish. After all, the young man just lies in bed and hardly moves all day. Except for eating and going to the toilet, he is not stirring a muscle. He doesn’t react to what I say or do. It saves me some effort, but it does not feel like dealing with a human at all. I do not expect to hear words of gratitude, and it is a lot easier than dealing with rampages or complaints, but it makes me feel restless all the time. I have never experienced something like this in my life.
There is just one time, when I try to change the bandage that covers most of his face, do I get a strong resistance. That is such a quick reaction that I cannot even imagine. He quickly grabs my wrist as I try to change the bandage. His other body parts do not move at all. It is just like his hand only has turned into another creature and attacked me.
In fact, that bandage should be changed. The bandage that covers most of his face has turned gray in places, and the blood stains have darkened into a gloomy color. From a hygienic point of view, it is not in a condition for an injured person to wear. So I try to change it no matter what, but he is still resisting so stubbornly that I eventually give up. I have carefully applied disinfectant on it. He will not die.
Probably, I imagine, he is afraid that I will see his face when I change the bandage that covers it. I can see the stubbornness in the color of those hard and cold eyes. When you are resisted with such strong will, there is no choice but to back up. However, no matter how many times I try to recall after that, I cannot remember ever seeing him before. Not even in a photo. So, his worry is absolutely groundless. I think so and I actually speak it out, but there is no response from the other side.
Just do as I like.
I cook his meals, let him change his clothes, and change the bandages on his body. We do not talk. He is not speaking anyway, and I am not exactly good at conversations. So, his silence itself is a convenient thing. But somehow, I cannot get rid of the feeling that I have been put on a boat without knowing where it is going.
The time the cops appear at my house, is one of those times.
If I had a nickel for every big name Harry Potter fanfic writer who started their own cult, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it happened twice.
Snape wives (or as they called themselves, Snapeists) were an online cult made mostly of middle-aged women who believed the following
Severus Snape is an omniscient, unkillable entity residing on the astral plane.
Snape is the one true god.
Snape possessed JKR to write the Harry Potter books, but she got several things wrong; most importantly Snape dying.
The spirit of Snape abandoned JKR because she wasn’t good enough for him and created the Snapists instead.
Snape chose several Snapists that have a special connection with him to lead his religion.
Snapists can serve Snape by marrying him and becoming sister-wives (there was lots of debate on if they could have boyfriends/husbands other than Snape in the real world).
Snape contacts his followers who are worthy, both in dreams and by possessing real life people.
To be worthy of Snape, you need to be… basically a tradwife. Obey Snape in all things, never question him, don’t be independent, be pretty, be thin, only have feminine hobbies, etc.
The snapewives wrote a crazy amount of fanfiction about Snape, both erotic and otherwise. Plus they had their own prayers, ceremonies, shrines… shit was wild. The whole religion fell apart when one of the leaders criticized Snape and was subsequently bullied out of the community and another decided that the one true god was actually Jethro Gibbs from NCIS.
The internalized sexism in remarried empress, (for an ask)
*this is going to be a long one so hold on tight*
It's no question that remarried empress is one of the most popular manhwas on webtoon and being so popular it holds a lot of influence, unfortunately, that influence promoted the internalized misogyny in not just the readers but in other works as well.
In the first chapter, Navier is presented as this baddass perfect woman, during her divorce trial she brings in a hot rebound who also happens to be another Emperor so she wont have to give up her life as empress, sounds pretty feminist right? Unfortunately that's only one of the few times we see anything related to feminism at all.
We are soon sent back a few months before the trial and right away, Naviers ladies in waiting are tearing another woman down and already believe this new woman is a threat to Navier because the Emperor Sovieshu is attracted to this newbie
We are shown the basic concept of how the narrative wants us to view these two characters. Navier is perfect empress who is being wronged by her husband and this unnamed woman who's only crime so far was existing is a wench and a homewreaker, the ladies imply it as some sort of extreme act of disrespect for having to bathe what they believe to be a slave, proceeding with sucking up to the lead by saying they only wash their hands to bathe her as they don't even wash themselves and even when they admit this mystery woman to be beautiful they backtrack to making sure Navier is supported. You might think that this is just friends supporting friends but it goes beyond on that later on.
Later on we are introduced to this mystery woman, Rashta, a former slave found by Sovieshu in the woods who is immediately portrayed as rude, stupid, and a crybaby
The reason she cries is because she was struck and referred to as "the slave" while she wasn't very polite it's clear Rashta isn't doing this on purpose, rather it is sheer ignorance and an unusually large optimism
now, a lot of people like to say that Rashta must've done something on purpose to get Laura imprisoned and that she knew what she was doing, therfore justifying the hatred for her existence. However, Laura hit Rashta for reaching out to Navier and calls her a wench in the process
Some fans use the excuse that she smirked after Laura got sentenced to 3 days imprisonment and yes while that is excessive for Laura, Rashta was a slave only a few days ago and she's been mistreated by nobles her entire life plus I don't think she's smart enough to pull off Hannibal levels of planning like that, I personally think her smirk here is meant to be more of a "that's what she gets for treating me like that." Then a "hee hee my evil plan worked!"
the rest of the comic goes the same way, Rashta is continuously portrayed as a whore who ruined Naviers life by turning her husband against her, and she's written to be hated as a pick me who won't know her place. Rashtas pretty much every part of those "other girls" in those not like other girls templates. She's girly, loves the attention, emotional, dainty, overly sweet but secretly only has ulterior motives, and in the novel, she acts extremely childish even referring to herself in 3rd person, even when she makes good points it's all intended for the reader to laugh and jeer at her.
Shes practically designed to be the pick me archetype for baddass mary sue fans to despise and she sadly only gets worse as time goes on, not just in morals and personality but also in her writting
And how is Navier perceived?
Shes endlessly perfect, everyone loves her including several different powerful men from all different countries. Even her cheating ass husband is given the cheapest redemption arc in the end just for being sorry that he cheated and realizing how much he wants her. All the characters your meant to view as good adore her and anyone who doesn't is written as the meanest bad guy on the planet worthy of death. While she isn't the worst character I've seen, the narrative tries so hard to make her more amazing that Navier looks worse as a result, such as not caring about slavery despite being described as kind and devoted to all her subjects. Ergi even says it straight to us that there will always be that invisible wall between her and the poor.
The characters we're supposed to see as good are:
Heinrey: A king who planned on going to war with Naviers country and only stopped when he fell in love with her at first sight, who also tortures and threatens anyone who even so much as inconveniences or talks shit about her all while he puts up an innocent front to appear non threatening (wonder who that sounds like)
Kaufman: A grand Duke who drugs other people with love potions which are essentially date-rape drugs and gets away with it once another woman takes the blame
Kosair: Naviers brother who violates Rashtas autonomy by slipping abortion drugs in her food and it's never talked about again.
Lebetti: One of Rashtas slave owners who still continues to harass Rashta and views anyone lower than her with contempt including her own nephew and so on
And who are the characters we are supposed to hate?
Besides Rashta and Sovieshu, the only other characters so far are Krista, the former queen of the west and her father
Ironically Krista is hated for the same reason readers supported Navier for: not wanting to replaced as queen, which isn't helped by Heinrey asserting that Navier is the one and only queen and anyone who objects will face serious consequences but they fix that by dumbing her down and blaming her for Kaufman drugging Heinrey. As for her dad, the old Duke. While he is the only man actively against Navier so far the only ways he has been punished is being told that Krista killed herself. (In the novel the old Duke does face serious consequences which involved him being murdered along with innocent people after his son attempted a hit on Navier)
But overall you get the message, most of the characters you are supposed to love are men and ladies with no personality, men who do atrocious shit yet we're supposed to look past it and conveniently the only man who is punished is an ugly bastard.
The ladies in waiting are the biggest contributors to the internalized misogyny, often they support it by insisting any new woman who shows up must be an evil whore, even Krista's ladies in waiting do this
Not like it matters though anyway since Navier basically wins most of those girls over on her side and they're never seen again
You see what I mean? Every other woman in this story has little to no character, they exist solely to push the FL up and punch down at any woman they don't like which usually consists of women that either dainty "other girls" or ironically women in a situation similar to Naviers and any woman who opposes Navier is affectly an idiot who gets girlbossed back into place. Meanwhile almost all of the men who commit absolutely horrible acts get away with it since they all essentially go awooga for Navier, with the only exception being less than conventionally attractive dudes like Krista's dad.
for fucks sake even Alan, one of Rashtas other masters who 🍇ed her, got her pregnant and participated in keeping her child away from her until she got successful is viewed as this sorrowful wittle baby who got taken advantage of by the evil Rashta and was "wrongfully" told to screw off by her. It took an episode where Alan was so unfathomably stupid to get readers to realize they shouldn't side with a rapist, and yes, while the narrative will try to push the idea that Rashta took advantage of him to raise her status and that she consented. News flash: a slave cannot consent to someone who owns them, it's like a student-teacher relationship.
Now the hypocrisy. Navier can do one thing and it's viewed as such a girlboss power move but when someone else like Rashta does something similar, it's embarrassing and pathetic. For example, Rashta is mocked by nobles mind you, for wearing an expensive and flashy wedding dress. Meanwhile Naviers wedding dress is literally weaved with thousand of gemstones
Hey, it's their words not mine.
Or how Rashta was considered evil for stealing Naviers spot as empress (even though Rashta didn't even want to be empress at first and Sovieshu gave her the offer, it's not like she held a gun to his head) but when Krista shows distress over being replaced as queen, the comments basically tell Krista to suck it up because Navier deserves it more. Everytime a man does something wrong in this story, the characters and even the readers trace it back to somehow being a woman's fault.
Readers are even encouraged to laugh at Rashta for not being able to learn as fast and eventually having a breakdown from the stress (not to mention she's also pregnant here so those hormones must be going wild)
yeah let's just blame a pregnant woman who wasn't educated in reading until a few months ago for not being able to be as smart or stoic as Navier and then crying from the stress.
finally, how this promotion of internalized misogyny affected other works. The Trashta nickname has become so popular that it is used everytime a woman who doesn't support the MC or even just inconveniences her is introduced, constantly the comments never shut up about the "new trashta." Even women who don't mean harm like Helena from kill the villainess was treated horribly because she's the "other woman" it erases any attempt at creativity in these stories and dumbs down any other woman who isn't constantly worshipping the FL as an evil bitch who needs to go.
Conclusion:The Remarried empress isn't the feminist power book with complex characters, maybe in season 1 but not anymore. Women who even think about being rude to Navier are punched down and killed if they don't change their mind while almost all the men are excused for their cruel actions because their hot guys with abs who only wanted to protect the one and only goddess Navier.
Burning the mammoth flank just a lirtle instead of eating it raw gives grug more calorie to think. Grug thinking about color symbolism in silence of the lambs
people saying “don’t use your full government name for your ao3”, “create different emails for work and personal use” but personally I think it’s both sad and dystopian how capitalism/companies/even schools think they have the rights to cross your personal boundaries and insert themselves into your personal life. like, I get it, safety wise, why checking digital footprints can be important sometimes. but a gay fanfiction is not a fucking threat that could ever cause anybody harm. it’s funny (not really, it’s still sad and dystopian) how they now think they can control your personal life and prevent you from having hobbies
I hate you epitome of innocence being represented with blonde hair I hate you lightness representing goodness I hate you "angelic features" automatically being read as blonde hair and blue eyed with pale skin I hate you whiteness as the default for morality I HATE YOU I HATE YOU
How to exclude tags so that you don't have to set filters every time you search. This is where it gets more complicated. But the results can be well worth it if there are specific tags you don't want to see. Now this isn't full-proof by any means due to the fact that not everyone is going to tag their work appropriately, and some tags that have such varied meanings it can be hard to pin them down. But it should really reduce your accidental exposure to things you don't like.
Excluding Ships
Firstly you go into your site skin (if you don't have one see this post) and click on Custom CSS, it will show the box where the code for the skin will go:
Then for excluding tags there is a piece of code you must use:
Excluding a ship tag (maybe one that's popular in a fandom you're in, and always clogs the search, that you simply hate) I find works best since it's such a specific tag. To do this you will need the URL pulled directly from the tag. I will use a ship I don't like to demonstrate. I want to excluding the ship of Hank Anderson/Connor from my searches because I have no interest in reading for this ship:
Update the skin and your display should look like this for the excluded ship:
You can repeat this process as many times as needed for different ships and you will have no more works tagged with the specific ship or ships appearing in your search. Pretty cool!!!
Excluding Other Tags
Excluding other tags is done in the same way, using the same piece of code. But it may not be as effective, especially if it's from the 'additional tags' section. There are many tags that link to other tags so excluding all of them that link up may not be possible, but excluding the main offenders should help reduce your exposure to works you don't like.
Here's an example list of some tags that I want to exclude:
Puppy Play
Pet Play (which links to the tag 'Animal Play' allong with many others)
Here's what the code I have used to exclude them looks like:
This does not catch all works of this type because there are so many variations upon these tags. But it means I won't have to filter it manually every time I search. And I can add to these should I encounter anything else I don't want to read.
why is it always a male character going mad avenging his dead wife and never a female character cradling her dying pure of heart husband in her arms then dragging the whole world down with her
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