#it probably sounds more generic than it is but that cause I simply cannot put things from my mind into words teehee

[stardustizuku]

I’ve recently been thinking on why there’s people who interpret Kuro in such a drastically different way.

And something I notice is that you can easily tell how someone experiences the series, based on what they think of the GWA.

The way you interpret the Green Witch Arc is indicative of of how you have been interpreting the story so far, and how you’ll interpret it going forward

Generally, there’s two interpretations:

1.- The Reaction Ciel had to the mustard gas, are his true feelings coming afloat

2.- The Reaction Ciel had to the mustard gas, isn’t how he feels.

The first interpretation (and I’m really not trying to be mean about it this time) comes from a very, uhm, shall I call it Teenage-Like? mindset of how pain and trauma works.

I call it Teenage-Like, because I’ve seen it in mostly literature aimed at teenagers, be it fanfics or YA. It comes from an inability for teenagers to actually voice how they feel towards their parents. A helpless feeling of being ignored.

I don’t wanna point fingers but this is the basis of a lot of Self Harm tendencies (physical, emotional, psychological, or others like EDs or digital self harm) come from. A need for people to notice you are in pain. But because you feel like you cannot voice it yourself (or don’t deserve it, it can vary) you start to lash out. Put yourself in higher risks, to have someone find out there is something wrong with you.

So the moment the main character finally breaks down, or has a moment of weakness, it’s interpreted as someone finally being truthful.

This is how Ciel’s reaction is interpreted by the first half.

The mustard gas is simply a trigger of pain, that causes all of Ciel to unravel. He’s in pain right now, cause he’s always in pain. He’s avoidant to Sebastian, cause he’s always been scared of him. He doesn’t trust him. He doesn’t trust adults. Finny is the only one who actually cares.

This makes the fact that Sebastian ,essentially, slapped him to get him to react, come off as cruel.

The boy is finally being honest, and you just tell him he’s being childish? Horrible.

Obviously, that’s not my interpretation.

Okay so, what happens once you’re not a teenager? Once you don’t have an adult figure to take care of you? What happens once you start avoiding telling your parents the pain you’re in, not because you think they won’t care, but because they’ll care too much and get worried and you don’t want them to get worried?

You start to realize pain is not the end of the world.

While, when being a teenager, getting sick meant someone gets to take care of you and maybe notice you aren’t okay, as an adult getting sick potentially means - not going to work. Which means your won’t have money to buy food, which means you’ll probably go hungry.

So getting sick becomes less of a way to get away from the responsibilities you have, and more of a burden.

That’s why you’ll see, in media aimed at adults,mental breakdown less depicted as an opportunity to be honest, and more of a sickness that needs to be healed.

You can have a more honest and truthful conversation, while you are sound of mind. There’s no power dynamic between friends, like it would with adult figures and children. So this song and dance, isn’t necessary.

You don’t have to be sick to be understood. And your friends will rather try to help you, than understand you when you’re suffering. That’s the nature of adult relationships.

This is more or less the framing that comes from Ciel’s breakdown (in the second interpretation).

The Mustard Gas isn’t showing Ciel’s true nature - it’s showing Ciel at his most vulnerable. This means, not in his sound mind.

Saying things he normally wouldn’t, hurting people he normally would hold close, and clinging to people he generally would never try to get close to.

Simply put, it isn’t just “a bit of pain to make him unravel” but a “Ciel is getting psychologically tortured by a weapon used for chemical warfare”.

He’s past being honest. He’s having such a severe reaction, that he cannot function. He’s being tortured and broken, to the point he is no longer himself.

He isn’t being “truthful” he’s scared.

And fear can make you do things that, in your sound mind, you would never do.

The point is that, Ciel isn’t saying what he truly feels or being “honest”. It’s him scared out of his mind, saying everything and anything to make the fear stop.

And the biggest proof is how he treats Sebastian.

The fact that Ciel asks Sebastian to “go away” or “not come near” is perhaps the most glaring reason as to how badly this Gas messed with him.

I’ve said this before but to Ciel, Sebastian is a lifeline. He’s the only tool he has for his revenge. The thing that, even after he lost r!Ciel, he was willing to sacrifice it all to achieve.

And at this point in time, Sebastian is also the only emotional anchor Ciel has.

As far back as the second episode, Ciel has asked Sebastian to stay. Even when he’s having flashbacks, even when he’s having an episode. In fact, Sebastian leaving him is a great source of anxiety - since as seen in BoC in the Asthma Scene, without him Ciel feels powerless enough to die.

He feels more protected with him, because he KNOWS Sebastian will protect him and that Sebastian will follow his orders.

Again going with the analogy of a dog - He feels more comfortable having the chained beast by his bed, simply bcs others are trying to hurt him and the beast won’t eat him right now.

So him asking Sebastian to go away, is throwing away his biggest safety net for a surrogate for r!Ciel, just means he’s reverting to the mentality he had during the cult.

If Sebastian is constantly telling him “it’s okay, they can’t hurt you anymore, you’re outside the cage, you can do what you WANT”

Ciel clinging to Finny is him going “no, im staying in the cage bcs at least the cage is familiar”

And no matter what the first camp tells you, staying in the cage, trapped inside your pain ISNT the healthy option.

(We could argue Ciel’s need for revenge rather than healing is also unhealthy, but no one in the second camp would even call Ciel anything other than a villain in someone else’s story)

So, Sebastian slapping him and going “no, that’s not what you want”, isn’t as cruel as it would be in the first interpretation. Because as we see, he’s right. That’s not what Ciel wants. And it’s proved by the next scene where Sebastian talks to Ciel about what he truly wants.

Rather than Sebastian telling Ciel to “get over it”, it’s closest to a “snap out of it, something’s wrong”

This is further proved by the fact that, Sebastian first instinct isn’t to scare him. He does back away, he does try to wait and gently coax him. But Ciel literally cannot reason with him.

That small but significant difference in interpretation has wildly different outcomes in how you perceive both, the characters and the story.

If you pick the first, you’re reading Sebastian as an enemy. Someone who does not respect Ciel. You see his attempt to eat Ciel’s soul as a breach of trust, and proof that he doesn’t care for him.

But if you pick the second option, you see Sebastian as an ally. Someone who’s running out of time and ways to save Ciel. His actions, while crass, ultimately help Ciel. What he was trying to do, was help.

Yana, very clearly, wanted the second interpretation. However, I cannot, in good conscience, tell you it’s the only interpretation. People are free to pick and chose how they read the text, irrelevant of how little of the actual text they’re reading.

But I will say, picking the first is symbolic of a less mature way of thinking. Common on those who like to infantilize trauma and trauma responses. It’s the easy, safe and comforting way of reading the text. As I said, it’s common in those who want their pain to be acknowledged.

That reading of Kuro is one that speak to me, that you’re not really ready to confront pain. And someone with that mentality, is not someone who’s reading of the text I find particularly interesting. Sure, you can share it, I’ll never stop you, but know you’re speaking to me in an entirely different language. You’re interpreting the text so differently, that I don’t think it’s even the same text anymore.

Again, you’re essentially writing analysis on fanfiction. And I’m not all too interested in dissecting your own trauma sloppily painted over British Aesthetic.

[desert-fern]

Me not writing this for a second time because my internet decided to crap out.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday, dear Fernie! Happy birthday to you!!"

You're 20!!! I promise it's not as scary as it seems... that's probably a lie; it was a little bit scary for me, but it's entirely FUN and full of adventure! I hope you are having an amazing day from your fellow Canadian!!! ❤️🤍❤️

Now, it's about time I did a positivity night!

First, YOU, dear Fern! I'm so grateful to have met you through all of this stuff with the hell site! I hope you know how in awe I am of you for everything you do, everything you are, and everything that you will become! I mean, the steps to becoming a nurse and the profession in general is no joke, and I know with everything that I am, you are going to make one hell of a difference out in the world! You're also a kick-ass writer - A VERY kickass writer, and I know we are all better for it!

@startrekfangirl2233 Star! Our sweet SuperNova! You have an uncanny ability to be creative, not just in your writing but in your recent moodboards as well! Like, they are seriously f-ing awesome! Not to mention, I deeply appreciate the amount of time and heart you put towards your reblogs! (I hope you know you don't have to do that, and I will literally eat up anything you offer. But if you didn't already know, I've come to deeply appreciate them!! They are one of the reasons that make writing for a fandom such a positive experience!) In the near future, when the day comes, I hope I can measure up to the RAGE-worthy comments you've left for me on DTDT -> yours are hard to measure up to!

@dakotakazansky MAL! I'm just getting to know you better, and I already know you're someone I'm so happy to have fallen into my life! I cannot wait for the day we can geek out about video games (if and when you get back into them!) And you can bet my ass, I have everything of yours qued up on my reading list! (Especially Ghost!)

@sarahsmi13s You have your popcorn ready, Vinny? You're always there for everyone, whether it's to help plot out an idea, be a sounding board for one, or simply be there for someone who needs it! And to hold my hand and share popcorn when I get the rage comments! And the fact that you write as much as you do? I'm so in awe of your drive, your creativity, and your will to keep at it! (But yes, as you mentioned before, I will call you out to take a break! It's cause we care about you and want you to be at your best!😅)

@teacupsandtopgun Beth 💛 Oh my gosh, Beth! If I could throw every kind, caring, gentle, appreciative, altruistic word or meaning at her, I would! She is pure of heart, down to earth, and insanely talented, whether it's in her writing or in her ability to be out-of-this-world creative! She is one of the few people I genuinely look forward to talking with, and her reactions always make my day.

(She also kills us with Flick and Jake, but that's a story for another time)

@fanficfandomlove Nat is more than deserving of a mention 💛 She is someone that everyone needs in their corner! She was one of the first to throw their support behind my writing and her reblogs? They are filled with everything she has to offer: her appreciation, her whole heart, love, honesty, passion... I could go on, but she always has a kind word to say, and I'm so glad she's out there making everyone's day with her kind words!

I know I'm missing a bunch of people, but I have a feeling they know who they are and how much they are appreciated!! For everything they do, are, will be, and how much they care!

LUCKY! From a fellow Canadian and an amazing friend, this means the world!

My heart is so so full after today and I intentionally saved yours for last because I think you encapsulated the spirit of Positivity Night perfectly! Everyone on this list is just so amazing and sweet and I totally second everything you have said here!

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

What are some things you think about a lot, more than most other things you think

I'm thinking about this right now, and it seems like the answer is "whether or not I am a good person." It's hard to put into words how much that bothers me. There are some people who seem to feel very confident in their own moral bona fides. But I just don't see myself as one of those people. Even though I know there are plenty of things I do well (both in terms of being nice and friendly toward other humans and also just in terms of general life competence) . . . there is always something that looks bad when you look at yourself. And even if you try really hard to fix your flaws, they keep coming back; so you have this sense of having been through cycles of self-improvement and then regression, over and over again, for years on end. At least it feels that way to me, but maybe others experience this less acutely? [EDIT: actually, after writing all this, I think there may be more than two options here -- either people genuinely feel good about themselves, which means they never notice all these flaws, or else they mostly notice them, but can somehow find ways to cope with them without getting too depressed.]

This sounds pathetic and whiny, but it's really true! Some of my friends have told me that I often come off as arrogant or conceited because I tend to talk about what I believe in strongly, and that makes it sound like I don't care what anyone else thinks. And while that's probably true, I feel terrible when people tell me this. Especially since my strongest opinions aren't on subjects where there's any real controversy anyway. They're usually about stuff no one cares about, or issues everyone agrees upon, or a weird mix of both. So it seems like my only excuse would be that I'm an idiot who doesn't realize he has nothing interesting to say, except that I do get some positive feedback from time to time, so I guess I must really be that big an idiot. Or I could try to become someone whose beliefs line up perfectly with the prevailing wisdom, thereby becoming uninterestingly conventional. Which would be bad enough, but worse still would be to have a reputation as a screwup among people who think conventionally. Not sure why I haven't done anything like that yet. Maybe I've tried, and failed, because I simply cannot stop talking about myself. That was probably what made college so torturous -- I spent most of my social interactions trying to figure out whether I had said something stupid or insulting, or if it was just that my conversational partners were awkward/unwilling to make conversation. I didn't want to ask them directly whether they disliked me or thought I was dumb, because I wanted to maintain plausible deniability. In hindsight, I wish I had asked straight out whether I seemed annoying or anything. Then again, I wouldn't trust anyone's answers to such questions, given the times I misread intentions and ended up saying something wrong.

Anyway, I should clarify that this isn't really a complaint post. Just an observation about a pattern that runs throughout my life. My natural state is to feel like a loser, and every once in a while this feeling becomes intense enough to cause pain and grief, but basically this is normalcy for me, in the same way that walking

[prof-peach]

if fans wanted to include peach in stuff they write, would that be okay? and how would they write peach's personality? aside from "FIGHT ME" anyway, i think that much is a given lol. i only really write the anime characters 'cause that's what i know, but it sounds like it'd be kinda fun to try making a version of ash that fits into this blog's universe! nerf'd Obviously, but i think she'd probably appreciate how hands-on he gets when training his pokemon!

Ok, I get a lot of these messages, and I often hear folks wanting to throw peach into their stories and comics and writings, and I will always simply ask that if it’s published online publicly, to be linked to it so I can snoop and enjoy the content too. If someone asks about her in your work, let them know about the blog I guess? But literally I love that people take this stuff, these characters and stories, and make new stuff with it. No ones making money off my work here? So where’s the issue? Go for it buddy, knock yourself out, I’m all for it.

For you, and all the others out there who want to add peach, and other characters to your world building, I will give you a detailed rundown of the main lot, and how they behave, what they do, how they function. You can use that, use bits, or use none of it, I do not mind at all. If you’re creating something, you’re in control, not me.

So, peach doesn’t actually fight people as much as you’d think. She’s very aware most cannot and do not want to do that, and so she likes to keep to herself with regards to that aspect of her life, she doesn’t ask to spar with people, or even bring it up at all, but people ask her all the time, even if they clearly would lose or become hurt should she miscalculate during the fight. She looks at people like they usually create problems, and often has a somewhat reserved nature to other humans. You have to work quite hard to get anything more than formalities out of her. She will dead-pan handle people with blunt and very to-the-point statements, aid whenever possible, but very quickly get back to handling the Pokemon she so carefully tends. Her focus is clear, she’s all about hard work, her very small select family, and the Pokemon.

Her brutal, loud and brash personality only comes out with friends, family, difficult humans, OR any Pokemon. She will joke and laugh and play with Pokemon, but clam up around humans, maintaining tight body language and generally will be a little cold by regular standards. She does however have some weaknesses in this emotionless shield she puts up. When peach was young she was always angry, which swung so fast to sadness, back and forth. Her teenage years it just got worse and worse, it was crippling at points. She is to this day, full of fire and rage, even sadness, but now she has learnt to control it, to use it. When she sees that in others, it’s familiar, and she is pushed to drop the front, and be very real with the person. Underdogs I suppose, people who get bad reps, but deserve the same as everyone else. She can’t ignore it.

Once you start to pry open her personality, you’ll find she’s a lot more laid back and fun than originally appeared, you just have to work hard to find that side of her. She will meme reference, can’t dance to save her life, loves her coffee, and can be caught in quiet contemplation while gardening. This hobby is her calmest, and often is why she can stay so level headed when her quiet rage boils up again. Without time outside she will become grouchy, a little snippy, and lethargic. Will not go in the ocean for any reason other than life or death, is fine with ponds and rivers, or water at wading height. Likes the rain.

With regards to her training others, they usually have to tolerate her somewhat strict nature. She is a little....unforgiving, holds a grudge if you make a lot of mistakes, and has no tolerance for ignorance in the age of information that we all live in. In previous posts I’ve mentioned she’s only recently selected two students, after many years of testing kids who want to learn from her. Hundred tried out, only two have ever been approved. How she teaches is very fast paced, be prepared to get some scrapes and bruises, she will test your physical and emotional tolerances with intense tasks, carefully watching students like a hawk. Bad posture in your stance? She’ll be the first to tell you to sort it out. Not hearing your Pokemon partner? Right, now you spend the day without using words trying to communicate, let’s see how you like not being listened to.

This is a woman who has spent her life saying very little, and watching everything, she watches Pokemon and can see an issue from a mile off, and in battles, her observations are why she can react fast, and chose effective strategy to avoid damage and achieve results. Don’t let her body fool you, her strongest asset is analysing, watching, planning. Those skills have over the years transferred to people too. As a student, mistakes don’t go unnoticed with this professor.

Her methods are harsh but fair, and should you prove yourself, she will protect you with her life.

Because of her disinterest in kids and lots of noise, she does pass the training of students on to the other staff members whenever possible. Grey takes on the lions share of battle lessons, he is far calmer, more open and friendly, with patience for people, and an empathy that peach sometimes struggles to have. When you go through a lot of harsh training, and difficult events, it’s hard to change how you feel or think, with peach, well, she’s been through it. Most do not come out the other end in one piece, but she did, and it made her strong. You may think I mean strong like buff and big, and yeah sure she is, but I mean it mentally more than anything. Peach will not quit. She has learnt to destroy the boundaries that stop people getting hurt, gone is the fear that freezes you in your tracks, that feeling that you’ll pass out if you go one more step. She’s learnt to ignore it.

This means she’s a little forgetful at how it is to be normal, to be vulnerable and soft and squishy like students so usually are.

She has her issues, but for the most part, visitors get a laugh, a smile, a calm assertive confidence, and facts. She will indulge those who have genuine interest, or show a connection with nature, an understanding of the balance that needs to be struck for everyone to live well together.

Despite her many flaws, she’s fiercely protective, and will go above and beyond to defend the island, it’s staff, the Pokemon and the visitors. Injustice is her biggest gripe, along with littering, and she doesn’t stand by quietly if something happens that seems unfair.

You will not see her without Valka, her vulpix, close by. That Pokemon doesn’t like to be touched by strangers, at all, and will run the second someone comes at her with that intent. Peach will scold you for pushing yourself onto her, should you persistently try to get close to pet Val. They are in sync, if peach is sad, Val is sad, if Val is stressed, peach is stressed, and so on. They are inherently connected, it’s just been that long, the psychic bridge between them has been built, and reinforced over the years.

The only other Pokemon who follows her so endlessly is Booker, a teddiursa who’s pretty rough looking. He quietly trots behind, grouchy and stoic, they fight closely together a lot. He lost his mom a long time ago to poachers, and peach took him in, and changed her whole life for him. Not many people know, but Booker was the reason she left the rangers, changed career, and got so strong. Will tolerate people petting him but isn’t keen at all, grumbles a lot and tries to move away.

You may also need to know about the others, for the sake of writing, she here a few more bits that may be important to you, or others wanting to do this.

Grey is very tall, very burly, composed, tells bad dad jokes, is a bit of a goof if allowed to be. If he sees a pun, he’ll say it. Can’t help himself. Very nice guy to work with, good at keeping people calm and grounded. Pokemon are drawn to him like a moth to a flame, he gives off warm energy, and has inhuman amounts of patience. If you wrong his family however, he will snap back.

He grew up in the city, loves to swim and hike and cycle, can snowboard, is really sporty. A total brain box with held items, and boosting stats. He will explore many paths, to make sure visitors and students get the information they need, in a way that can be remembered and retained for later. Is a huge guy, but will get on the floor to play with a tiny Pokemon. Treats big “meaner” looking species like babies, very good with all pokemon.

His free time is spent either tinkering, swimming, or trimming his bonsai trees. This guy stares at screens a lot, so appreciates time away from them. Peach built him his own little greenhouse for his trees and tools, which he keeps clean and loves dearly.

His methods as a teacher are built around fun and games, he makes hard work easier to do by distracting trainers from the difficult bits, and focusing in on something more interesting or compelling.

His most commonly seen Pokemon would be a houndoom, Saxon, old battle veteran, retired now to herding and being a good boy. Very gentle, loves a pet.

Pari, now a fully fledged nurse, often oversees the labs front desk and pokecentre features, such as healing pokemon, and informing trainers who come to visit. Her skills with eggs and hatchlings is high, she’s great with younger Pokemon, and hands out good advice to trainers a lot. She’s not a fighter, never was, but can find any file, any study, any book, and any refrence you may need. A true bookworm, loves her romance novels, chat shows and upbeat celebrity gossip mags. Will cry at a lot of stuff, be it sad or happy.

She’s got a seriously upbeat personality, but if caught off guard or shocked, she gets a little flustered. Too much chaos will overwhelm her, but usually she’s on top of things. The years spent on the island have made her better at maintaining composure in emergencies. With lots of siblings, she’s very competent with others, and has a good ability to disarm cagey people with her jolly nature. Because of this, she can sometimes gain information from trainers that some of the more harsh professors may not have access to. Charming is a word for it.

Her partners are an eevee, and a happiny. They are quite sweet and well adjusted, the eevee gets a bit bouncy if you get it too excited.

[bigstripeylie]

Ghosts theory- “sucked off” edition

Apologies for the title.

I have a theory about how each of the ghosts in Ghosts has a parallel with another Ghost and how this could be the key to them finally being able to move on, or “be sucked off’ as Mary would say.

Putting it behind a cut as this is extremely long and rambly. Spoilers for pretty much every episode of Ghosts

First of all I was listening to Mat and Jim on the Empire Spoilers podcast and Mat said something really interesting about how he intended “you stays how you dies” to refer to the ghost’s mental and emotional state, as well as physical. So Thomas always being obsessed with seeking love is because he died broken-hearted and Fanny always being so grumpy is because she died angry at her husband. 

I believe, therefore, that if the ghosts were able to overcome each of their emotional blocks that would be the thing that would allow them to move on. Furthermore, each of the ghosts has another ghost that seems perfectly suited to be able to assist them in that.

Let’s go through them:

Thomas- Thomas died believing his love never loved him back and now is forced to spend eternity seeking for love as a ghost. If Thomas was able to find someone who could reciprocate his affections, this would the resolve that issue. In the Series 2 episode “About Last Night” when Alison drunkenly tells Thomas “if you were alive and I was 200 years older, then we might have…” we hear a choir start singing and Thomas is pulled, as if compelled, through the wall, similar to how Fanny is pulled forwards towards the window to jump when she “doesn’t even realise [she’s] doing it.” Thomas desperately craves love and affection from another person, but in life was constantly rejected by the people he loved most. You know who else that sounds like? Kitty.

Kitty- Like Thomas, she is from a wealthy family who sheltered her a lot growing up, but is ultimately good and tries to be honourable. Kitty also craves love and affection as well as companionship and she tries to seek it, first in Eleanor and then in Alison (because Alison reminds her of  Eleanor, like how Alison reminds Thomas of Isabelle). However it comes up again and again that Kitty’s relationship with Alison isn’t as fulfilling to her as she would like it be because her being a ghost prevents her from sharing every activity with Alison, and Alison cannot show her physical affection. Kitty is trying to recreate aspects of her relationship with Eleanor using Alison as a substitute but this isn’t very healthy for her, as it simply traps her in the constant state of seeking affection that will not or cannot be returned fully. We don’t know the exact circumstances of Kitty’s death but after Series 3, if seems likely that her sister was in some way involved. Maybe what is keeping Kitty trapped as a ghost is her need for approval and love that she never got in life? But by seeking it in people who remind her of Eleanor exclusively, she is further trapping herself.

If Kitty and Thomas could find love with each other, they could each fulfil the other’s need for reciprocated affection. They are both equally needy so this quality wouldn’t likely annoy the other. Kitty seems to genuinely enjoy high romance in earnest and in finding an outlet for her love in Thomas, she could finally move on from her sister. Thomas would also find someone to love him and could devote himself completely to someone who would actually return his love, instead of fruitlessly pursuing women who remind of Isabelle’s rejection. This could lead to the resolution of both character’s finally moving on from their deaths.

Next up, let’s look at The Captain-

The Captain’s central conflict is obviously his sexuality. I believe that the resolution to this conflict would be him finally accepting and coming to terms with being gay and feeling comfortable with that part of his  identity. Which ghost could best help him in this?

Fanny. 

Maybe not the answer you were thinking, but hear me out. The Captain already has a strong positive relationship with Fanny built on mutual respect. He is more likely to value her opinion as an equal that any of the other ghosts and he seems to align himself with her on most issues. Which makes his choice to go against Fanny and defend the same-sex wedding and its guests to her in “Perfect Day” really remarkable.

In “Perfect Day”, Fanny expresses some pretty disapproving remarks about the wedding guest’s attire and some homophobic opinions about the same-sex wedding in general, which prompts the Captain to defend one of the guests to Fanny. “It’s chic, it’s now, and if it makes her feel fabulous…”

Imagine a scene where The Captain has to defend himself towards Fanny in a similar manner after coming out, showing that he is finally accepting of his sexuality as being the right thing for him. 

Anyway, that was a slight digression…

Fanny is still struggling to deal with the circumstances of her own death which was brought about in part because she caught her husband having an affair with other men. Fanny needs to accept and come to terms with the fact that her husband didn’t love her and that while he was obviously wrong for murdering her, she needs to move on so she can stop reenacting it by jumping out the window every morning. Because she died feeling angry and betrayed, she is trapped in that state in death. Discovering that one of her closest friends is gay and realising that it is possible for someone to be both gay and a good person might prompt her to think differently about her own life, as she started do with Humphrey in Perfect Day. 

The Captain, in turn, could be driven by Fanny’s ability to accept his sexuality into thinking ‘if she can accept that part of me, then maybe I can too.’ Personally, out of all the ghosts, I think it could only be Fanny who could prompt him to think that because it would mean the most to him coming from her.

Humphrey- Humphrey died because he was trying to protect Sophie, who rejected any attempt to get to know him and who he believed didn’t even like him. In death he is trapped in a state of being a selfless self-sacrificing people-pleaser and desperately wanting to be included in the other ghost’s activities, even allowing himself be kicked and thrown around if it means he can just be involved. In ‘I Love Lucy’ he even attempts to make a relationship with Fanny work, showing he is willing to sacrifice his own happiness for the sake of others.

Julian, by contrast, is the most selfish of all the ghosts at Button House. Deep down he feels guilty that his selfishness negatively affected the relationship with his daughter but seems not to be consciously aware that he feels like this. Julian’s selfishness to not spend time with his family ultimately leads to his death in Button House, as he neglected his family to spend more time at work and was clearly cheating on his wife, showing he is driven by selfish impulses.

If Julian were to perform a completely selfless act to the benefit of Humphrey, then Humphrey would get to feel as though someone was putting him first for once and valuing him the way he seeks to be valued. Julian would also break the pattern of selfish behaviour that caused his downfall.

The rest are little less well-defined:

Pat is the probably the ghost that we know the most about, through seeing his death and actually meeting his family in “Happy Death Day”, to the numerous anecdotes he reveals about his life throughout the show. However, I can’t decide for sure what is the thing that is keeping him a ghost. Pat himself seemed to think it was that he was missing his family, but this was ultimately proved wrong after he saw them again in ‘Happy Death Day’. Even meeting the boy who killed him and forgiving him in ‘Perfect Day’ didn’t cause him to move on. It could be something to do with Carol’s affair with Maurice but I just don’t know for sure. I like the idea of him fitting in with the plague ghosts. I think his personalty and leadership style would get along better with them than say, The Captain, who is too authoritarian. I also think Pat is someone who thrives in a group setting.

Robin and Mary are also tricky to work out what the thing keeping them as ghosts is because we know so little about their lives and deaths compared to the other characters. I think these are the only two ghosts who have not yet received a flashback to their lives. We know that Mary was in some way involved a witch-trail and this has traumatised her. Robin also has experienced a lot of trauma in his life but he seems to be more philosophical about it and accepting of it. He shows great empathy towards others both in trying to comfort Pat about his death in “Happy Death Day’ and Kitty in “About Last Night’, he could use his experience of trauma to help Mary deal with hers. They both seem to be looked down upon and ‘othered’ by the other ghosts due to their perceived lack of intelligence even though they are both very emotionally and socially intelligent.

If anyone has any thoughts about these last two pairings or any of the others, then please reblog and add your take!

I am not in any way saying that I think this is what will happen in the next series or what even I think should happen, but that this is one possibilities for much further down the road when the ghost are all ready to move on.

Also I have spent way too much time thinking about this…

[jjheejz]

About Internet Water Army in the case

This is an ongoing update about the case from start to development. List of all related posts can be found on this blog's pinned post (link provided at bottom of each post as well).

19 August 2021 update: Added the scale of his success for reference, before bonus below

18 August 2021 update: Added timeline of events, orange title in post, found out the official English term for Immoral Media = Internet Water Army)

Major updates since first draft: Added bonus, added disclaimer, certain info details

Originally posted on 16 August 2021

[The purpose of this post is to provide a perspective as to why the Media is raised/blamed regarding the issue. Especially for international fans, as all the encounters happened on Weibo. Also, those who were on weibo, do read through if you will. So although it's lengthy, do try to read all, at least if not the last two parts].

The Media referred by most, is not the common perception of the Entertainment Industry (celebrities, directors, shows, channels, staff etc), but the dark side of the Entertainment industry: Antis, toxic fans, toxic marketing accounts. They are called Internet Water Army💧.

Toxic Marketing Accounts is one of the things they do, these accounts on Weibo has millions of followers, each of their post likes are in the hundred thousands (buyable) to give credibility to passer-bys. Some use similar names to Official accounts, some use similar logos. Their posts are usually subjective or aims to steer view points of a certain celebrity/movie/show. Before the latest update of this post (18.08.21), I just group them all together and term them as Immoral Media*.

*Below is my original post using my original term because at point of first draft, I did not know the official term (so have changed/added the term from Immoral Media to Internet Water Army in content below but retain the content based off first draft).

If you have chased before celebrities, or just simply passed by an article about certain celebrities, recall how some title that caught your attentions were like. Clickbaits is one of the many things they do. If GZ is your first and you do not have Weibo, then this read(link) is good enough.

Just as the term Immoral Media (Internet Water Army), it’s immoral and unethical, but they exists because they are paid to do so. Who pays them? Entertainment Companies, and maybe other Organisations

Normal Media/Marketing vs Immoral Media/Toxic Marketing/Internet Water Army

When a show or movie comes out, the normal Marketing department will generate outreach and buzz so that people know a show is airing soon/know the show exists etc. Official announcements are not enough, because there isn’t much context (limited content to put up as well) so having some other Marketing accounts do the buzz in a planned period to gain awareness through posts, some articles about the casts, the plot summary, the production details etc is normal. This is Marketing, bigger companies will probably have stronger Marketing departments (aka influence) and can hire more Marketing accounts to generate buzz. Celebrities (aka casts) themselves, are also Marketing point.

Then we have the Internet Water Army/Immoral Media, these are what they mainly do:

Create Fanfiction-rumors: Creating rumors about celebrities to shift audience perception of them. [eg. XX was seen with XX leaving a hotel, XX was drunk on Event Y and did ZZZ to AA, XX is dating BB and has been in a relationship for N years etc]

Honing their brain degrading skills: Come up with titled clickbait headings/ trending topics with negative written contents. For articles, exceptionally out of heading content related to the celebrity. [Refer to Baidu, it’s a winner of these, feel free to Google Translate]

Regressing their common sense and understanding skills: Take everything a celebrity does completely out of context in a negative way and create a topic out of it [eg. XX said AA is a ---, “XX raised his finger, a sign of ---?”, XX pushed BB aggressively on Variety Show Y - A competition variety show, XX is in beef with CC because XX was caught giving CC the eye]

Using their fingers to stir shit and bathe each other in it: Escalate all smallest form of possible tension created by fans/themselves into a huge thing by acting as the fandom's fans/lurk in fandom chat groups, and voicing their disguised opinion to spread tension/exaggerate severity of the issue [eg. XX fans mocked AA - in groupchats: tbh I've never liked AA before, AA just gives off a vibe that I dont like and now this? It just disgusts me even more > Yea, i feel this way too. AA has problems / XX Lurkers expressing views on XX about NN, slowly to NNMHFXW - XX did NNMHGT - I cannot accept NNmHfHw, I'm leaving = multiply by 1000++]

Epitome of a self-deteriorate: Creating something out of nothing and react to that something negatively to gain massive attention/reaction [eg. “XX raised his hand on show Y” - dk what XX fans are thinking, are they literally blind? XX fans are tasteless just like XX hahaha / “XX did community service” - they are acting / “XX breathed” - From the start, i thought XX was NN, but I am so ZZZ that XX breathed. Goodbye fandom, i’m leaving. Those who still want to stay I urge you to rethink your life choices] - if I may add, Xiao Zhan’s fanfiction case as well. 

Metaphor - Ability to use bare hands to collect paychecks from the urinal/toilet bowl where their boss/client peed in: Doing all of the above.

Apologies for any term offense, but not apologetic of the term context. This is what they do for a living. Any normal human being who do not like anything, will generally not be interested at anything about it in the first place, so to have some antis/toxic fans knowing certain things and inside jokes/references in their posts questions their goal.

On involved in Internet Water Army/Immoral Media 💧

Fans on weibo during these few months witnessed many of the above on GZ. From rumored girlfriend (spammed with articles) to mean and nasty comments on trending topics, to bouts of insults and fake emotional cryouts by certain fan accounts that GZ's office has to release a number of Lawyer’s letter to them. 

Aside from WOH there were also a few other BL adaptation films that were actually released this year but they did not reach exponential success like WOH. BL adaptations are so highly followed by because this is the key to wealth. Literally. Successful BLs like The Untamed and  Dao Mu Bi Ji saw the amount of wealth fans are willing to spend on the celebrity as compared to say BG or idols (younger fan groups). This is why when WOH shot up exponentially, Immoral Media start to sweat.

Major anticipated adaptations were supposed to air this year eg. Hao Yi Xing(HYX), Sha Po Lang(SPL) etc but was severely held back due to the stricter change in BL adaptations submitting their scripts for approval regulations (WOH manage to submit earlier before the change). Because of this, most final films were rejected and they have to keep re-editing, by then WOH was already months into reaping tonnes of major brand endorsements, shows/movie casting, variety show appearances etc, something that is seen as too successful in the Immoral Media’s eyes, because they have to create buzz for other celebrities, some are specific celebrity oriented and thus circulate rumors about having endorsement opportunities shifted from celebrity X to GZ (think fanfiction-rumors and shit stirrer) causes tension in celebrity fandoms. - A real event just in July:

The Untamed’s cp fandom is called BJYX which had always been in the Top 1 of Cps for 2 years dropped for awhile to Top 2, over taken by LLD. Both of them had a war and hated each fandom, one fandom is somehow not allowed to like the other fandom even casually after everything broke out because it started out with some BJYX toxics photoshopped GZ on of portraits .

Also another case of which he wore the same costume as WYB did in a previous photoshoot and it became a useless comparison of who wore better, who looks better, degrading the other. (Finger stirring shit).

Now apply all of the above things the Internet Water Army do and we have them earning money, while both fandom reacts and hate each other.

In LLD, our own fans started suspecting each other on who is a spy from BJYX and what not.

The first few months of Internet Water Army saw LLDs mostly mocking them because the average age is 30-40s, they know and see through all of their intentions so nothing was big. They were trumpeting and LLDs didn’t even care, what with all the doing tedious stats was not even important to them.

Over time, as the issues they create became more and more serious LLDs did start to care, reporting Toxic Marketing accounts/toxic fans became a daily task, go vote for GZ at certain polls etc, solo fans, and LLD fans also split apart. Solo fans think cp fans use GZ to furnish their fantasies, and cp fans thinks they are the ones furnishing their dreaming-girls fantasy with (aka my boyfriend).

There was also a period where LLD had a habit of continuously mentioning “we are in the 30-40s so we can see through everything about the media, we are all fans for the first time, we are good at spending money (because of purchase power compared to other fandoms)” it was prevalent for so long it felt odd, ‘chasing celebrities the first time’ in particular sounds more vulnerable as a weakness than a strength / sth to be proud of.

Gradually, more secretive/insider confirmed ‘sweets’ were flying around. Fans advised each other to not circulate, and the mindset of “if you know, you know, dont tell.” (This is a problematic mentality, of which fans will still be curious to know and search for it themselves, but this secretive hook is unhealthy. Over the long term, it becomes hard for existing fans to know a lot of things properly to judge for themselves, especially those who knew and publicly reacted, but blasting those who ask and telling those who know to keep quiet, this did not help some to understand why on certain things, even so for international fans, dont know and dont understand, causing misunderstandings. Yes, certain information should not be shared, so why should you react about it publicly in the first place? - Internet Water Army effect)

The last few months (for example the July fan war) created a tonne of seriousness and anger. A period even broke out with a tonne of ‘insider confirmed sweets’ (which is LLD’s daily dose of happiness), it was hard to tell what was real and what was fake. Trending topics became negative and everyone warned each other not to enter because it will give the trends ‘views’ and trend statistics, in reality entering there is to enter an exhibition by the self-deteriorates, collecting the fandom's traffic data (it's a sure lose for fans each time they enter the topic). Everyone even starts thinking that the trend’s popularity was caused by each other (it's true but it can be bought daily and not caused by fans). There was a raise in the number of fans who were getting emotional because they want to protect but Internet Water Army kept coming and got worse, because fans, tbh, not just GZ fans, every other celebrity’s fans are always fighting with an Army, getting played and plotted in that Army's calendar.

Even so, despite all of these, LLD is actually a fandom Internet Water Army may find the hardest to break because they understand GZ so much, they could tell what are fake news regarding GZ, because among everything above, there are still plenty of logical fans to stop many fans from drifting too far and debunking them. Why? 30-40s are grown up adults.

Why 13.8.21 and the Japan issue is plotted?

First of all, in the political climate of China, there are many political dates in a month that is NO-Entertainment news. Because it’s the honoring of certain important political events. It’s like Remembrance Day, thus the sensitivity is higher. On these days, there are usually no news and even the Internet Water Army zip their pants. This year also marks the 100th year of the Chinese Communist Party(link)

Secondly, he had no work schedule on 13 August 2021. A great full day to focus on any other news (because if he had schedules, everyone will turn their attention to his events, what trumpeting outside is just bird chirps). 

Thirdly, when the news broke out, especially about the shrine, the reception was actually quite serious within the fandom so the scale of this might be big but to what extent in reality?

Lastly, 15.8.21 marks the 76th anniversary of the announcement of surrender of Japanese in World War 2(link). Also a day of NO-Entertainment news. 

Timeline of events:

13.8.21 - [His rest day, Eve of Chinese Valentine's Day, Japan News broke out] His rest day, no schedules = increased attention about him online. Lowered guard among fans because they are getting ready for tomorrow's Chinese Valentine's sweets = Caught off guard = Huge break out of fans' reactions

14.8.21 - [Chinese Valentine's Day, Eve of the 75th Anniversary of the announcement of Japanese surrender] Keep a wishful and happy demenaor to not destroy the mood, suppressed thoughts about ZZH's Japan news

15.8.21 - [75th Anniversary of the announcement of Japanese surrender, Official announcement of ZZH's boycott and all China social media account ban] NO-Entertainment news day, Solemn day, not allowed to voice anything so the fandom can only wait for tomorrow to start voicing out/debunking but before they can wait out, the boycott and social media ban happened, every official accounts about him was gone overnight, fans had no time to react

17.8.21 - [All official fandom accounts related to ZZH and JunZhe were locked/removed]

Forced to be silent since the day his matter broke out, over the course of official news release with everything taken down in a day because of the Japan correspondence, his accounts banned overnight across the Chinese media and the overnight cancellation, fans could not speak anything about it. Overnight cancellation like this scale happened for the first time in China, leaving no time to react by the fandom, by the time they can, they are silenced.

When the period of events occured within a set of special dates, it’s not coincidence.

Conclusion

Because he was too successful and had many actually honorable past things, and a hard to influence fandom, Internet Water Army view him as a huge threat enough to want to destroy him, because it’s hard to defeat. With a chance they have, they will hold it till the end, bringing up this issue to the Government during this period also shows a sign of how scared they were of him and perhaps his fandom to plot something like this.

Updated on 19 August: Here's a screenshot of assumed calculation on the scale of GZ success for reference while chatting with a fellow fan, assuming GJ also has 27 brands, and there are 1000 brands. Rationale of numbers used: Only big brands can hire big celebrities.

Bonus

Mentioned in the first post, will mention again in case. After the news broke out within 2 days, there was a drop on his weibo followers from 18.9mil to 18.7mil. 200k+ drops, if the politics was such a big national issue, there should at least be a huge drop, even at least a million right? Because weibo is a China-Chinese majority right? Nope, we get a puny 200k drop.

What's funny? The self-deteroriates:

Translation: "Are his fans bought? Why didnt he drop fans? Those people got brainwashed to this point?" / "I've never entered his weibo and today i feel like having a look yet it showed I've followed him. All his fans were bought right? It disgusts me, i immediately unfollowed. This kind of process is worse than WYF..." / "i dropped fans because of him...no...I just reposted 2 posts and I've dropped 4 fans?"

Isn't the tone and regressing brain cells, all too familiar and same?

//

Added above, will remind again to read this link. It has an even more in-depth knowledge on who are paying them.

So what should we do? Link here

Related posts 🛏️:

[lexpressobean]

I've been thinking about these 3 alot...

... and how much they seem to really respect Shino. I know it's a filler, but, like... Why does it seem like Shino has a knack for finding children who have wondered off away from school? Like, he's just taking a walk, making his way around the village or surrounding forest, and then there they are. Kids playing hooky or some shit. And Shino just takes it upon himself to approach them and steer them back to where they should be, while getting them attached to him somehow in the process??

But honestly. If this was just one of many times this had happened, I'd say Shino does this not out of his knack for teaching or having a way with kids. Rather, he developed a way with kids and easily applies that to his teaching because he has a strong desire to simply protect children. And it's not even from some paternal instinct as much as survival, because I think it stems from the developing trauma of losing Torune to Danzo. And I don't think it's all subconscious either.

Like I know the novel and anime frames his desicion to teach as a sort of a new goal in life as the war has ended for a couple years already and a noticable Peace has been achieved by the Blank Period and well... He's an Aburame.

Like, the Aburame are literal living, breathing, walking bioweapons. With no fight to utilize that, what else is there? Well, much like the Nara have the Nara forest and Pharmacology specifically, The Aburame most likely have a historical stake in the area of Konoha, perhaps it was simply in their Ancestral Home. Idk, but they're here to stay, they ain't budging. They're Clan Culture is very Martial and I'd argue Spartan in nature, but otherwise, they do other things too. I think they'd do well as major players in the conservation and research of native species of animals and plants, but definitely insects too. I bet they play a huge part in the general area's ecosystem, especially due to the fact that the Kamizuru clan attacked with a whole clan's worth of non-native Hymenoptera that could very well have become and still are an irritatingly and consistent problem as invasive species tend to be. And as a far as goods go, why not put some of them to use and handle an apiary? Honey is a great good to sell. All of this is great as a clan that no longer needs to fight. But, what about individual members in general, and so Shino?

Well Shino is the Heir of this clan. This Noble Clan. This "ready to throw hands at any moment" clan. It's future is in his hands, so to speak. So I doubt Shino would completely sever his connection to Shinobi life all together. And so, teaching at the Academy would be a great way to keep that connection. Teachers have to know their stuff, after all.

But what if in order to ensure teaching was his calling, Shino did his absolute best to make Jounin ASAP so he could take on a Genin Team. And. And by chance, it ended up being these three?? And they are absolutely STOKED!!! And they also pass Shino's genin test, which... would probably be a feat in it's own right. But they already know Shino, and Shino has bestowed upon them some wisdom they actually took to heart! Yeah, well, in reality they might be just a tad too old to be Shino's first official genin squad, but they were still his squad one point in a sense, right?

Kon Nohara, Tano Ikemoto, and Aoki Kobayashi

I even gave them names help Imagine these three are already chuunin at least and decide they want to pay Shino a visit and even volunteer to help Shino during class time on a collective day off because they admire him so much (T~T)

But even then if not these three kiddos, maybe these three li'l shits lol

Even in times of Peace, Shino's special set of skills seem too useful to waste, and being a Jounin teacher would definitely have been a way he could still go on missions, but also definitely commit to becoming a Sensei at the academy once he was 100% sure and got older. Kurenai became a Jounin/Genin Squad Leader in her late twenties, but in comparison I see Shino doing that more mid-20s. (He needs some time to travel and find his big bug friend and generally live a little?)

Kurenai was a Genjutsu Specialist who manned a Tracker/Sensing based team. This sounds like it was a highly beneficial combination, even if she ended up being somewhat sadistic lol. Asuma was bound to Team 10 by Tradition as InoShikaCho and Sarutobi have that Pact together. Kakashi's team was literally Cherry Picked for him specifically by the 3rd Hokage. And Gai, a Taijutsu Specialist, had a team that Specialized in Taijutsu and Physical Offense.

Of all four teams, Kurenai and Gai were very suited to their teams, Gai in a complimentary way and Kurenai in a Challenging way. In that same vein, I think Shino would imitate Gai. Shino as a Shinobi himself has a general set of skills, but the way he goes about them are very niche. But, he was always very stealthy, and could sneak up on nearly anyone. Gags aside, he could go unnoticed as long as he wanted too, and by the time he was noticed or was ready to attack, he has you quite literally surrounded. Honestly I can see why Search and Destroy would be an Aburame's forte, but when there's no need, a person with a personal skill of high quality stealth could probably man a team with an emphasis on Reconnaissance and/or Surveillance, even Bodyguarding. I feel like Shino would probably put an emphasis on Stealth and Tracking too, utilizing his insects as sort of assistants that keep tabs on his students (Stealth Test) as well as to encourage just enough fear during too much down time in his students to inspire quality training opportunities, so maybe Kurenai rubbed off on Shino more than they all realized haha

(Plus I'm sure his students would be be smart and thoughtful enough to eventually understand what Shino and his bugs are: a complete unit. They realize just how strong and dedicated Sensei really is to be the way he is, and they all learn more in depth about Kikaichu and it's like WOW SENSEI YOU REALLY ARE RISKING BEING EATEN ALIVE EVERY SINGLE DAY, AREN'T YOU? But he's still here, because THAT'S how strong he's become over the years and the confidence to manipulate the Kikaichu while having to think of current chakra level, the most efficient use at any given time, how many he actually needs, how long usage will last, ect. They are high maintenance, man!)

Shino would no doubt produce highly skilled Bodyguards and Masters of Stealth. Maybe the type that would end up being in high demand for the eventual Celebrities that start to pop up as times change, but still very much needed when it comes to Criminal Activity, like in Sora-Ku?

But as time passes and he decided to teach at the Academy, he'd feel very at ease to do so. He'd be happy to be put in charge of all these children, because he would be able to help teach them things they need to know to defend themselves and others in a world where adults like Danzo had and will continue to exist. Maybe while he's at it, he'd use his stance as a Noble Clan Heir and accomplished Shinobi to push for changes in government with Sai's help and with Naruto and Shikamaru's cooperation? Like, the truth does come out, everyone on the Council were actually horrible and had too much power. So HERE are some ideas and REASONS why these ideas should be implemented because Shino's not going to let his brother's life and death be in vain!? HELL no, we WILL make some changes around here. Shino sees his students and just wants a future where no kid ever has to live in fear of being completely taken advantage of by the very system that was supposed to keep them safe and they pledged allegiance to.

I cannot help but think of the quiet but absolute fear little Shino was harboring for the years to come after Torune was taken by that strange man and Father Shibi didn't even attempt to stop him. His own father didn't dare beat the shit out of this strange man who came looking for him, and the only solution for Shino to stay was for Torune to make himself look more desirable as an asset and be taken instead. I bet there was a lot of misplaced resentment there for a while, and talks that just didn't happen. Maybe a classmate doesn't show up to class one day and Shino is IMMEDIATELY stressed out and just... takes it upon himself to look for them after class. And he's relieved when he see they're simply at home with a fever. Shit like that just fucks with Shino, because theres people taking kids and no one is doing anything about it?? And then as Shino grew older he realized exactly what happened and how slimy the machine of Konoha really is and it was never completely Shibi's fault that Torune had to leave. He grows mentally at a faster rate than most of his classmates, and knows more than a kid really needs to know.

Shino doesn't want that for any other child. Shino is the kind of person who hears kids screaming outside of his house and he can't tell if they're playing or being murdered and it's stressful to the point he'll check through his window and he sees them for himself. He get stressed out seeing a kid in public unattended and WANTS to approach them to help if need be but also maybe he's overthinking it and the parents are there somewhere and he'd just end up looking suspicious. Like, that's what I kind of figure for Shino. He's so hyperaware of the power dynamic between kids and adults and seeing a kid so ready to fall victim to that makes Shino feel ill the more he thinks of what could happen. And he wonders if watching the kid in the market until they finally reunite with their parent so he could move on with the rest of his day causes him even a fraction of the the utterly disgusting flurry of nerves and fear that Shibi must have felt all those years ago. It goes along with his desire to spare every single little insect's life he can. It goes a long with the fact he only gets violent unless absolutely necessary. Like he wants to be strong but he doesn't want to go mad with power either, less he becomes the very thing that hurt him and his family in the first place.

Originally Shino wanted to become strong to be able to defend himself because at a very young age adults failed him and Torune. But then that changes to defend not only himself, but others as he grows on a team, and realizes trust is important. And then he figured if there must be adults out there that would hurt a child, it's only logical that he should become one that would only nurture and teach one to be strong as well.

Anyway, yeah. Had some feelings. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

[weirdnaturalscience]

Well-Known and Obscure Toxins: How They Work

Well this is a morbid subject but HEY it’s almost Halloween baby!! I was super curious about what toxins actually do on a molecular level after reading about cone snails. Obviously toxins can kill you, but how?? I wanted to know the grisly details. This is not an exhaustive list, just some types of poison, venom, and other toxic substances I was curious about, so let’s get to it.

Deadly Nightshade

Where is it found? Atropa belladonna grows in Europe, North Africa and Western Asia.

How it works: speeds up your heart and generally fucks with your nervous system. Deadly nightshade contains tropane alkaloids atropine, hyoscine (scopolamine), and hyoscyamine which disrupt the nervous system’s ability to regulate activities such as heart rate, breathing and sweating. It can cause narcosis, paralysis and heart failure as a result. Yikes. But an antidote exists that can reverse these affects if administered in time.

Toxicity: the entire plant is toxic, with roots having the highest toxicity but berries posing the greatest threat to humans because of their appearance. 10-20 berries can kill an adult, and 2-4 can kill a child. Symptoms of mild poisoning include dilated pupils, sensitivity to light, loss of balance, confusion, hallucinations (wild) and convulsions. Doesn’t sound like a good time.

Do not eat the shiny attractive berries!!! (Cows and rabbits and other animals can eat it but humans, dogs and cats...NOT SO MUCH) You can also get toxins on your skin just by touching the plant but this will not kill you.

Totally fun and not morbid fact: during the Renaissance, belladonna was used by women in small quantities to dilate pupils and give a seductive appearance, and this is how it gets its name belladonna, or beautiful woman. Atropa comes from the Greek Fate Atropos who cuts the threads of mortal lives with her shears. Snip snip!

Hemlock

Where is it found? Conium maculatum grows naturally in Europe and North Africa, and has spread to North and South America, Australia and Western Asia.

How it works: stops your breathing. The flowers contain an alkaloid called coniine, which directly affects the nervous system and causes paralysis of respiratory muscles, leading to death from oxygen deprivation. Hemlock poisoning is treated by artificial ventilation for 48-72 hours until the effects wear off.

Toxicity: about 100 milligrams of coniine is fatal to an adult. That’s about 6-8 hemlock leaves, or a smaller dose of the seeds or root. Animals can also be poisoned and killed by hemlock, but luckily dangerous substances cannot be passed into the human food chain from milk or fowl. Similar to nightshade, you can get a non-lethal amount of the toxin on your skin simply from touching this plant.

Basically you’re only gonna get poisoned by this if someone puts it in your tea, because I assume you’re not gonna just go around just like...chomping on pretty flowers. Right? Right?? ok good.

Arsenic

Where is it found? arsenic is a metalloid that occurs often with sulfurs and metals. It can be present in volcanic ash and groundwater, and as a result can be found in low (acceptable) levels in plants and seafood. Good news: it is rare to find arsenic occurring at dangerous levels in nature.

How it works: in high levels, arsenic disrupts ATP production and causes organ failure due to necrotic cell death. This process can last between 2 hours to multiple days. It can also be fatal in lower doses administered over a period of time, and as such, was a popular murder weapon when it was readily available during the 1800s in England. Symptoms such as vomiting and diarrhea don’t immediately alert someone that there has been an attempted murder unless maybe you’re Sherlock Holmes.

Toxicity: google probably thinks I’m a murderer and won’t tell me just how much arsenic will kill a person. COME ON, google!!! it’s for SCIENCE!

Arsenic is no longer readily available for people to just get in large quantities, so that’s a RELIEF.

Cyanide

Where is it found? cyanide is a chemical compound produced by certain algae, bacteria and fungi. It is also found in plants such as peaches, apples, apricots and bitter almonds. A type of bamboo that grows in Madagascar is so rich in cyanide that it would kill humans, but not the golden bamboo lemur for whom this bamboo is a primary source of food!!! You go girl, eat that cyanide bamboo.

How it works: for everyone who’s not a golden bamboo lemur, cyanide disrupts ATP production, affects the central nervous system and heart, and causes histotoxic hypoxia: the inability of cells to take up oxygen from the bloodstream. Antidotes can work if administered in time for lower doses of cyanide.

Toxicity: 200 milligrams of solid cyanide or a cyanide solution, or exposure to airborne cyanide of 270 parts per million is sufficient to cause death within minutes. Um, YIKES. Really, cyanide was already scary enough as a solid before nature went and made it into a gas that kills upon inhalation. DEEPLY uncool.

Murder mystery writers: slip belladona or arsenic into your literary victim’s tea. Belladonna is sweet, arsenic is tasteless, but cyanide has an acrid and bitter taste.

Fun (well, not fun) fact: if you eat 200 apple seeds (about 40 apple cores) you will receive a fatal dose of cyanide. So like, don’t do that. An apple a day keeps the doctor away and is completely safe, but 40 apples apple cores a day WILL KILL YOU

Vampire Bat Saliva

Where is it found? Vampire bats are found in the Americas.

How it works: a toxic substance called Draculin (I’m serious) in the saliva of vampire bats acts as an anticoagulant by inhibiting an enzyme involved in the coagulation pathway.

Toxicity: vampire bats are indeed venomous and toxic, but they are not at all lethal. It just sorta sucks if you’re being bitten by a vampire bat, but you’ll live. Unless that bat has rabies. Vampire bat saliva also contains an analgesic, meaning the bites are almost completely painless. SO THAT’S SOMETHING

Cobra Venom

“hello do you have a moment to hear about cell death?”

Where is it found? Many species of cobra are found throughout Africa, Southwest and Southeast Asia.

How it works: most cobra venom includes neurotoxins that cause paralysis as well as cytotoxins that cause necrosis and blood coagulation. blood coagulation can happen in minutes.

Toxicity: many types of cobra venom are treatable, but may leave disfigurement from necrosis. If this isn’t scary enough for you, just know that spitting cobras can reach 2.7 m (8.9 ft) in length and like to aim for the eyes.

But you’d still rather be bitten by a cobra than THIS deadly mofo:

Venom of the Inland Taipan

Where is it found? the inland taipan is the most venomous snake in the world and lives, YOU GUESSED IT, in Australia, ie the place where everything is designed to kill you. Evolution decided it can reach 1.8 meters (5.9 feet) with a maximum length of 2.5 meters (8.2 feet), which I think everyone can agree is a dick move on evolution’s part. Take it back, TAKE IT BACK!!!!!

How it works: the venom contains neurotoxins, hemotoxins, and myotoxins AND an enzyme to increase absorption of the venom. Basically it causes paralysis, blood coagulation and muscle damage, because one of these things wasn’t enough apparently. Antivenoms against Australian venomous snakes exist but are least effective against the venom of the inland taipan.

Toxicity: the inland taipan’s venom has a murine LD50 value of 0.025m/kg. This means there is a 50% chance that .025 milligrams per kilogram of weight will cause death. It’s bite contains enough venom to kill at least 100 adult humans. But GOOD NEWS! the inland taipan lives in such remote places that it rarely comes in contact with people. Other slightly less venomous snakes are therefore responsible for more deaths. ....So that’s...still terrifying. just don’t go into the woods in Australia FOR THE LOVE OF GOD

What’s deadlier than the deadliest snake in the world, you ask?

Tetrodotoxin

Where is it found? tetrodotoxin is found in several animals such as pufferfish, moon snails and the small but deadly Australian blue ringed octopus (DAMMIT Australia)

How it works: blocks sodium channels. This prevents normal transmission of signals between the body and brain, causing loss of sensation, paralysis and inability to breathe. Fun!!! Don’t pick up the frickin evil little octopus

Toxicity: more powerful than cyanide, that’s for sure, about a thousand times more powerful in fact. the oral median lethal dose (LD50) for mice as 334 micrograms per kilogram. Fatal pufferfish poisoning result in death in about 17 minutes. The blue-ringed octopus, however, carries enough venom to kill 26 adult humans within just a few minutes. There is no anti-venom.

What’s worse than that, you ask? Ah, you shouldn't have asked.

Conotoxin

Where is it found? Cone snails are found in the Indo-Pacific, the Cape of South Africa, the Mediterranean, and even southern California. Smaller species are not that dangerous. Larger species, however...

How it works: paralysis within minutes. cone snails have multiple harpoons to administer venom to prey (or unsuspecting humans). the harpoons deliver a venom that has HUNDREDS of different types of toxins, each targeting different nerve channels or receptors. Some cone snail venom even includes pain-reducing toxins. These pain reducing toxins can be 100 to 1,000 times more powerful than morphine. How THOUGHTFUL.

Toxicity: vastly more potent than tetrodotoxin. the oral median lethal dose (LD50) for mice is is 10 to 100 micrograms/kilogram. So like, GOOD LUCK WITH THAT LOL

Ricin

Where is it found? Ricin is obtained from the beans of the castor oil plant.

How it works: inhibits protein production and results in organ failure, respiratory failure and circulatory shock.

Toxicity: The median lethal dose (LD50) of ricin is around 22 micrograms per kilogram of body weight. If that sounds bad just wait till you hear about poison dart frogs 😭

VX

Where is it found? Nowhere in nature. VX is synthetic. It is an oily amber colored liquid in its natural form, was first developed as a pesticide and later for chemical warfare. It is considered a weapon of mass destruction and is banned under the Chemical Weapons Convention of 1993.

How it works: causes stimulation and fatigue of muscarinic and nicotinic ACh receptors, resulting in violent contractions followed by paralysis and death by asphyxiation.

Toxicity: 7 micrograms/kilogram. this is one of the most toxic synthetic substances on earth. Humans have got nothing on mother nature though...

Batrachotoxin

(This guy is called phyllobates TERRIBILIS. but is his cute little face terrible? noooo.)

Where is it found? in certain types of beetles, birds and poison dart frogs found in Central and South America.

How it works: similar to conotoxin, batrachotoxin interrupts sodium channels. The resulting migration of Na+ ions causes heart failure and paralysis.

Toxicity: The LD50 is around 2 micrograms per kilogram, meaning that an amount the size of two grains of table salt will kill you, and that this is even worse than a cone snail, Ricin, or VX. Batrachotoxin is one of the deadliest alkaloids known. No antidote exists.

Fun frog fact: this was the poison commonly used by the Embera-Wounaan for poison darts, and that’s where poison dart frogs get their name! How...cute.

Botulinum, most toxic substance in the world

Where is it found? made by the bacteria Clostridium botulinum and related species.

How it works: causes Botulism, which if untreated can result in paralysis and respiratory failure by preventing the release of the neurotransmitter acetylcholine. Botulinum is used in very very very VEEEEEEERY small amounts in Botox, in case you ever needed reasons NOT to do Botox lol.

Toxicity: the lethal dose of 1.3–2.1 nanograms per kilogram in humans. of any toxin natural or synthetic, this is the deadliest known. However!! Actual good news this time: treatments involving antitoxin therapy and intubation are very successful and mortality from Botulism is extremely low. Yay! 

More good news: toxins have been instrumental in medicinal breakthroughs throughout history and continue to be vital to modern medicine. A drug for diabetes was recently synthesized from Gila monster venom: it increases the production of insulin when blood sugar levels are high. A painkiller has been developed for chronic pain patients that is derived from a component of the venom of our friend, you guessed it, the cone snail! These are just two examples of toxins being used in medicine, and a lot of research is still being done because face it: we still don’t know a lot about how our bodies work. Paralyzing agents are extremely important to our understanding of the body and the development of non-opiate non-addictive painkillers because of how they disrupt signals between nerves and the brain.

Long story short: don’t eat nightshade and stay OFF AUSTRALIAN BEACHES and you should be just fine. 

Oh and your tea is getting cold ;)

[robininthelabyrinth]

Chapter 5 of The Quiet Room (ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4)

-

Nie Mingjue took three tries to wake up.

In all truth, he wasn’t that badly injured – if it hadn’t been for how tangled his spiritual energy already was, steeped in resentment from his wayward cultivation and burned by trying to keep a saber’s pace from within a human body, a night’s rest and some tonics would probably have been enough to put him right. But it was, and he was, and so the concern of his doctors was all the more pronounced.

The first time he woke, it was to Nie Xiaoxuan, a cantankerous old doctor who’d lost all patience with her patients years before Nie Mingjue had been conceived, looking down at him with a scowl, saying, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Go back to sleep!”

A needle had descended, leaving him not much choice about the matter – it was a good thing he was used to such rough treatment, or else he might’ve worried. Instead he found some comfort in how some things were always the same, and his Nie sect’s objectively awful bedside manner was one of them.

He slept.

He woke a second time to arguing outside his door in the middle of the night, whispers and hisses that were so loud as to be unworthy of being called lowered voices –

“– the Sect Leader deserves to know!”

“Nie-er-gongzi gave the order, and it was obeyed. There isn’t any need to disturb the Sect Leader’s recuperation over nonsense.”

“Nonsense?! Do you know what the implications will be? Nie-er-gongzi is still young, he doesn’t understand –”

“Sect Leader was once younger still. There is still sect discipline, or are you making an official challenge to his judgment? If so, you should be bothering Nie-er-gongzi, as the one who gave the order, and a council of peers that would be assembled to determine if his judgment was flawed.”

“I  - no. I won’t.”

“If there’s no challenge to the quality of Nie-er-gongzi’s judgment, then there’s no reason to talk to the Sect Leader.”

Nie Mingjue smiled, proud of his sect and of his brother – even if he didn’t know exactly what it was that Nie Huaisang had ordered that had caused such a stir – and went back to sleep.

He woke up the third time to the sounds of a guqin.

He’d always been slow to wake from an induced sleep, and this time was no different – his body was heavy, confining, and it was a long time before he managed to open his eyes. A half-shichen at least, and yet the guqin continued steadfastly onwards.

So by the time he did manage to open his eyes, the first words out of Nie Mingjue’s mouth were, “Wangji, please stop making a racket.”

The sound of the guqin paused.

Nie Mingjue turned his head to look at him. Lan Wangji looked better than he had the last time he’d seen him, in that horrible mixture of nightmare and reality that had been their flight from the Cloud Recesses and the terrible strain of flying all the way to Qinghe in a single night.  If either of them had been lesser cultivators, they wouldn’t have been able to manage it; even at their level, it was considered highly unwise, and they had known that they were spending life energy rather than spiritual qi to buy them the strength they needed.

At least it had been late enough that both children, initially excited by all the rushing around involved in their escape, had quickly lapsed back into sleep instead of descending to tears.

Still, better was a low bar. By the end of their flight, Lan Wangji had had blood soaking through his white robes, his eye locked on the horizon and unable to focus on anything nearer, his entire body wracked with occasional shudders – if he’d been anyone else, he would have been screaming.

He still look pale and bloodless, his eyes hunted and guilty and tired, stark white bandages visible beneath the pale (but not white) robes that looked like something Nie Huaisang had once owned, but he didn’t look about to expire, so Nie Mingjue would take that as a victory.

“I would have thought,” Lan Wangji said carefully, laying his hands on the guqin chords to stop the sound, “that you would prefer that it not be silent.”

“There’s silence and then there’s silence,” Nie Mingjue said, trying to shrug and abruptly realizing that that was a bad idea. His shoulders and neck and back all hurt – possibly he’d dislocated something in trying to get out of that horrible room. Probably, even. “Not wanting to be locked in a room designed to be as close to nothingness as possible doesn’t necessarily mean that I don’t want some peace and quiet once in a while…I shouldn’t have called your playing a racket. It’s very good. There was just a lot of it.”

Lan Wangji blinked, then shook his head. “I do not take offense,” he said, simply enough that Nie Mingjue believed him. “It is a surprise that you think the way you do about silence, even now. I myself have been…struggling, with the concept.”

“It’s very loud here,” Nie Mingjue said knowingly, and Lan Wangji averted his eyes. “It’s all right if you don’t like it that much, you know. Has Huaisang talked with you about the options for soundproofing?”

“He has,” Lan Wangji said. “I have not yet accepted.”

“Why not?”

“It feels –” he hesitated. “Like a step backwards. My Lan sect has always valued silence, quiet – not just valued, but imposed, even on those for whom it is not appropriate.”

Like you, he meant, or maybe he was thinking about little Lan Jingyi, the orphan he’d stolen away from his own sect – truly stolen, since unlike little Lan Sizhui Lan Wangji had no guardianship rights over him to justify taking him away.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t objected to it, figuring that it didn’t make much difference to the amount of scandal he would undoubtedly causse whether he had taken away one child or two when he convinced the Second Jade of Lan to abandon his ‘seclusion’ in favor of refuge at the Unclean Realm. Anyway, if Lan Wangji had concluded that it would be better for the child to leave, then it probably was – Nie Mingjue trusted his judgment.

Just like you trusted Lan Xichen’s?

“Each sect has a different cultivation style,” he said, deciding not to think about that right now. “With both strengths and weaknesses. My Nie sect has a martial style, aggressive and overpowering; your Lan sect, although it still follows the orthodoxy of sword cultivation, focuses on contemplation, thoughtfulness, and, yes, quiet. Who is to say which is better than the other? They’re just different.”

Lan Wangji was frowning.

“Sometimes I think Wen Mao made a mistake when he abandoned sects based on preference and style in favor of raising up his clan,” Nie Mingjue confessed. “And your ancestors and mine, too, in following his lead. Look at Huaisang – to cultivate a saber is his heritage, his birthright and his duty to our bloodline, and so he must do so despite being clearly unsuited for it.” He paused, then sighed. “Not that he’s all that suitable for anything else, either.”

Lan Wangji shot him a quelling look, disapproving, but in the sort of way that Lans had when they were amused by you.

“Still, we’re all cultivators, each of us fighting against fate,” Nie Mingjue continued. “While we must be guided by our traditions, we must also each find the path that suits us best. You’ve always enjoyed the quiet, Wangji; you welcome peace, prefer order, thrive within the confines of your sect’s rules. Finding the point at which you and your traditions part ways does not mean that you are morally obligated to give up everything about them.”

“Not even when those traditions have caused so much harm?”

“Even so,” Nie Mingjue said firmly. “We’re all on a path, and in choosing to take a new turn, you are not disregarding the past, but adding your wisdom to that of those who came before you. I made changes to my Nie sect’s cultivation style once I became sect leader, just as my father did before me; my brother will make still more when he takes the position after I go. Each of my Nie sect disciples practices the Nie sect style, but each one takes it and makes it their own. Keep what helps, discard what hurts.”

“But in this case, is it not the very same thing?” Lan Wangji asked. His brow was still furrowed, the matter clearly one of great concern to him. “I have always turned to the quiet for comfort and strength, sought seclusion to temper myself and test myself, and yet – in the absence of all noise– I found myself slowly going mad, locked away and alone. You yourself nearly died from it. What lesson can I take from this, if not that the quiet is evil?”

“You can take the lesson that too much quiet can be an evil, in the same way too much medicine can be a poison,” Nie Mingjue said. “I might hate your jingshi, since it doesn’t suit me, but I’m given to understand that it often helps, too. It brings peace to cultivators who are tormented by a mind full of thoughts they cannot quiet and helps them fight the demons in their hearts, it allows those who are too connected to the world to tear themselves away. It was built for a purpose.”

“It was,” Lan Wangji said. “A purpose it has now betrayed.”

Nie Mingjue didn’t have anything to say about that. He’d once told Lan Xichen that he thought his sect’s practice of introducing children to that place until they learned quiet whether they liked it or not was inhumane and cruel, and Lan Xichen – in a rare moment of sarcasm – had asked him if teaching them to cultivate a saber spirit that would eventually consume their minds with rage was somehow meant to be morally superior.  

To each their own faults, he supposed. Perhaps the next generation would do better.

(He found himself thinking things like that a great deal, these days. He was only in his twenties, and yet his thoughts resembled an old man’s – the feeling of death stalking his footsteps, the day nearly done, his legacy a book that seemed to be nearly completed.

That had been what had driven him to stop his sessions of Clarity with Jin Guangyao, in fact. He’d been reviewing a plan for renovating the western courtyards of the Unclean Realm as part of a long-term plan to get more air and light in there and he’d found himself thinking I probably won’t be here to see this completed, and that had been when he’d realized that it was time to start seriously planning for succession.)

“Perhaps it is the conflation of different things,” Lan Wangji mused, more to himself than anyone else. “The quiet, being alone, loneliness…and yet you can have quiet without being alone, you can be alone without being lonely, you can be lonely without quiet. A balance between disconnecting from the world and connecting with other people.”

That sounded like poetry, and Nie Mingjue could see Lan Wangji’s fingers twitch towards the guqin – he’d probably been inspired.

Nie Mingjue sighed and put his hand over his eyes. His father had told him that being an elder brother meant a life of sacrifice, and he’d been right. “All right,” he said. “Go ahead and play something. I know you want to.”

Lan Wangji was silent for a few long moments, and then his fingers began to move, the too-familiar sound of the Song of Clarity rising up to fill Nie Mingjue’s ears.

“I didn’t mean for me,” Nie Mingjue clarified, rolling his eyes while his hand was still hiding them. The Lan were always so earnest. “I’m not even meditating right now, Wangji. Don’t waste your effort.”

Lan Wangji’s fingers stilled briefly, then continued.

“Chifeng-zun –”

Nie Mingjue pulled his hand away long enough to give Lan Wangji a stern look – he’d already told him several times to refer to him more casually, and however long or short his stay at the Unclean Realm was, if they were going to endure a scandal together, he was simply going to have to adjust to their ways.

Lan Wangji looked long-suffering.

“Mingjue-xiong,” he conceded, and Nie Mingjue nodded, pleased. “Please pay close attention to my playing. Identify if there are any differences between my rendition and –”

“Wangji,” Nie Mingjue interrupted, feeling pained at the very thought. “I can’t.”

Lan Wangji frowned at him, his eyes showing distress.

Nie Mingjue felt guilty at once, and exhaled a sigh. “Wangji, you know I don’t cultivate with music,” he said. “It’s all just interminable plucking to me.”

Lan Wangji’s eyebrows shot up. “Plucking?” he echoed, and Nie Mingjue winced – he’d probably shocked poor Lan Wangji’s conscience. “Mingjue-xiong…you really don’t like music, do you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Nie Mingjue confessed. “I can more or less follow a beat or rhythm, and military calls are fine no matter what instrument is involved, but the rest is all a mess of pointless noise. I can’t tell if the notes are high or low, which ones go before the others, and apparently there are different tones in music as there are in speech? Except in music, certain of them apparently sporadically considered bad, in a variety of different and exciting ways, sometimes but not others, none of which make the slightest difference – ”

He stopped talking on account of Lan Wangji having started to make an unusual hiccupping sound.

Nie Mingjue squinted. Was Lan Wangji…laughing?

If so, he was sorely out of practice. Though now that he thought it, that seemed to make some sense.

“Forgive me,” Lan Wangji said, shoulders shaking – he’d stopped making audible noise, but he was evidently still suffering from an attack of hilarity. “You speak so well, Mingjue-xiong; I had not realized that you suffered from amusia.” He saw Nie Mingjue’s frown of confusion and clarified, “Tone-deafness.”

“I say so all the time!”

“I had incorrectly assumed, as I suspect many have, that you were using the term colloquially,” Lan Wangji said. “How do you fight alongside my brother? I have seen you do so flawlessly, without any impediment, even when he wields Liebing.”

“I can follow along with what he’s doing with his qi,” Nie Mingjue said. “We have been close for so many years, and his spiritual energy is as familiar to me as my own –”

Lan Wangji flinched.

Nie Mingjue stopped talking.

His heart was heavy in his chest, weighed down with feeling, all those things he’d been so carefully not thinking about suddenly stifling him. Lan Xichen, his childhood friend, his lover, his beloved…

He’d hurt him.

Nie Mingjue couldn’t bring himself to believe that the act had been intentional or malicious, not even when Lan Wangji’s arrival made painfully clear that Lan Xichen hadn’t even bothered to supervise him. It simply wasn’t in Lan Xichen’s nature to do such an underhanded thing –

(You once thought Meng Yao wouldn’t do that sort of thing, either. Do you make a habit of blindness?)

He had known Lan Xichen for such a long time, though. If he didn’t know him, both virtues and faults, what person existed that he could say he understood?

No, Lan Xichen must have been trying to help him, not hurt him. And yet – regardless of his intent – he had.

He had hurt him very badly.

Lan Xichen hadn’t listened to him, had ignored him, disregarded him – Nie Mingjue had been as clear as he could be about how he felt about the quiet room. Perhaps he hadn’t told Lan Xichen about his youthful attempt to see if he could handle it, at first out of simply not wanting to appear weak in front of his lover, but later out of (admittedly petty) principle: shouldn’t his ‘no’ be enough? Shouldn’t Lan Xichen have trusted him?

He hadn’t.

He’d trusted Jin Guangyao instead.

Jin Guangyao with his smiles and slippery manner, with his so-believable excuses and always-present rationalizations, always the victim in every exchange they had – Lan Xichen always went to comfort him first after they had another one of their arguments, Nie Mingjue recalled abruptly. He’d called him on it once, in his anger, but Lan Xichen had explained that he knew how strong Nie Mingjue was, how resilient, and that his “A-Yao” needed his sympathy more.

Nie Mingjue hadn’t thought much of it at the time. He was resilient, and anyway he knew how frightening his rages could be; he’d thought perhaps that Lan Xichen simply wanted the excuse to be elsewhere until he’d had a chance to calm down.

He’d rationalized a lot of things. Maybe too many. But this?

This was too much.

“Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Wangji said hesitantly. “About – about my brother…”

Nie Mingjue grimaced, and Lan Wangji felt silent once more.

Nie Mingjue’s heart cried out for his lover, the kind and gentle man who might be a little too reluctant to express himself, a little prone to going with the will of the majority to avoid confrontation, a little inclined to panic at the thought of disappointing people, but whose faults only made him the more human, the more loveable.

But Nie Mingjue had slept, and slept well, and even if his heart was still tangled, his mind was now clear.

“I have long thought,” he said carefully, painfully cognizant of the fact that Lan Wangji was Lan Xichen’s younger brother, “that fate had arranged for your brother and I to meet, and that we would live the rest of our lives intertwined, our hears and minds filled with thoughts of one another. But it seems to me now that that was perhaps – not our destiny.”

“My brother has wronged you,” Lan Wangji said solemnly.

“I still believe his intent was good,” Nie Mingjue assured him earnestly. “Your brother has – more reason than most, I think, to resent my intransigence on matters of my health, and to suspect – to suspect –”

He stopped, swallowed. He had long been (politely) termed to be a straightforward man; it was not in his character to stutter over his speech, to be unable to say the unvarnished truth no matter how painful. Even if it was his lover who was causing him such pain.

“Wangji,” he said instead, and Lan Wangji looked at him. “You know that my family – does not live long lives.”

Lan Wangji nodded.

“It is not uncommon,” he said carefully, “for those in my family to begin to show signs of decline before the end. A certain rigidity of thought –”

“You are not so far down that path that your thinking has become impaired,” Lan Wangji said abruptly, his voice unexpectedly fierce. “Moreover, your refusal was not new, but consistent with your prior thoughts, your opinion expressed repeatedly and consistently. Do not make excuses for him.”

Nie Mingjue was a little surprised, having expected Lan Wangji to defend his brother, but then he recalled the matter of those thirty-three marks marring Lan Wangji’s back. Even if Lan Wangji’s conduct had been wrong, it had been motivated by love, and at any rate the others in the Lan sect had not died – no one had died, except for Wei Wuxian, and Lan Wangji had only been able to offer his beloved the succor of his presence for a short time before he returned to submit himself to punishment.

Impulsive, hot-headed, passionate – it might not be the actions of a Lan, but, as a Nie, Nie Mingjue found his sympathies lay with Lan Wangji in this matter. Yes, he had defended a murderer from being torn apart by the hands of his victims, and Nie Mingjue would not say that he did not think it was necessary for Wei Wuxian to die, but even those that had been duly tried and sentenced to the worst capital punishment might still be allowed the mercy of a good meal and the touch of their lover’s hand before they were executed, and a bit of disobedience against one’s elders was to be expected in any love affair.  

Was fending off a few old men to buy a few shichen of love before its premature end really worth a punishment that would have crippled anyone weaker?

“Actions matter more than intent,” he agreed, wondering how he could convey his thoughts on the subject without being offensive to the Lan sect, “but that doesn’t make intent meaningless. To act from love and affection is still better than for – other reasons.”

He wasn’t sure Lan Wangji had understood his meaning: the other man only lowered his eyes.

Nie Mingjue’s mind reluctantly returned to his own troubles.

“I’ll speak with Xichen,” he decided, even though he knew it was probably a bad idea. Lan Xichen’s conduct, however it was meant, could be understood as having brought him to the very precipice of death – enough justification to start a war, given that Nie Mingjue was a sect leader. Their respective positions meant that a disagreement between them could never be simply personal, but was also political; if Nie Mingjue allowed his soft heart to convince him to forgive Lan Xichen, he would be setting a poor standard for the future. “He can explain what he was thinking. If I find his explanation unsatisfactory, I will – tell him what I told you.”

Nie Mingjue was blunt and direct, sparing no one – not even himself – but he was not so cold as to be able to cut off a relationship that already spanned the majority of his life sign unseen. He would give Lan Xichen one chance to salvage things between them, to be shocked into sobriety by the extent of how things had gotten out of hand, to genuinely apologize –

“I think,” Lan Wangji said, very slowly, eyes still locked on the floor as if there was something fascinating there, “that brother’s explanation may omit that he was distracted by his other lover.”

Nie Mingjue’s heart froze in his chest.

“Other – lover?” he said dumbly. Lan Wangji refused to look at him. “Wangji – are you saying – Xichen has..?”

Lan Xichen wouldn’t. Surely he wouldn’t.

“Lianfeng-zun has told him lies, and Brother accepted them without verification,” Lan Wangji said, and his voice was bitter. “I believe that he feared confronting you on the subject of a man he knew you disliked, and also saw an opportunity to obtain his heart’s desire – to not give up anything and yet gain something he wanted. And Lianfeng-zun is known to be skilled in anticipating people’s desires.”

Nie Mingjue stared at the ceiling in a daze, his mind whirling.

So many little things suddenly made a belated sort of sense.

The way Lan Xichen seemed so certain that all the troubles between them were only temporary, the way that he entreated Nie Mingjue to think kindly of Jin Guangyao as if there was a stronger bond between them than a lost former friendship and a new sworn brotherhood. The way Jin Guangyao acted more intimately with Nie Mingjue whenever Lan Xichen was present, only to return to a more professional remove once they were alone – he’d assumed that was because Jin Guangyao knew that Lan Xichen would protect him if Nie Mingjue got annoyed with him for such familiarities and that Nie Mingjue would not want to upset his beloved by scolding over something so minor.

But if, for instance, Jin Guangyao had told Lan Xichen that they had been lovers once, those public intimacies, and Lan Xichen’s joy in them, all suddenly took on a new flavor –

Surely Lan Xichen knew that Nie Mingjue would never have done that to him?

Skilled in anticipating people’s desires.

Nie Mingjue had noticed Lan Xichen’s fondness for Jin Guangyao from the first, back when Jin Guangyao had been only Meng Yao, and he’d known that Meng Yao had respected and even revered the beautiful, powerful, and chivalrous Zewu-jun. He’d been pleased when they’d become friends, hadn’t minded the occasional light flirtation – he’d been so certain that nothing would come of it, trusted in Lan Xichen’s morality and their love. He himself was not skilled in wordplay the way they were, nor as sensitive to the subtle changes in a conversation, preferring to stay silent rather than risk mis-stepping, a habit formed of too much responsibility and exposure to politics at too early an age. Why shouldn’t Lan Xichen get to enjoy the cut and thrust of charming, clever conversation with an expert at the art?

They had all been friends back then. Nie Mingjue had been so proud of his prized deputy, and pleased beyond measure that Lan Xichen liked him as well; Nie Mingjue had so few friends that the addition of another one was something he treasured. Even if Lan Xichen’s good sense had surely told him that such betrayal was impossible, given Nie Mingjue’s character, he might still in his reckless desires allow himself to be intoxicated by his affections and believe it for just a little while – just long enough to taste Jin Guangyao’s lips, perhaps.

That’d be enough.

Nie Mingjue knew Lan Xichen well; he knew his lover’s faults as well as he knew his virtues. If Lan Xichen had allowed himself to act foolishly for a moment, he would have panicked at the thought of coming to terms with it, and Jin Guangyao was so good at soothing his panic. Too good: where Nie Mingjue, in his harshness, had always advised revisiting mistakes and learning from them, no matter how difficult the process, Jin Guangyao would always recommend being kind to oneself, taking care of oneself, avoiding the pain that came with tackling one’s flaws and erroneous self-conceptions head-on.

Too much care for the self would eventually mean not enough care for others, Nie Mingjue had always thought, rolling his eyes whenever Jin Guangyao earnestly held forth on his views. But Lan Xichen had liked it – and why wouldn’t he? It was easier to put yourself first, to refuse to admit mistakes were mistakes, to rationalize events until you were always the victim and everyone else wrong. It meant you didn’t have to confront your own capacity for cruelty and selfishness, could conceive of yourself as always virtuous and always good and always right.

Right, rather than righteous.

Justified, rather than just.

The way Jin Guangyao always did.

Yes, Lan Xichen might allow himself to kiss Jin Guangyao, or more if Jin Guangyao pushed his advantage – which he would, Nie Mingjue had no doubt of that – and then, after the fog of lust had cleared, Lan Xichen would realize that he’d have to confess the entire thing to Nie Mingjue.

An emotional confrontation of the sort he hated most.

And then, of course, just as Lan Xichen was most upset and vulnerable, Jin Guangyao would offer him a way out – a way for Lan Xichen to continue to see himself as a good person who had done no wrong, who didn’t need confront anything – a way to get a new love alongside the old, to have Jin Guangyao’s clever speech and gentle care while not losing Nie Mingjue’s steadfast affection and support.

It was not uncommon in their times for a man to have more than one wife and entirely possible for him to love them both equally; the idea of a triad was not so strange. But Lan Xichen should have asked.

He didn’t.

He didn’t ask because some part of him knew that the answer would be no, and, just as he had with the quiet room, that was not an answer he wished to accept.

And that…that was not something that could be blamed on Jin Guangyao, as much as Nie Mingjue would prefer to do so.

That was all Lan Xichen.

Lan Xichen...how could you do this to me?

Nie Mingjue closed his eyes in pain. It felt as if all the air had been knocked out of him, like a really good punch might do - he felt hollow, weightless, disconnected, as if he had been struck by a blow that had shattered his bones and he was drifting in that blank space in the moment after the blow landed but before the pain reached his brain.

The full weight of the revelation would hit, eventually. He would feel it all, eventually.

“I see,” he said, and he did. Lan Wangji was upset over it in a way that suggested that he had only recently learned the truth. Given the speed of their travel, that meant he must have discovered it while conversing with Nie Huaisang – and that was another problem, because Nie Huaisang was their father’s son just as Nie Mingjue was, and nothing sparked their rage more than an offense against a loved one. “Thank you for telling me.”

“It is what I should do.”

Nie Mingjue nodded, his throat tight, his chest dull as if there was a knot where his heart had been - yes, he would need some time to deal with this.

“Huaisang is managing well?” he asked, not quite able to bring himself to actually ask for a little more time before he had to return to being the stern and untouchable sect leader, before he had to once again take on the mantle of power and make all the decisions – to force himself to react as a politician rather than a betrayed lover. It would be disgraceful to give into such weakness.

“He is,” Lan Wangji said. “He has given orders that you may not leave your room until the end of the week at the earliest, so as to remind the disciples of the benefit of rest following an injury.”

Nie Mingjue loved his brother.

“Very well,” he said, and decided not to ask about what Nie Huaisang might or might not have gotten into over the last day or so that had led some disciples to think they needed to disturb his rest in order to tell him. It didn’t really matter. They needed to adjust to taking Nie Huaisang’s orders as if he was sect leader in truth – especially if Nie Mingjue’s health continued to deteriorate…

He didn’t have time to think too much on that before Lan Wangji spoke again, saying, “Even if you do not understand music, you can follow the emanations of qi from an instrument, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Nie Mingjue said, a little puzzled by the sudden shift in conversation but deeply relieved to have something to think about - anything, really, as long as it wasn’t the brutal feeling of his heart being torn to shreds within his chest.

“So if I were to utilize musical cultivation, you might be able to determine if I were using the same patterns as you had heard others use?”

“I suppose so,” Nie Mingjue said. It would be extremely irritating to have to pay attention to such small ebbs and flows, especially when he was also trying to meditate and draw the qi into himself for the fullest effect, but he was familiar enough with Clarity by now that he probably could if he really had to. “But why?”

“A suspicion,” Lan Wangji said. “Nie Huaisang has pointed out that Lianfeng-zun’s actions in connection to my brother are suggestive of malice against you, his actions in convincing my brother to lock you into the jingshi doubly so, and yet he comes to visit you regularly, purportedly to improve your health.”

Purportedly.

Nie Mingjue grimaced again, but this time it was with anger at himself – because the suggestion did not shock him the way the information about Lan Xichen had. Meng Yao, Meng Yao, he thought, I wish I didn’t believe this of you. I extended my trust to you twice over, and each time you have disappointed me…it’s my own fault, I suppose, for being arrogant enough to think I could change you.

“Thank you, Wangji,” he said, suddenly tired. “I understand your implication, and we will of course need to examine whether it is correct. But not today.”

“Of course,” Lan Wangji said, and stood up. “I will take my leave and go tell Nie Huaisang to move me into one of the soundproofed rooms. I require time to contemplate the subject of quiet.”

That made Nie Mingjue want to smile, though he couldn’t quite manage it, still twisted by all the revelations that had relentlessly pounded against him since he had awoken. “Good,” he said instead, turning to nod at Lan Wangji in approval. “I hope your meditation on the subject is fruitful.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji agreed. “As you said, I must find my own path, be guided by tradition but not unduly restricted by it. But there is one point in what you said that was incorrect.”

“Oh?”

“You said that I should not, without consideration, throw out my sect’s traditions,” Lan Wangji said, and he was standing stiffly, at attention, with his face as serious as it ever got. “But at the moment, it is not my sect. You have given me permission to stay here, and I intend to do so.”

Nie Mingjue’s first thought was oh that’s going to have some serious political implications, followed immediately by I guess I did do that didn’t I and someone is going to wring my throat over this, probably Huaisang, but very shortly thereafter with if this is what he needs then so be it.

Still, he could do nothing but watch, stunned, as Lan Wangji lifted his hands to his forehead and very deliberately removed the forehead ribbon that marked him as a member of the Lan sect – the symbol of his family, the symbol of his restraint, which he would normally have never allowed another person outside his family to see him without – and, just as deliberately, wrapped it around Nie Mingjue’s wrist.

“I would ask that you keep this for me, Mingjue-xiong,” Lan Wangji said, and his tone when he said Nie Mingjue’s name was the same as when he called Lan Xichen brother. “Until such time as I decide to reclaim it as my own, or discard it forever.”

“Of course,” Nie Mingjue said, his voice a little faint from shock. “Whatever you need, Wangji.”

Lan Wangji looked at him, grateful, and saluted deeply before leaving.

Nie Mingjue lay back down on the bed and stared at his wrist for a long moment.

This is going to have some serious political implications, he thought a second time. And Lan Xichen won’t ever forgive me for stealing away his little brother.

A moment later, he shook his head at his own foolishness. Lan Xichen had made his choices.

Now he would have to pay for them.

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Never Mess With a School Teacher

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Collection/Series: Western AU- Putting Down Roots

Pairing: Sheriff Din Djarin x Female Teacher Reader

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Rating: M 

Warnings: Violence, oh my god, the violence. Also swearing, derogatory language. Threat of violence towards kids, but no actual violence, all violence is actually centred on the adults. 

Summary: He curses himself for getting so complacent, soft, it shouldn’t be this hard to chase down a thief. The thief should never even have made it to the steps of the schoolhouse, let alone inside. Luckily for your kids, an angry school teacher is worse than a pissed off sheriff. 

Notes: Someone said they wanted angst...well, I have delivered angst and fluff, hurt and comfort in one piece. 

Archiveofourown

Generally speaking Din’s job as sheriff had been pretty quiet and tame. An easy job. Navarro did not get a lot of crime and generally speaking the only people in his cells were the few regulars at the saloon who always got a little bit too indulgent with their alcohol and then started fighting over whichever girl they’d both decided they wanted that night. He hadn’t dealt with a murder, rape or assault his whole time here. He hadn’t dealt with major crime, not even horse theft. His life had become relatively...domestic and safe, compared to his previous. He’d gone from hunting down some of the most dangerous criminals around to simply wrangling a couple of drunks on a night and the occasional robber who tried his hand at a petty crime. 

He liked to think he was a competent sheriff, that part of the reason for the quiet was that he was just that good, the truth was in a small mining town nothing much happened. So he’d never had to worry, not about Grogu or about you or about the little ones you taught or any member of town. You were as safe as you could be. Navarro was probably one of the safest places around, it made his job as sheriff a damn sight easier that’s for sure. 

“Osik! Kolar! Get over here!” Which is why he’s feeling a little more winded than he used to when he runs through the centre of town after a lousy thief waving a gun in one hand and a bag of stolen credits from the mayor’s office in the other. He can feel a stitch pulling in his side and his knees don’t feel like they used to. 

He hasn’t had to run like this in a couple months, not since moving into town and perhaps he should have been going on daily runs because he’s feeling his age all of sudden. It shouldn’t be this hard to catch up to the guy, he’s not even that fast and he runs like a donkey’s shebs, all arms flailing about and no sense of his own centre of gravity. If he could just reach him then he’d be easy to tackle to the ground. Din was at least twice his size and even with that damn cattleman revolver being waved about he’d be easy to take on. But, of course Din’s getting old and of course he’s been complacent, not been working himself as hard as he should have been. Of course he feels like he’s about to bust a lung just from running for 5 minutes. He feels older than his years all of a sudden and can’t understand how he used to chance criminals down all the time with success.

He pushes his legs even harder when he realises the direction the thief is going in, “Haar’chak!” He hasn’t sworn this much in months, but he recognises the path towards the school and it’s the middle of the day. School is in session and he wants to just grab the guy before he causes more trouble. He has images of you standing at the front of class, radiant and warm, turning to fear as the man storms in. The thought makes him try harder.

“Get you’re fucking no good ass back here! Boy, don’t make me shoot you!” He’s reaching for his gun at about the same time as the schoolhouse comes into view and Din can feel all the blood draining from his face, fear gripping his heart tighter than any lasso at the thought that you’re in there, the little ones are in there and this di’kut is about to go storming in with a goddamn gun.

“I said don’t make me shoot you!” He’s got the gun out now, his trusty pistol, not his preferred rifle, but he’d left that in the sheriff’s office in a rush after hearing yelling and a commotion he wasn’t used to. He’s never leaving it behind again he decides, this has been a wake-up call, he’s gotten lazy, complacent, too soft. This town has damn near domesticated him. He needs to keep himself in shape and his wits about him if he wants to be a decent sheriff. Maybe he’ll telegram Cara, get her to come back him up as deputy or Paz, whichever wants the quiet town life more. 

He hesitates because of his recent domestication, his increased softness of heart...because if he shoots he’ll put a bullet in your schoolhouse and he knows it could go straight through, could hit one of you inside. But, mostly because he knows how much you care about that damn schoolhouse and he can’t bring it in him to damage it knowing you’d be devastated. Paz would laugh at him if he saw him now, tell him he needed to pull his trousers up and get on with the job. He’s never been very good at that. He curses kicking a rock nearby as the thief runs straight through the schoolhouse door with you inside. 

He’s panicking, he can feel it well in his chest, clutching at his throat and he’s not sure what to do. If he storms in it’ll be a mess, little kids and you, all at risk, but if he stays outside he can’t do a damned thing. He can’t begin to imagine how you’re feeling in there, probably panicking, the kids are probably scared, that’s soon confirmed by the terrified little screams he can hear. There’s a panic inside and it just swells his own until he feels like he’s choking. 

“Come out! Leave them the hell alone, boy! Do not test me!” They’re empty words because he can’t do a damned thing, but if that thief lays a hand on any of you he isn’t going to bring him in warm, he’ll be in a jail cell, cold, waiting for the coroner to come and collect him. That he’s certain of, a single hair out of place, a single bruise or mark and that man won’t be breathing for much longer. 

                                                   --------------------

“It’s a well known fact that we’re all acted upon by a force we call gravity! Now gravity-” The door to the school slams open with a supreme force that shocks you so hard that you jump from your place at the front of the class, chalk falling from your hand in a perfect demonstration of the force you’d been discussing. The children react in an instant, jumping from their feet then all clamour towards you like a stampede of panicked animals and it is all you can do in that moment to grab the yardstick you use in mathematics and occasionally in science and hide it behind you. 

He’s wild looking, the man who storms into your school. Bulging big eyes roaming over the lot of you with a snarl, almost foaming at the mouth with aggressive energy, gun clenched tightly in one hand. He’s red in the face, huffing and puffing from running from god knows where. You can hear Din outside, he’s cursing and blinding, you can hear the panic, you can taste your own on the back of your tongue like a sour candy, like cough candy, the ones your father used to love and you used to hate so desperately. 

“Now, sir, I-”

“Shut up!” It’s in this moment you realise that you cannot deescalate this situation, this man is like a wild dog, he is ready to bite at the slightest sound or provocation and the children are your main concern.

Panic gives way to anger, that bitter resolve, that feeling of indignation at this man’s brazen act. That he felt he could come into your domain, your space, that he could threaten you and your children. That he could point a gun in their direction. It’s the gun that angers you the most, it’s not pointed at you, like any sane person would do, it’s not pointed at the one adult in the room, but at Jerome who is shaking so hard you can hear his teeth clattering together. He’s barely a boy of fourteen, not a threat in the slightest. 

You wait, wait as he takes steps closer and closer, drown out the sound of Din’s panic outside, drown out the sounds of your own children, the adrenaline making you feel like your skin is buzzing, like you’ve touched an electric circuit, but there’s no electricity in the schoolhouse at all. You’re shaking, that’s just how much energy is buzzing within you, you’re shaking like a leaf on a windy November day and you can’t physically contain it, stop it. 

When he’s mere feet from you, you lift your chin defiant and angry, mouth opening in a tirade of angry words, as you rush forward in what you’re sure would be a stupid act if you weren’t so desperate for him to ignore the children and focus on you. 

“How dare you come into my school and threaten my children!” It’s almost a scream, you’re so angry, so scared, that you don’t even think when you pull the yardstick from behind your back and swing with both hands for the hand holding the gun. It connects and for a moment he fumbles, you’re sure the gun will fall from his hands, but he catches it at the last second.

His hand comes up, “You bitch!” and clocks you across the face with the butt of his gun. One hit, hard enough for your ears to start ringing. You can feel blood drip from your lip which stings as it splits itself open, your teeth clatter together and by some miracle you stay on your feet, swaying back and forth. The children have begun to cry behind you and you can hear the sounds of roaring anger from outside. Din’s voice, clamouring louder than you’ve ever heard it. 

“You lay a hand on her and you’ll wish you never came to this town!” It’s too late for that you think, he’s already laid that hand and if Din doesn’t get to him first you’re determined to deal your own blows. 

The yardstick is ripped from your palms and you’re sure for a moment that he’ll simply throw it away, out of reach but he doesn’t. Whatever anger he is feeling boils over and the slab of wood hits you in the stomach, the ribs, the back. A hit to the face has your nose bleeding, your jaw feels like it might be broken and your only thought is ‘stay up, stay standing’. Your only relief is that the attention is on you now and not the children. 

“Nar’sheb!” You spit it out, the pronunciation is awful, but the one insult that Din had taught you tumbles from your lips, hoping to keep his attention on you, hoping the provocation gives Din some time to think, to plan. Even, if you feel like he might actually kill you, like he’s capable of it. 

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” 

“I said shove it, you filthy nerfherder!” It’s enough of a push for him to grab you by the front of your blouse and pull you forward, one arm coming underneath your neck, hand gripping your jaw painfully tight, especially with how broken it already feels, no doubt his fingers are going to leave bruises, while the gun is pressed to your temple. 

The fear comes back in full force this time as you hear the children crying louder at seeing you being abused, seeing a gun to your head. But you know you have to be strong because they are your children and you have to protect them, that’s your job, it’s your duty. So you’re almost relieved when he spits at you.

“Let’s go see that sheriff of yours, huh? He seems mighty concerned for you.” It relieves you because you’re beginning to move inch by inch towards the door and you know the older kids will take the younger ones out the back door, usher them quietly out of the schoolhouse and to somewhere safe. You can breathe easy because even if you die today those children are going to be safe, you’ll have done your job. The most important one. Keeping them safe. 

He sees you first, you’re blinded by the light blinking at the midday sun, but, Din? He can see you clear and bright and he has never been so angry in all his life. Your lip is busted open, blood running down your chin, staining your white blouse, there are bruises over your jaw, your nose is leaking more red and he can see by the way you carry yourself that your ribs hurt. The thief’s dirty hands are on you, one clutching your jaw so tight that he can see the indentations his fingers make even from a distance away, the other holding that damn cattleman revolver to your head. It makes him want to beat the guy black and blue, forgoing guns, just give him his bare hands and he’ll ring the guy's neck. Just let him go absolutely feral on the man, let him tear him apart. Din clenches his hand tighter around his gun, the other tightening into a fist, he widens his stance. If it is to be a fight then that’s fine, so long as you’re not in the middle of it. 

He looks scared. That’s the first thing you think when you see Din. He looks scared and angry, his gun is pointed but you know he won’t trust himself to shoot it, his brow furrowed, wet eyes, and teeth biting into his lip hard enough to bleed. He looks raging and scared and wild. This is a side of Din you have never seen, you are so used to the calm, the quiet, gentle Din. But, this Din doesn’t scare you, it fuels your fire again, that this man would make Din feel like that, that he would make this kind man scared and angry. You can feel that rage welling up, shaking you physically. He thinks you’re scared, you can tell by the laugh and little comment ‘oh don’t be scared now’, that he whispers into your ear, his breath hot against your skin, making you shy away in disgust. It crawls over your skin in a most unpleasant way. 

“Now, Sheriff, i’m going to make you an offer that I wouldn’t refuse, not if you want this pretty little thing to come out in one piece that is.” That name angers you even more, how dare he condescend you, how dare he call you that, it’s worse than being called a bitch or a cunt or any other number of derogatory names. 

You don’t even give him the chance to make his offer. You slam the pointed heel of your boot into his foot, hard as you can, before bringing an elbow back into his stomach and using what little you know about the centre of gravity to off balance him and shift him over your head and in front of you. The gun goes flying and your hands reach for the heavy metal pail you keep in front of the school house for collecting water, thanking God that you’d decided a cast iron one would do better than tin as you heft it over your head and across his face with a ringing smash and a crunch of bones. 

You stand over him, chest heaving, “You come near my children again and I will kill you, do you hear me! I’ll show you what a pretty little thing like me can do, sir!” For good measure your swing the pail down again, the man groans and far from being disgusted with your show of violence, you feel better than you have all week at knowing the threat has been dealt with.

You look up breathing heavy, blood dripping from your lip to see the children had made it outside, watching you with wide eyes, almost as wide as Din’s, but not quite. The gun is slack in his hand and he is watching you with a heat you’ve never seen before, it makes you swallow hard.

Din’s sure he’s in love. That’s what he thinks it feels like as he watches you, your chest heaving in anger, your features twisted from their usual soft and delicate countenance. This is love, this feeling like you’ve reached into his chest and grabbed his heart in your bare hand. You are the picture of a mother bear protecting her cubs and that part of him that is deeply Mandalorian cries out for you, cries out to grab you and hold you close. You are in that moment more Mandalorian than he is, mandokarla in every sense of the word. You have the spirit of a true mandalorian, the spirit of a mother, strong, brave, prepared to do what needs to be done. Undefeated. The man beneath your feet groans and it spurs him to action. 

Pulling handcuffs from the back of his belt, Din closes the gap between himself and the thief. He’s rough as he rolls the man onto his front, pulling his arms far behind his back and locking them together. He knows he’s rougher than he needs to be, but the man’s lucky. Lucky that he can’t bring himself to hurt him more with you stood there. 

“You’re lucky I don’t put a bullet in your head right now, osi’kovid. I should kill you for what you’ve done.” He means it too, he wants to just do it, but he knows it’s not right. Not when the man is incapacitated, unable to defend himself. Not when the little ones are watching on, many of their parents having made their way through town at the sound of the disturbance, clutching at the little ones with relief and shock. 

“Then why don’t you, big bad sheriff?” Din hauls him to his feet roughly, presses his mouth close to the thief’s ear not wanting the others to hear him.

“The only thing keeping you alive right now is the woman standing in front of you. If she wasn’t here I'd tear you limb from limb. You’re lucky she’s there.” He means it too. He won’t hurt him, not like this, because he knows you wouldn’t approve, because he knows no matter how angry you are you’d never be okay with him hurting an unarmed, handcuffed man. But, god if he isn’t close to snapping. All that panic has turned into anger, anger which he focuses on the man as he roughly drags him towards the cells. 

You think you weren’t supposed to hear it, the threat, but you did and it is both scary to see him like this and a mite attractive.  Your gentle sheriff is showing a harsher side than you’ve ever seen and it should shake you to your core, make you distance yourself, but it doesn’t. Did you not just show the exact same side of you? Did you not just consider beating the man to a pulp yourself? All because you loved your children, wanted them safe. You think this anger from Din is a reflection on how much he cares for you and the children, how scared he had been and it warms something inside of you. Your chest aches with a longing that you don’t understand as you watch him roughly walk the man away. 

“Are you alright, Miss!” It’s Mr Hewitt, concerned for your welfare, but you just wave him off and make your way to the children, hand clutching at your ribs. 

“I’m perfectly alright, Mr Hewitt, don’t you worry about me!” The children, for the most part are with their parents, all of whom have congregated after commotion drew their attention and word spread quickly through town. They’re crying into their mother’s skirts and their father’s trouser legs and it breaks your heart. They should never have had to witness or experience that, it should never have happened. 

“Children!” Their heads snap up instantly, ever attentive to your teacher's voice; they watch you with focused eyes even while they hiccup and sniffle. “I think we’ve earned the rest of the day off, don’t you? Go home, rest, play and I shall see you bright and early tomorrow morning!” 

Truth is you need to sit down. You can’t even begin to think about teaching right now. So sending them home seems your only option. 

Parents smile at you, wish you well, tell you to look after yourself as they escort their children home. The only little one left is Grogu who runs towards you with panicked eyes, and despite the pain you kneel on the ground in front of him. The little one wraps his arms tight around your neck before pulling back, little hands patting over your cheeks and hair, as if imitating an adult checking your injuries. It brings tears to your eye because in that moment you’re reminded of what could have happened, what could have been lost. It’s not fear for your own life that has tears falling, but fear for him, for all the little ones and their youthful innocence. 

“Cabur...cabur” It’s said to you, little hands framing your face, big brown eyes serious as he looks up at you. It isn’t a word you know, mando’a you are sure, and it’s not a word you’ve ever heard leave his lips before. A quiet child he had only recently begun to start talking and often in one or two words only. 

That’s how Din finds the two of you. You’re kneeling in the dirt, skirt stained probably beyond repair, blouse bloody, face bruised and cut. Grogu is in your lap, your arms wrapped around his little chubby body, his hands cupping your face as he says it over and over again. ‘Cabur’. Guardian. Protector. It warms him from the inside out, that his ad, his son sees you as such, that his son cares about you so much and that you care about him just the same. He has no doubt that you were prepared to die for those children and it scares him and warms him in equal measure. 

You hear his footfalls, dirt and gravel crunching under well worn boots, spurs clinking lightly as he comes to crouch next to you. Warm fingers reach out to gently graze your jaw, taking in the dark mottled bruising and deep swelling.

“What does it mean?” Wide eyes turn on him and he can’t help but smile softly at you, moustache twisting upwards at your curious nature, always so eager to learn, always wanting to engage more with the world around you. 

“Protector, guardian, cabur’ika.” You wince slightly when he presses around your nose, checking to feel if it is broken. It’s not, but it will swell and bruise along with most of your face. The blood has stood spilling from it and that reassures him that it isn't too serious. It still hurts to see you like this, to see you hurt in any way. 

“Ika?”

“Little.” He can already see your brows furrowing, lips setting into an offended scowl as you glare up at him. At the diminutive suffix, not fully understanding the nuances of mando’a yet.

“Little!”

He laughs at your offence, not because it’s funny because it does not mean what you think it means, “It’s a...a familiar term. It’s not because you’re little.” He hopes he makes sense. He doesn't call you a little protector to make fun of you or tease you, but because it shows familiarity, closeness. You are becoming part of his clan without realising it and the familiarity feels good to show. Just as when he calls Grogu, Gro’ika. 

“Oh.” The annoyance metals from your features as quickly as it came and he continues his prodding of your skin, carefully assessing your injuries. Your jaw isn’t broken, he tells you, but it is badly bruised and he tells you to talk less in class, although he gives you a look that says he understands that is unlikely to happen. A gentle finger pulls your lower lip from between your teeth, you hiss, but he’s gentle as can be when looking at the split lip. Badly split and still bleeding red over your chin and blouse. 

Din rises to his feet, offering you a hand, “Let’s get you clean up, cabur’ika”. He helps you stand, Grogu letting go and sliding from your lap to instead hold your skirt hem as the three of you walk. 

Din wraps a strong arm around your waist to help you walk, your pace is slow, careful and it takes longer than it really should to get across town to your small house. It’s not much, just 2 rooms; the main living area with your kitchen, wash basin, tub and a bedroom separated from the rest. But it is home. Cosy, he thinks, like you. It screams home, lived in, a place to live, not just rest your head. 

He eases you onto your settee, propping up pillows behind your back as he urges you to lay down. He even plumps a few in his hands like a mother hen, clucking around you as he unlaces your boots and gently pulls them off to make you more comfortable, grabbing a throw and tucking it around you. He’s filling a washbowl with water from your tap, the one luxury you have, being a plumbed-in kitchen sink. 

“Din...you don’t have to do this.” He should be dealing with paperwork, probably writing a telegraph for someone from a local prison to come and collect the man currently in the jailhouse. He shouldn’t be here with you, he has better things to do. 

“Yes. I do. Someone needs to look after you, cabur’ika.” You watch him grab salt from the side mixing it in with the water, just enough to help keep your wounds clean. Watch him decide which cloth on your countertop is the best to use. He feels the fabrics, which is too abrasive, which is softest, gentlest, before deciding on one and dropping it into the washbowl. 

Grogu is sat by your fireplace watching as his buir shifts you slightly so he can sit on the edge of the settee, washbowl placed on the ground. His fingers are gentle as they rest underneath your chin and urge you to look up at him, calloused but soft on your skin, careful of any pressure that might hurt you. 

The salt water stings, but the cloth is soft and he hushes you quietly at every hiss or groan of discomfort you make. Carefully cleaning your wounds, wiping the dirt, sweat and blood from your skin. 

“It’s okay, Cyar’ika. I’m sorry….i’m sorry.” It’s more than just a sorry for the temporary pain of cleaning your wounds, it’s more than just sorry that I am causing your wounds to sting. There is a deep pain in his voice that strikes you to your core and you shift, hands wrapping around his wrist as you sit yourself up despite the pain in your ribs. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Din. Listen to me,” you tug on the wrist, pull it towards you and hold him to your chest, urge him to look you in the eye. You can feel the guilt rolling off of him in waves, “You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault.”

“You wouldn’t be like this if I was better at my job...I got complacent, lazy, I should have been able to catch him before he even got near the schoolhouse! You shouldn’t have ever been put in that position, you and the little ones…” It’s the break in his voice, the tears welling in deep brown eyes that has you wrapping your arms around his head and pulling him to rest his cheek on your chest. Rubbing circles in the back of his neck, twisting dark curls between your fingers. 

“You did everything you could. You are not at fault and I will not have you blame yourself for something you had no control over. You are a good sheriff, Din. You are so good. Please don’t blame yourself for this, darling.” You scratch careful circles into his scalp with your nails, rub soothing lines over his neck and under his jaw, whisper gentle reminders that he is the best thing to happen to this town. That he provided you with a school. That he has made this town safe. That he is not at fault for this. But, you know, deep inside you that he will carry this moment with him, that he will not forget what happened and what could have happened. This guilt will weigh heavily on him, and will follow him.

“You could have been killed. The little ones could have been hurt.” He has always been a man of emotions, quiet emotions, but emotions nonetheless. You’d known from the start that he had a protective streak, that that extended especially towards children. That the mandalorian in him, his upbringing, urged him to keep them safe as much as your own duties did.

“But they weren’t. Keeping them safe is my job, Din. Don’t add it to your worries.” But, they weren’t his responsibility. When they were in your schoolhouse they were yours. The last thing you wanted was him to take that responsibility onto his shoulders when he already had so much, that guilt. It was your responsibility to protect them and while scared and shocked, none of them had a hair out of place or a scratch on them. They were okay. 

“You could have died, cabur’ika. You could have died.” 

“I know. I know,” It hits you. Like being trampled under horse hooves and the wheels of a carriage, like the yardstick to your ribs, full force and winding as you finally understand. You could have died. You could have died. 

It is your turn to cry as your breathing becomes uneven and your mind tries to make sense of the fact you nearly died today, just doing your job, just in your schoolhouse. That there is so much you have not achieved, so little you’ve seen or done and you could have lost the chance to ever do. “Din…” You’re clutching at him, fingers digging in his back as he pulls you tighter to him. 

There is a moment where he worries that you cannot breathe, that the force of your tears will choke you in his arms and so he holds you tighter, barricades you in his arms. Walls shielding you from the world. He brings a hand to the base of your neck cupping it to tilt your head up as he presses his forehead to your own. A comforting gesture, a keldabe kiss, he wants you to feel safe again. Wants to impress upon you your importance in his life even if he is not ready to say it yet.

He can feel your breath evening out with the gesture, your lungs relaxing as his presence comforts you. It pleases him to know he can calm you. He is the only thing present in that moment, not what happened, not the wild eyes of your assailant, not the fear, not the kids, not the room around you. Just him. His warm forehead pressed into yours, gentle, but firm enough to ground you. Large hand cupping the back of your neck, the other arm wrapped entirely around you to keep you close. 

It is a little movement behind your back and two small arms wrapping around your back, unable to truly wrap around you fully that bring you back into the present. 

It’s a little voice saying ‘Cabur’ into the fabric of your blouse, little hands gripping at you, trying to soothe you that makes your heart ache in an entirely different way. You pull back from Din, enough so that you can reach around you and pull Grogu into your lap, between the two of you, shielded by you both. It should scare you, how it feels like you have your entire world on your settee, how it feels like family. It should scare you what you would do for Din, for Grogu. What you would do to keep them safe, happy, healthy. Instead it warms you, to know that you’ve found somewhere to belong that isn’t just a schoolhouse and a classroom. 

“It’s okay, Ad’ika. I’m okay. I promise.” You run a hand through his dark curls, boop him on the nose to make him smile and feel a true smile creeping on your face even if it hurts. You’re not lying either. You’re okay. You will be okay. With this little child who cares for you deeply, with his father who is always there to look after you, you know you are okay and will be okay. 

“Ori'haat,” Din says to you, lifting your eyes back to him and the soft little smile playing at the corners of his mouth, “I swear. You said you wanted to learn more.”

“Or-e-haht?” You are back to your little game. The one where he tells you a new word and you try to pronounce it, but the unfamiliar words twist wrong in your mouth, coming out butchered to his amusement. He enjoys it, you know he does. It is easy to see because his eyes always twinkle with humour and his face softens, some of the harsh lines fading away. 

“Oh-ree-haht.”

“Oh-e-haht?” You always concentrate hard and it is this fact that makes your mispronunciations cute, copikla, rather than frustrating. He does not mind you making mistakes because you try earnestly to correct them and always practice the words till you have it right. He enjoys teaching you because he enjoys hearing his language from another person, enjoys the familiarity, the homeliness of it. 

“Oh-ree-haht!” This time it’s Grogu who announciates it, loud and clear with a little grin on his sweet little face as he looks between you and his buir as if waiting for praise. 

“Very good, Gro’ika,” Din ruffles the boy’s curls before turning his eyes back to you. The boy preens under the praise, little grin growing in size as he sits between the two you. How he always manages to get it right on the first try you don’t know, you’re a little envious of the boy's knack for seemingly everything. He is a quick learner in school and out of it. 

“Oh-ree-haht?”

“Jate, good.” You smile proud of your efforts and shift a little in your seat, ribs pulling and causing you to let out a pained breath. It's going to be sometime you think before you are fully back to how you were, without pain or bruises. You have yet to look in a mirror but are sure that you look terrible.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” You extend the invitation, knowing you don’t want either of them to go just yet, even though Din probably has things he needs to do and it is selfish to ask him to stay when he has his duties to get on with. 

“You’re not making dinner, cyar’ika. I’ll make it.” He untangles himself from you, grabbing the washbowl to empty in your garden. The view of you with his son cuddled up to you makes his heart warm, even with the mottled bruising and cuts across your features. 

“Din…”

“I will not argue about this with you, i’m taking care of you and you will rest, cabur’ika.” His tone brooks no argument, demanding for the first time, truly, that you listen and do not fight him on this. You should be resting, not standing cooking dinner. You are in too much pain and he would sooner tie you to your bed then let you hurt yourself in an effort to be the hostess. 

With a heavy sigh, you conceded defeat. “Okay, but I’m not happy about it, Din Djarin.”

“I know.” He says with a smile.

                                                  --------------------

Mando’a Translations:

Nar'sheb - contemptuous comment, like saying shove it.

K'olar! - get over here!

Cabur - guardian, protector 

Cabur’ika - lit. little guardian/protector, but the ika shows familiarity, making this more of a pet name, friendly term. 

Haar’chak - damn it

Shebs - butt, ass.

Di’kut - idiot.

Mandokarla - having the *right stuff*, showing guts and spirit, the state of being the epitome of Mando virtue

Osi’kovid - shithead

Ori'haat - I swear

Cyar’ika - sweetheart, darling

Jate - good

Copikla - charming, cute, typically not used for women, but for animals and children. But honestly, I think the reader wouldn’t be offended like a typical mandalorian might by being called copikla. 

Ad’ika - Little one.

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

What do you think of JM’s updated Spotify? I don’t normally read into things, but his song choices makes me sad. “At my worst” “I can’t be myself (excuse me while I cry) & “When was it over?” With the lyrics “was it that fight we didn’t have when I came in? Was it the first time you saw me drunk? Second time I said I’m sorry?” It sounds like a replay of Vmins dumpling incident and it worries me. JM looked off in the recent live, almost sad and pouty lately. Do you think I’m over analyzing it?

Admin 1: The short answer to this would be: yes, you are over analyzing things.

The longer one would be that, for example, Pink Sweat$'s At My Worst isn't a sad song, it's actually the exact opposite. It's a very cute and romantic song. Just look at the first verse:

Can I call you baby? Can you be my friend? Can you be my lover up until the very end? Let me show you love, oh, no pretend Stick by my side even when the world is caving in, yeah

I'd actually argue this kinda sounds like a mixture between Sweet Night and Friends when it comes to the sentiment of those words. I’ve seen some people even claim that this will replace Ed Sheeran’s romantic songs that have so far been used at every wedding ever because of how sweet it is.

Then we have Justin Bieber’s I can’t be myself which I believe you probably only looked at the title and jumped to conclusions because, again, this isn’t a sad song either. The lyrics are more about how Justin (or whoever) cannot be himself when you (I’d guess he likely means his wife) isn’t by his side, thus wanting to say that he is happiest and most himself when they are together. It’s sweet and lovely, not sad.

I could travel any place But without you, it's just runnin' around (Girl, I'm just runnin' around) They could open Heaven's gates But without you, I'm just stuck in the clouds (Yeah, yeah)

Lastly, from the songs you specifically highlighted, is Sasha Sloan’s when was it over? which yes, I’ll admit this one is a sad song about not being able to let go even though you know there is nothing left. The song though has a very calm sound, something you’d listen to in the evening, and something I could see both him and Tae like listening to, not because Jimin relates to the lyrics but because it’s simply a pretty song.

On my current playlist I have Stromae’s Formidable, a song about a heartbroken man getting wasted after a breakup. I’ve neither gotten my heart broken nor am I sad and yet I still love this song because it’s just a really good song. Sometimes that’s the only reason we need to listen to a song. Nothing more to it.

All that to say that I don’t believe there is any correlation whatsoever to be made here, especially since Tae and Jimin look more than happy in recent months (did you notice Jimin happily smiling at Tae during their most recent performance of Butter for Colbert at the beginning of their subunit dance?) and there is nothing that could indicate to us that something went wrong between them, or that Jimin could be sad or something bad going on with him. I mean, look at JKs playlist and the fact that he has Billie Eilish’s Your Power on it, applying your thought process, does that mean that JK is trying to tell us he went through something similar to Billie? That he is sad? Or do you think he simply recommended that song because he likes Billie’s music? The last one seems the most likely, doesn’t it?

So, to sum it all up, there is absolutely no need to worry, seriously.

Admin 2: In the evenings, when it's very quiet and my big city has fallen asleep, I really enjoy listening to Sweet Night. I also like to go back to 4 O'Clock from time to time (although I know I will cry). Does that mean I missed my chance in life to be with my beloved? No and no again! I've never been in a situation like this, I wasn't unhappy or "fragily" in love, no one abandoned me or cheated on me. I listen to these songs because I love them. They match the mood of the evening and calm me down despite the sad lyrics and let me fall asleep peacefully.

I am a person who listens to a lot of songs from the past; Songs that remind me of situations, remind me of years of studying, enable me to relive certain situations.

Dear Anon, thank you very much for your question (confession), but I admit that I see it as "looking for some kind of backdoor" so to speak, a way to create a loophole and deny everything after all.

I don't know who you are, I don't know if you really are a Vminnie, but I think you are clinging to any possibility of a situation to undermine the reality or existence of Vmin. That's how I see it, if I offend you, I apologize. The more we get new materials about Tae and Jimin every day, like them being cute in the McDonald's behind the scenes, the more such "sad thoughts" we get sent to us through asks every day.

Firstly, I'm not sure if Jimin (and Taehyung) is fluent enough in English to capture the accuracy of the lyrics and understand its message. Of course, you can translate it, but for that to happen first the song has to catch your attention, and usually it's the melody and the overall feeling of a song that does it, and not the lyrics. And that is the point!

I think Jimin picked these tracks because he simply likes them. Perhaps he first paid attention to the melodies and the mood and only then understood the lyrics sometime later.

A lot of people (including me) hear some kind of song instead of another because they are intrigued by the melody or the association with a particular situation. The mood that fits the moment, the weather, the time of day or many other things which lead us to choose this song and not another.

Maybe Jimin and Taehyung were driving at night and listening to the song on the radio, maybe they were in a romantic mood back then, just having dinner together or taking a half bath together. Ha ha, I know I am deceiving and romanticizing what I am saying to reflect the vast possibilities and reasons why you listen to music like this and no other. Jimin putting together this list of songs for his spotify playlist doesn't mean he listens to it all the time, every day, but that he has the songs he likes on his list and chose the ones he wants to hear right now, or that he thought ARMY could like.

Of course, I'm sure he listens to very different songs during exercising than the one lying in bed before falling asleep. Maybe he's listening to this list, just like we hear the songs from BTS? We know individual words after repeating them several times, and we generally know (as we decide to read translations) what is going on in a particular song, but we don't understand all the words accurately. Not all of us are in the same situation as described in a particular song, but still we listen to it because we like it, because BTS sings it, because we are waiting for a solo from Suga etc. etc. etc.

For some time now we have been seeing (I see) Vmin happy, even very happy, as if "after the night the day came and after the storm came peace" (by the way, these are the words of one of my favorite songs), I have the impression that Vmin have finished fighting all their fights and they are just happy now, finally. Taehyung looks like a million dollars, he's literally glowing and far more lively than he was a year ago.

To him, Jimin is like smooch like butter and someone he likes the most. Taehyung is a handsome and hot chingu for Jimin who he also likes him the most as well. Tell me dear Anon, where is there room for fear and doubt in the love they share? Why and on what basis do you suspect that Vmin has broken up, or is having problems, or that either of them is unhappy? Besides, if one of them has an off day or is simply tired after a packet schedule and thus doesn't look as animated, why is that immediately read as "Jimin and Tae aren't together anymore" or "they are drifting apart" when chances are far more likely that it has nothing to do with their bond? Based on the playlist, or based on Vlive, or maybe based on both of these events, what is the correlation?

I've seen the Vlive. To tell the truth, I didn't see a sad and pouty Jimin there. Instead, I saw Taehyung smiling and content, and Jimin smiled and admired Tae's new hairstyle. I watched the latest BTS interviews. Vmin stared at each other, Jimin stared at Tae with a big smile that only grew in size and the two communicated with their eyes.

Jimin caressed Taehyung's back/butt in the Butter MV making Episode and said there’s butter here (though it wasn’t translated in the subs).

In the McD ad they were together and standing next to each other, even with Jimin resting his head on Tae's shoulder and then Jimin eating Tae's chicken nugget from his hand.

Honestly, I don't know what else Vmin would have to do to keep people from doubting their bond and happiness. They have shown us so much, I think they have reached the limit of what can be said without saying it bluntly.

Most importantly, this is a very interesting situation as we have never had as much "dubious news/content" (not meant negatively at all) as we have now after Taehyung's interview with his ‘confession’/clarification about Sweet Night. To me it smells a bit like someone wants to cause fear or plant the seed of doubt, or be like a trojan horse with the underlying idea of course being that "well...we must be wrong" even though there’s no reason for us to believe/think that.

[cinaja]

Before the Wall part 60

Masterlist

----

Queen Andromache of Angolere is no stranger to anger. Like most humans, she has never been short of reasons to be angry, and the last seven years of war, for all that they have improved the general situation, have done little to ease that. The general unfairness of life, arrogant allies, hypocritical assholes, people who hate her for being mortal �� she’s had to deal with it all.

In all those years, she has never been this angry, though. Never felt this close to combusting. It’s like she swallowed a lump of magma and it’s not lying in her stomach, burning her up from the inside. Even two days after the fact, her anger shows no sign of lessening. Instead, it only seems to grow worse, perhaps because she has not yet found an opportunity to let it out.

When the news arrived two days ago, she didn’t believe it. Outright refused to even consider it. More than five hundred thousand people dead in the blink of an eye – the numbers were too big to consider possible. The idea that Miryam, Drakon, and Mor, Mor especially, were all dead from one day to the next was too horrifying to consider. The notion of something as terrible as this happening after the war had already ended downright impossible. And there were no bodies, no way to be sure.

Andromache spent that entire day curled up in her rooms, first trying to convince herself that this had been some terrible mistake, then struggling to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t. This was real.

The second set of news arrived that evening, chasing her out of her hiding place. The messages from four separate sources – three spies and the person in charge of Telique’s wards – arriving at roughly the same time, all brought the same news: What happened had been no terrible accident, no tragedy with no one to blame. It had been planned and brought about by their own allies. Shey. The Autumn Court. Others as well, many of them unnamed.

Again, Andromache refused to believe it. In general, it is her firm belief that one can never have too low an opinion of the Fae, but this… this still went too far. She could not wrap her mind around it, could not understand how anyone could do this.

Like most people in the Alliance, Andromache was well aware that Shey saw Miryam as a threat. But what she could not imagine no matter how hard she tried was what might have caused the level of hatred that would have been necessary to do something like this. Miryam had, as far as Andromache knew, never done anything that might have given her allies cause to hate her. Dislike, perhaps, but not hate. She certainly gave Shey and cause to hate so fiercely that her death wasn’t enough to satisfy him, that he had to have her killed in the cruellest way possible, killing most of the people she cared about, thousands of innocents, in the process and destroying what she spent most of her life working for.

“I don’t think it was hatred,” Nakia said when Andromache voiced her thoughts to her. “I think he just didn’t care. He wanted Miryam dead – everyone else was just collateral damage. Expendable.”

That was when the anger started.

Now, thirty-one hours later, Andromache feels ready to combust with the force of it. Still, her hands are surprisingly steady as she closes the straps of her armour. There will be an Alliance meeting in half an hour, the first one since Miryam and Drakon (and Mor, although no one but Andromache seems to care much about that crucial detail) died, and Andromache intends to use the opportunity to make the Fae regret it.

Her and the other humans met yesterday to agree on a plan. What they came up with isn’t ideal in Andromache’s mind – it doesn’t involve Shey dying painfully, which is truly a shame. It’s the best they could do in their situation, though, and Andromache sincerely hopes their demands will make the Fae regret their actions.

With one last look into the mirror, Andromache straightens and stalks out of the room. Her steps are firm as she walks through the palace’s halls towards the meeting chamber. A lucky side effect of the anger, she supposes. It doesn’t leave space for any other emotions. Otherwise, she would probably be dissolved in tears, unable to move or function. But even so, she can barely bear to think of Miryam and Drakon, and cannot think of Mor at all without feeling like someone punched her in the chest.

By the time she reaches the meeting chamber, it is already filled halfway. Usually, councilmembers would be chatting with each other before the meeting, the room buzzing with activity, but today, silence reins in the chamber. The tense atmosphere can almost be felt physically, like the air is thick as water and pressing anyone inside the room down with its weight.

Quietly, Andromache takes her seat. The silence is only broken by the ticking of the clock that has been places on the opposite wall. She watches the hand creep forward as more and more people arrive. The time when the meeting was set to begin is reached and passed without anyone stirring. Andromache realizes that everyone at the table is waiting for someone to open the meeting, but Miryam isn’t there and Andromache isn’t inclined to step in for her as she usually does.

Eventually, it is Shey who opens the meeting. When he starts spouting nonsense about what a “terrible tragedy” Miryam’s and Drakon’s death was (he doesn’t mention any of the other people who died) or how “devastated” he was by the news, Andromache immediately regrets not opening the meeting herself. When he starts talking about how much Miryam did for the Alliance and the war effort in general, Andromache briefly contemplates getting up and punching him in the face. It might help take the edge off her anger, but their plan is a different one and Andromache is forced to stick to it.

Finally, Shey seems to be done with his monologue of faked mourning and changes the subject. “Sad as we all are,” he says, “I think Miryam and Drakon, more than anyone else, would want us to focus on the future instead of dwelling on the past.”

Never mind. Andromache is actually going to punch him. “I think they mostly wouldn’t want to be dead along with thousands of their people, you fucking asshole,” she mutters, balling her hands into fists.

Shey’s eyes jump to her, narrowing slightly, but he seems to decide that she isn’t worthy of a reply. “I believe the treaty detailing what should happen now that the war is over is all but ready. All that’s left to do is to sign it.”

“If you think any of us are going to sign that contract after what happened, you’ve lost your mind,” Andromache snaps, louder this time. “Why would we want to work with any of you after this?”

Shey is far too well-trained to show any reaction, but Andromache hopes the bastard is shocked. He probably didn’t expect the stupid little mortals to figure out what he did.

“I don’t – “ he begins, but Andromache is already on her feet. The other human councilmembers rise with her.

“This Alliance is over,” she says, voice biting. “As far as I’m concerned, you can all go drown in an ocean.”

With that, she turns towards the door. As one, the human members of the Alliance walk out of the room. No one makes a move to stop them, no one even says a word. The Fae just remain sitting where they are, looking around the table like they are waiting for someone to find the words to fix the crack that is running through their alliance.

Had Miryam been here, she would have been the one to speak out now. She would have found the right words, maybe even managed to convince them all to keep working together. For the sake of the treaty she wanted so badly, she would probably have been willing to excuse even her own murder.

It’s really too bad for the Fae that they had Miryam killed. Because without her, there is no one there to stop the Alliance from shattering into a million pieces.

Without looking back, Andromache stalks out of the meeting chamber. When she returns to her rooms, she finds Mor sitting on her bed.

----

Mor never planned to simply vanish without a word to anyone, certainly not for an entire week. When first left the Black Land and winnowed straight to the Night Court, she only wanted to stay for a few hours, maybe spend the night in the cabin in the mountains to calm herself before returning to Telique.

But then, almost against her own will, she had found herself staying longer and longer. The cabin was so peaceful, and with each day she stayed, the thought of going back became more daunting. Going back would mean facing what Miryam had done, facing their argument. Probably facing Miryam herself. For all that she knew hiding would only make things worse in the long run, she simply hadn’t found it in herself to return.

So instead, she stayed. She visited Rhys a few times. Sat on the couch by the fire and read. Emptied bottle after bottle of wine and did her best not to think about water turning to blood, ice raining from the sky and the look on Miryam’s face before she left her standing alone in the sand. She didn’t want to return at all, but after a week, there was no way to put it off any further, not if she didn’t want to risk worrying her friends in Telique.

It might already have been too long, Mor thinks as she watches Andromache freeze in the doorway, staring at her like she is a ghost. Maybe she should have sent a letter. But surely Miryam told Andromache about what happened, and knowing that, it should have been clear to anyone that she was safe.

She opens her mouth to say something, but before she gets the chance, Andromache snaps out of her paralysis. Letting out a sound that sounds a bit like that of a wounded animal, she rushes towards Mor and sweeps her up in a hug. Her body is shaking, and Mor can feel her damp cheek against her neck. Awkwardly, she begins patting Andromache’s back.

“I’m alright,” she whispers, not entirely understanding why Andromache is this distraught. She wasn’t in any danger, Andromache must have known that. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Andromache lets go of her and holds her at arm’s length so that she can study her. She is still clinging on to Mor’s arms, though, like she is scared to let go.

“How did you get out?” She asks.

Mor frowns. She doesn’t entirely understand the question. “I winnowed,” she says, then quickly adds, “I’m sorry for not writing. I just… I just needed space.”

Now, it is Andromache who seems confused. “What do you mean?” She asks.

Mor can’t help the sinking feeling that they are not entirely on the same page. Could it be that Miryam didn’t tell her about the argument? She wouldn’t have had any reason to keep that information back, though.

“We argued,” she says hesitantly. “I just…” She shrugs. “With what Miryam did… I couldn’t stand it, and she wouldn’t stop. We got into a fight over it. And then I left.”

Andromache stands and stares at her, completely unblinking. Then, slowly, she lets her arms drop to her sides. “What Miryam did?” She repeats, voice dangerously soft. “What Miryam did?”

“Yes, what Miryam did!” Mor replies forcefully. She can’t believe that Andromache seems to be taking Miryam’s side on this. “She burned down an entire country, Andromache! Thousands of people died. She – “

“You’re acting like she did it for fun!” Andromache cuts her off. “There were reasons.”

“What reasons are good enough to murder thousands?” Mor asks, throwing her hands up into the air in desperation. “You weren’t there, Andromache. You don’t know what it was like. This was the most horrifying thing I’ve ever seen, and Miryam happily allowed it to happen.”

“Well, then you’ll be relieved to know that Miryam is dead,” Andromache snaps.

The words hit Mor like a punch to the stomach. She actually stumbles back a step, gasping. “What?” She whispers.

“Yes,” Andromache says, her voice cutting as a blade. “Her, Drakon and everyone else.”

No. No. It isn’t possible. None of them were in danger when she left. Miryam was just in the process of single-handedly taking down the entire country, with an army of thousands with her to protect her. She was days away from winning – and actually did win, from the last news Mor heard from an enraged Rhys who complained endlessly about the war ending before he had a chance to kill Amarantha.

They couldn’t have died. They couldn’t have.

Oh Cauldron. Her last conversation with Miryam and Drakon was an argument that ended with Mor storming off. She doesn’t remember what she said to them, only that she was furious and desperate, and that they were both yelling at each other and then Mor left. She left them alone and then they died and she…

Mor presses a hand to her stomach, trying to reign in a sob. “I…” She whispers, but doesn’t manage to finish the sentence. She promised to protect Miryam. And then she left. And Miryam died.

“Get out,” Andromache says, voice still deadly soft.

Mor starts shaking her head. “No, I…”

“What Miryam did?” Andromache throws her words back at her with enough anger that Mor actually flinches. “You’re no better than the others.” With that, she pulls open the door. “And now get out.”

Words are escaping Mor. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. Tears are burning in her eyes, blurring her vision. Andromache is still staring at her, gaze hard, and so Mor ducks her head and rushes out of the room.

----

Andromache is shaking with fury. Pain and sorrow will come later, she knows, once she has calmed down enough for the reality of what just happened to sink through, but for the moment, she is just angry. Angry with the entire fucking world, but mostly with Mor, because from her, Andromache expected better.

How could she be so stupidly narrow-minded? What Miryam did. She sounded just like all these other Fae who called Miryam’s actions horrifying and then turned around and had her and five hundred thousand innocents murdered. What Miryam did. What about what the Fae did, now and for centuries prior?

She needs some way to let the anger out, or she might actually explode. With swift steps, she stalks through the room and to the cupboard that holds cups and plates. She is still aware enough of herself to avoid the expensive, gilded ones meant for formal occasions and sticks to the simpler pottery for private dinners.

One by one, she pulls them out of the cupboard and hurls them against a nearby wall, watching them shatter into a million pieces with grim satisfaction, hating the fact that this pointless act of rage is all she can do.

How she wishes she had Miryam’s abilities. If only she was able to turn blood into water, make the sky rein ice and fire and command the sun to stay away as she sees fit. Oh, how she would make them all pay for what they did. She’d show them horrifying.

A knock sounds at the door, interrupting Andromache’s fantasies of setting Shey’s palace on fire. She spins around, dropping the plate she had just pulled out of the shelf, and stalks over to the door. This better not be Mor…

It isn’t. When Andromache pulls open the door so hard it bangs against the wall, she instead comes face to face with Nakia.

“Oh,” she says, awkwardly running a hand through her hair. “Nakia.”

“Were you expecting someone else?” Nakia asks drily. She glances over her shoulder into the room and raises her eyes at the mess. “Someone to help you clean up, perhaps?”

Andromache can feel her cheeks heating. “I will clean that myself,” she says. She won’t make any of the maids clean up a mess she created on purpose.

“Do that. It will have to wait, though. For the moment, you are needed for a meeting. The Fae asked for a meeting; their representative is already there.”

Andromache groans.

--

Andromache would have liked nothing better than to refuse the meeting outright and tell the Fae exactly where they can shove their offers, but unfortunately, that is not an option. There are matters to be discussed, and there is no getting around that necessity.

It was agreed well in advance that Andromache would represent the humans for the meeting, as Angolere is the country whose leader is usually in charge of foreign politics. Andromache only finds out who the Fae sent when she steps into the meeting chamber, though: It is Zeku.

Some part of Andromache realizes that this is likely meant as a peace offering. Ever since the founding of the Alliance, Zeku was one of the Fae who worked together with the humans most closely. He was Miryam’s most prominent Fae ally, her, him and Andromache spent more hours than she can count sitting together over proposals and strategies. The Fae likely assumed his presence would appease Andromache, and under different circumstances, it might have. As it is, though, his presence is just another slap to the face.

“Your Majesty,” Zeku greets her, bowing deeply.

“Zeku.”

Greeting him by name instead of title is a capital insult, but Andromache stopped caring about the Faes’ rules for politeness the moment these rules didn’t stop them from murdering more than five hundred thousand people. All these rules ever did was bar anyone who didn’t have a Fae noble’s education from being taken seriously in their political meetings. Andromache played by their rules for far too long.

Zeku ignores the insult and takes the seat opposite her. He opens his mouth to speak, but Andromache cuts in before he gets the chance. Every moment she has to spend in the presence of someone like him is one too much.

“To make this clear right at the beginning,” she says, “I’m not here to play games. There are some issues that need to be settled, and I have no interest in spending more time than absolutely necessary in your presence, so I’d appreciate if we could deal with this as quickly as possible.”

Zeku sighs. “Alright, then,” he says, “But before we begin, just allow me to say how terribly sorry I am about what happened.”

Yeah, sure. She believes that right away. Once that conversation is over, though, he might actually be sorry.

“Well, I believe it ought to be clear to anyone that the continuation of the Alliance is no longer possible. The treaty we worked on is a thing of the past, as are any agreements we came to. We can no longer trust you, and so working together is no longer an option.”

Zeku, at the very least, does her the favour of not pretending he doesn’t know what she is talking about. “I know what happened was unforgivable,” he says, “but Miryam wouldn’t want – “

“Don’t,” Andromache cuts him off, voice sharp as a whip. “Don’t you dare talk to me about what Miryam would have wanted.”

Zeku lifts his hands as if warding off a physical attack. “Alright,” he says. “Forgive me. But the point remains that we need to work together. The situation is far from ideal, but together, you and I could still turn it around.”

Andromache lets out a sharp laugh. “You and I? Together?” She shakes her head, laughing again. “No, thank you. With what happened to the last human who worked together with you, I have little interest. Maybe if you wanted this alliance, you should have made sure she stayed alive.”

“I had no involvement – “ Zeku begins, but Andromache cuts him off.

“Oh, spare me,” she snaps. “Miryam might been willing to listen to your explanation. She might have played along with your game, pretended she believed and trusted you and maybe even agreed to work together with you again in spite of everything. For peace. She really wanted that, you know? A world where humans and Fae could live together in peace and equality. For that, she might even have been willing to look past what your friends did. But I am not Miryam.”

“I am aware,” Zeku says quietly.

“Maybe, but you don’t seem to understand what it means.” None of the Fae ever understood, and they never bothered to try, either. “You and your Fae friends always thought that Miryam was the only one of us worthy of being taken seriously, didn’t you? That the rest of us were meek and harmless and unimportant, and that without Miryam, we would be lost. Because she was the only one who could play by these stupid rules for politics you had designed to keep anyone who isn’t Fae nobility from being taken seriously in politics. She could smile and talk and behave just right, and she had magic, and so you took her seriously and dismissed the rest of us.”

“I never dismissed you,” Zeku says. “And you were always quite willing to take a backseat while Miryam dealt with everything, so you have little grounds to complain about any conclusions people draw from that.”

Andromache presses her lips together. How dare he bring this up, act like what happened was somehow their fault for making Miryam get involved? As if the human leadership at the beginning of the war willingly decided that an eighteen-year-old was the perfect fit for emissary. The entire reason they had to give Miryam that position was that there had been no one else. Learning Fae politics was a matter of years, and the humans lacked diplomats skilled in the rules the Fae so valued. That they found someone who was able to fill the position at all was a minor miracle in itself.

She doesn’t say that they only let Miryam take the lead because she was the only one able to navigate the Fae political landscape that had been so skilfully designed to keep anyone but them out, though, because that would only be one part of the truth. The unimportant part, for this specific conversation.

“None of us ever wanted to work with the Fae, did you know that?” She gives him a sharp smile. “We didn’t trust you. It was Miryam who convinced us to give it a try. She said we needed allies, and that there would be Fae territories that would be willing to help us.”

“And she was right,” Shey says. “We helped you win this war.”

“Yes,” Andromache says softly. “Miryam was right – she managed to secure us the alliance she had promised, she managed to make things work, and so we went along with her plans. We ignored the countless offences your side committed against us because Miryam had her strategy and it was working. And then, when she insisted that the only way to get peace to work after the war was to find a way to work together, to build bridges between our people, we went along with that as well. Because we trusted her, because you seemed to respect her.” She lets out a bitter laugh. “Do you understand now?” She asks. “We weren’t scared and meek without Miryam. She was the one who convinced us to work with you in the first place. But then, you killed her and you made it entirely clear that our lives are worthless to you, that no matter how much we try to work with you, you will never see us as equal.”

Zeku nods slowly. His face is grave. Now, he finally seems to understand. “So what now?” He asks.

Andromache leans back in her chair. “Miryam wanted to build bridges,” she says. “We were willing to go along with that, willing to give it a try, but then you killed her. So now what you are getting is a wall.”

----

Shey is waiting in one of the private meeting chambers. He is lounging on one of the chairs, idly flipping through the pages of a book that he snaps shut when Zeku enters.

“Your Highness,” he says with a slight smile, sitting up straighter. “How did the meeting with Their Majesties go?”

In answer, Zeku takes a slip of paper out of the pocket of his coat and throws it onto the table in front of Shey. “A list of discrete assassins and ways to contact them, since you don’t seem to know about the possibility of discrete assassinations yet,” he says. “You might want to look into it to save us any further scandals.”

Shey very deliberately places his book on the table. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” he says.

“Kindly do me the favour and explain that to Andromache and the other human queens. That might be amusing.” He shakes his head. “They know. And they are none too pleased, if you will allow the understatement.”

Shey, at the very least, does him the favour of not denying his actions a second time. After the meeting he just had, he doesn’t think he would be able to stand Shey’s games. He just shrugs. “Forgive me if I’m not shaking with fear at the prospect.”

The longer this conversation lasts, the more does Zeku understand Andromache’s feelings towards Fae nobility and their politics. To think that there was a time when he enjoyed these games… Now, all he can feel is disgust.

“You went too far,” he says, shaking his head. “This time, you really went too far, Shey.”

Shey waves him off. “It was a neat solution,” he says. “Everyone who had any cause for interest in Miryam died with her.”

“There are literally millions of humans who have a cause for interest in Miryam.”

Shey snorts. “Oh, not these mortals and their exaggerated sense of solidarity or whatever they call it, acting like any harm done to one of them is somehow a direct attack on all of them. If you ask me, they are just using it as an excuse to make themselves into the victims and give themselves the moral high ground in any given situation. Or do you see any Fae complaining about Drakon and his soldiers getting killed?”

That he thinks this is a negative reflection on the humans, not the Fae, probably says everything that needs to be said about what kind of person he is. Zeku doesn’t want to imagine what it will do to the Alliance – the entire Continent – if he gets put in charge. Had Miryam only been a little bit smarter, a bit more willing to play to win… She had everything necessary to leave her in charge of the Continent after the war ended. But she didn’t have the nerve to go through with it, and how did it end? Her dead, everything she was working for in shambles and the Continent in Shey’s hands.

Zeku could scream at how stupidly unnecessary all of it is.

Instead, he merely offers the barest shrug at Shey’s comment. “Regardless of their motives, our human allies seem out for your head over this.”

“So what if they do?” Shey asks. “Miryam is dead. Without her, there is little they can do.”

“They seem to disagree,” Zeku says. In spite of the seriousness of the situation, he can’t help but feel a little smug. “Andromache says they have proof. And that she will happily make it public should you not meet their demands.” He smiles slightly. “Not only will you and your friends be revealed as honourless in front of the entire Continent for betraying your own allies, I also imagine that some people will be rather cross with you for murdering hundreds of thousands of innocent humans after we justified that entire war with wanting to save the humans.”

Shey doesn’t reply. Maybe he just considers for the first time that justifying a war with wanting the protect the humans and then turning around to casually murder five hundred thousand of them was not a particularly smart move. Not to mention that over the past years, Miryam became the face of the entire war effort, which not only brought her a whole lot of popularity, but also made her into a symbol. And turning against the symbol for the war they just won is political suicide.

For a brief moment, Shey’s calm demeanour cracks as he seems to realize that he just made a catastrophic mistake. Then, he catches himself, summoning a calm expression again.

“What is their price?” He asks, voice entirely business-like.

Zeku wonders what he is hoping for. What price would, in his mind, be able to make up for a betrayal like this, the loss of thousands of lives? Knowing Shey, he probably doesn’t imagine it will be too much. A bit of money, maybe, or land. Trading rights and favourable treaties. A small price, as is appropriate for lives that were entirely worthless to him.

“Half of our world,” Zeku counters calmly. And yes, he does enjoy the look on Shey’s face at the reply. “They are withdrawing their consent to the treaty I worked out with Andromache, Miryam and Drakon.” Well, mostly Drakon. “They no longer trust us to live side by side with them, so they have come up with their own solution: They want to divide the Continent in two. One half to the them, the other to us, and a wall in the middle. They’ll take the south.”

For a few heartbeats, Shey says nothing at all. Then, he asks very slowly, “Have these mortal fools completely lost their minds?”

Zeku shrugs again. “They don’t trust us anymore, not after what happened, and I honestly cannot blame them.”

“And they truly think they will get away with that?” Shey lets out a laugh and jumps to his feet. “I’ll have them assassinated before I meet these ridiculous demands.”

“I am sure they have plans for that scenario,” Zeku says. “And should this be made public, I imagine they would have quite a few supporters. Miryam was very popular, as you know, and you might find many Fae care more than you anticipated. Especially since there were also so many Fae amongst those you had killed.”

Shey wrinkles his nose in disdain. “Lesser faeries,” he says.

And what am I? Zeku thinks, fighting the sudden surge of anger. Anger at Shey. At himself. After all, he always knew what kind of person Shey was, and still, he chose the way he did. Withdrew support for Miryam and hoped… yes, what did he hope for? That Shey’s disregard for human and faerie lives wouldn’t carry on into his style of ruling? That he would follow through with the promises Miryam had made after replacing her?

Maybe he should have risked sticking up for Miryam. Should have made it clearer to her what was at stake, helped her work out a way to come out of this on top. Instead, he took the safe route and withdrew support, marked his wager in working with her down as failed and cut his losses.

A mistake. All of it was a mistake.

You’re a coward, Miryam’s voice says in his head. He can still see her so clearly, standing in that hallway with tears in her eyes and fury on her face. I hope this haunts you.

A bitter smile twists Zeku’s mouth. It will, he thinks. Don’t you worry, Miryam. It will.

“You would do better to do as they say,” Zeku says. “Because if you don’t – or if you get the brilliant idea to make them disappear the way you did with Miryam – I can assure you that you will have a problem. Should it come to war, I will be the first one to side with them against you, but I will not be the last.”

Shey stares at him in disbelief. He opens his mouth as if to reply, then closes it again. Of course. He isn’t used to getting push-back.

“You went too far,” Zeku repeats. “And it will always be my greatest shame that I didn’t stop you sooner. But if you think I will let you take this any further, you are dead-wrong.”

If him and Andromache were still allies, he might have begged her to allow him and his people to join them on their side of the wall that is soon to be built. But he lost that alliance the moment he decided to cut ties with Miryam and he knows perfectly well that there is no getting it back.

He played. And he lost. And now, he will have to pay.

----

Without corpses, there is no real need to hold a funeral. Unless, of course, you are Fae and want to make a grand gesture about how terribly sorry you are about the death of the people you had killed, and so the Fae seem to have made it their mission to hold the most dramatic funeral possible for Miryam, Drakon and the others, perhaps in a vain attempt to cover up their guilt.

Had the idea come from anyone else, Andromache might even have been willing to admit that she thinks holding some kind of ceremony is the right thing to do. As things are, though, it only feels like a cheap publicity stunt. Hundreds of thousands of pyres erected, one for every single person who died during that battle, all of them lit at the same time – this isn’t a show of respect, it’s a political spectacle and Andromache hates everything about it.

The worst part is that she wasn’t even able to argue against the idea, not without making it seem like she doesn’t want to honour Miryam and the other dead. So instead, she has decided to use the entire situation to her advantage. Shey wants to use this funeral to improve his image? Fine, then Andromache will ruin that plan as thoroughly as she can.

The good thing about ceremonies like that is that everything, down to the choice of clothes, sends a message. Shey has apparently decided to show to the entire world how much he mourns Miryam’s death and respected her. He is wearing black with blue details, showing his mourning and pretending to the entire world that he respected Miryam, looked up to her.

Andromache and the other human councilmembers appear entirely in red.

Their choice of clothes draws stares as they arrive at the ceremony together. Miryam wore red details on her dress for Jurian’s funeral, but that was a different matter – then, at least everyone knew who she wanted to get revenge at. Now, with the war over and Ravenia, who is officially responsible for every death that occurred, dead, no one understands why the entire human fraction of the Alliance is publicly declaring that they want revenge.

Shey steps in Andromache’s way before she reaches her place at the front of the assembled crowd. His face is almost as red as Andromache’s dress. “What do you think you are doing?” He snaps.

“Whatever are you talking about?” Andromache asks, then glances down at her dress like she is only now realizing what his problem might be. “Oh, that. Well, I thought the choice of colour in a dress should reflect our feelings regarding the death.” She frowns at Shey. “Although you don’t seem to have taken that all too seriously yourself. What colour says ‘I had the deceased assassinated’ again?”

“Will you be quiet?” Shey hisses, looking around frantically to see if anyone heard. “I agreed to your demands, and in return, you were meant to keep your silence. If you aren’t able to do that, our agreement is over.”

“You are the one who made this funeral into a farce!” Andromache snaps back. “This isn’t an opportunity for you to improve your image and if you had any sense of decency whatsoever, you would never have tried.”

With that, she shoulders past him and goes to take her place with the other humans.

“Remarkable show of restraint,” Nakia says by way of greeting. “I thought you’d break his nose.”

Andromache shrugs. “Might still, depending on his bad his speech is.”

The first speech isn’t Shey’s, though. It is hers.

Andromache struggled against the suggestion that she should hold the opening speech. To her, it felt like she would be assuming a position she never held. She was a close friend with both Miryam and Drakon, yes, but she was never closest to either of them, and she didn’t know most of the others who died at all. It was only when she realized that anyone who was closer to them than her had died in that battle that she agreed to hold the speech.

Slowly, she steps forward, red dress shifting around her feet. She will not have to light any of the pyres as would be human tradition; they will be magically lit at the end of her speech with her only needing to give a signal. It feels wrong, somehow. Pyres are meant to be lit by hand, the person who was closest to them doing them that final service and bidding them goodbye in doing so. Magic takes away all of the intimacy of the moment.

Everything about this funeral-that-isn’t-one feels wrong. It is unworthy. Miryam and Drakon and all these countless others would have deserved better.

They would also have deserved a better speech than the one Andromache ends up giving. She did her best to find the proper words, she truly did. What point is there in talking about all the things that were wonderful about them, as if putting into words all that she lost will somehow make it better. Why would she tell the world about all the things Miryam and Drakon and the others would have wanted and deserved from the future, as if the one thing they would have wanted and deserved wasn’t to be alive. How can she call this a tragedy when she knows that in truth, it was a crime?

The only words Andromache wants to say are ones made from anger, condemning the ones responsible for these deaths, but those, she cannot speak, and there are no other words that might mean anything in the face of such a terrible, senseless crime. She still tries, and she fails, and she knows she does even as she holds her speech.

She is relieved when she is finally done and gets to return to her place. The pyres are lit by magic and Andromache tries to comfort herself with the fact that there are no bodies, anyways, that Miryam and Drakon and all the others are dead and will never know about the farce that is their funeral. It is no comfort at all, though.

The rest of the ceremony passes far too slowly. Andromache stands in her place, stares at the flickering flames and ignores the speeches the others hold. She only notices it is finally over when people start moving around her. She leaves her place as well, wandering around aimlessly for a bit. She doesn’t want to talk. She doesn’t want to eat, or drink. She cannot stand this.

Andromache turns away from the ceremony and stalks off into the darkness. Away from the crowds and the noise and the fire. Away from the empty pyres and the Fae pretending they care about the deaths that occurred.

For the first few steps, her posture remains stiff, her steps fast and firm with anger. But as she walks through the night, her anger seems to dissolve like smoke in the wind. It leaves her feeling cold and alone. Empty. Soon, her vision is blurry with tears and she is stumbling more than walking.

How could everything have gone wrong so quickly? Mere days ago, she was giddy with happiness, drinking to victory and a bright future with the others, but now… Now, Miryam and Drakon and so many others are dead, and she cannot imagine ever speaking to Mor again, much less spending the future together as they planned. Everything she had wanted for her future, blown apart in one terrible day.

She lets herself drop to the ground, not caring if the damp grass stains her dress, rests her head on her knees and cries.

There is a soft rustling in front of her. Andromache is on her feet within moments, hand going for the dagger she has hidden under her dress. She is suddenly acutely aware that she is all alone out here, no guards in sight, and almost unarmed.

“Who’s there?” She calls, slowly drawing her dagger.

No one answers, but there is another rustle. This time, Andromache can place where the noise is coming from. She looks down and finds a falcon sitting on a small rock a few feet away from her, staring at her from amber eyes. Andromache stares back.

Birds usually avoid people. They do not land mere feet away from them, or remain sitting this still. Andromache points her dagger at the bird, trying to shoo it away, but it merely cocks its head to the side and hops a step closer to her. There is something fastened around its neck.

Rationally, Andromache knows that there are several people who could be responsible for this. Miryam wasn’t the only witch in the world, and even discounting people who are able to control animals, there’s always the chance of some Fae or another being able to shapeshift into one to use its form to trick her. Rationally, Andromache knows perfectly well that it is a terrible idea to approach a weird animal with some item fastened around its neck. Unfortunately, that knowledge is overridden completely by the fact that the only person she ever met who had a particular affinity for animals was Miryam, and Miryam favoured falcons. And they didn’t find a body.

Slowly, Andromache steps towards the falcon. It doesn’t make a move to flee, merely looks up at her. Andromache crouches down and reaches for it. If I get ambushed now, that will be entirely on me, she things as she carefully unties the thin bit of rope fastened around its neck.

A small amulet falls into her waiting palm. It appears to be bronze, with a blue stone in the middle. Andromache frowns down at it, then at the falcon who is still watching her.

“And what am I supposed to do now?” She asks.

The bird clicks its beak and hops from one foot to the other. If there is any message hidden in that reaction, Andromache fails to understand it. She turns her attention back on the amulet, turns it around in her fingers. Nothing happens, but she notices that the stone seems slightly loose.

“What are the odds of me getting cursed from this?” She asks softly.

The bird offers no reply, and so Andromache reaches for the stone and turns it around once. There is a flash of light. When it recedes, Andromache is no longer standing on the soft forest floor, but on hard earth. She stumbles forward and might have fallen had there not been a hand ready to steady her.

Slowly, she looks up. Miryam and Drakon are standing in front of her, both very much alive.

----

An hour after the official part of the ceremony has ended, Mor is already drunk. She has foregone the food entirely and instead gone to the drinks directly after the last speech ended, and then proceeded to methodically empty one wine bottle after another.

By now, she is three-quarters through the third bottle and a merciful numbness in beginning to set in. Everything still sucks, but it no longer feels like someone is twisting a knife in her chest. She even manages to look over at Andromache, who looks particularly beautiful and just as furious in her red dress and ignores Mor entirely, without feeling like she is dying. Maybe with a few more bottles, it will stop hurting altogether.

She drains the rest of her bottle and makes for the table with the wine again, slightly unsteady on her feet. Once, she stumbles over her own feet and crashes into one of the other guests. With a mumbled “sorry” she continues on, finally reaching the safe haven of the table. She clings on to it with one hand as she carefully places the empty bottle on the table and reaches for a new one. Bounty in hand, she retreats back into the crowd.

The fires are still burning, and the light stings her eyes. So many fires… So many dead people… Miryam’s face flashes in her mind, the coldness in her eyes as they last spoke. Drakon telling her she went too far. Andromache, who isn’t dead but seems to wish Mor was, telling her she is no better than the rest.

She opens the bottle and goes back to drinking. Halfway through that bottle, the pain dulls to a soft throb and she begins to feel better about herself. Yes, everything is all horrible, but she sort of feels like she is floating, and the fires are very pretty. Like little glittering jewels.

Maybe she should talk to Andromache now. The prospect no longer feels as daunting as it did an hour ago. She will talk to her and tell her… well, she will think of something to tell her.

Mor drains the last of her bottle, letting it drop to the ground, and tries to stand up on her toes to scan the crowd for Andromache. Her sense of balance isn’t entirely up to the task anymore, though, because she begins to sway dangerously and stumbles. She would have fallen had there not been a pair of hands taking her by the shoulders and pushing her upright again.

“Oops,” Mor mutters.

The hands let go of her shoulders but remain nearby, as if waiting to catch her should she fall again. Mor looks around for the owner of the hands, finding a dark-skinned Fae standing in front of her. It takes her a few moments to work through the haze in her mind and place his face, then she smiles slowly.

“Helion. Want some wine?” She wants to offer him her bottle, but then realizes it’s not in her hands anymore. She looks around for it until she remembers that she dropped it earlier. “I’ll get us a new one.” Cauldron, forming words is difficult. Her tongue isn’t cooperating the way it should and the ground seems to have started swaying under her feet. She stumbles and Helion grips her by the shoulder again.

“No, thank you,” he says. “And you should probably switch to water for the rest of the evening, too.”

Mor shakes her head. “Spoilsport,” she mutters but doesn’t resist as Helion starts leading her towards the food.

“’m looking for An…” She stumbles over the name. Frowning with concentration, she tries again. “Andromache.” It comes out almost correctly. “She was very mean to me,” she adds. “Not nice at all. Not fair. Wasn’ my fault.”

Helion raises one eyebrow. “I think she left already,” he says, handing her a plate.

Mor looks down at the steaming food – and bursts out crying. It’s all so terribly sad. The entire world is sad and bad and hopeless, and Andromache hates her, and Miryam and Drakon are dead and it’s all because of her.

“’s my fault,” she mutters, words coming out even more unclearly now. “I was supposed to… to keep them safe and…”

Helion wraps an arm around her shoulders. His arm is very warm and very nice, and it makes more cry even harder.

“It isn’t your fault,” he says. “You couldn’t have known what would happen when you left – no one could have anticipated this.”

Mor buries her face in his jacked, sniffing. “But I said…” she begins. She would have continued the sentence, would have told him about all the horrible things she said as well as she remembers, but her mouth stops cooperating.

“Alright,” Helion says, and Mor feels herself lifted off her feet and picked up. “I’m bringing you to your rooms now, and tomorrow…” Helion hesitates. “Well, I’m sure things will look better tomorrow.”

There is a hint of bitterness in his voice, like he doesn’t believe what he is saying himself, but in her state, Mor doesn’t notice. She only vaguely registers that she is being carried up some stares and gently tucked into bed before she slips off into merciful oblivion.

----

For a few heartbeats, Andromache merely stands frozen in place and stares. A part of her wants to scream at them, shout her fury because how dare they scare her like that? Another part just wants to hug them, somehow convince herself that they are real.

“Andromache,” Miryam whispers and takes a step forward.

That breaks the spell. Andromache darts forward as well and wraps her arm around her neck. Hot tears sting on her cheeks.

“It’s alright,” Miryam whispers. “We’re alright.”

Andromache lets go of her and turns to hug Drakon. The first minutes after that are so hectic that Andromache only barely manages to keep track, the initial happiness giving way to fresh worry quickly. All three of them seem to be talking at once, questions and answers and more questions buzzing through the air. It would have gone far more quickly had they talked it through calmly, but they are all far from calm. Andromache can barely believe what she is hearing – the ocean parted, a battle on the ocean floor. It is a miracle that they all survived.

“Maybe we should go away from the camp for a bit,” Drakon suggests, nodding to the onlookers that have gathered.

“Good idea,” Andromache says, and Miryam, who has been unusually quiet after the initial excitement died down, nods as well.

They find a quiet place a bit away from the camp where the forest meets the ocean, only just within the bounds of the wards. Miryam leans against a tree, staring out at the ocean. Drakon sits down on the trunk of an upturned tree. Andromache remains standing.

“If you want, we can declare war that very day,” she says.

It’s an idea that has been passed back and forth between Nakia and Andromache ever since the news about what Shey did arrived. So far, they’ve always had to decide against it. They lack the military force to be able to successfully fight the Fae, and with so many of theirs newly freed from slavery, they cannot spare the resources. But with Miryam, who has shown herself capable of taking down entire countries by herself and who might be able to gather them support amongst the Fae… They would actually stand a chance.

Miryam doesn’t react at all, though. From the way she keeps staring at the ocean, unmoving, unblinking, Andromache almost thinks she didn’t hear her at all.

Drakon reacts, though. He spins around to her like she slapped him. “What?” He asks, managing to put all the disbelief in the world into the word.

“Declare war,” Andromache repeats. “That is the common reaction to a betrayal like this, isn’t it? Any Fae country on the Continent would do the same thing, so why shouldn’t we?”

“Because the only thing it would accomplish is get thousands of people killed and potentially undo years of work!” Drakon answers with more force than is usual for him. “What could you hope to accomplish?”

“What else could I do?” Andromache shoots back. “We need to react in some way, we can’t just allow them to walk all over us like that. They were willing to kill thousands of us. I wouldn’t expect you to understand – “

“Stop,” Miryam cuts her off, turning in a quick, precise motion away from the ocean. “They were willing to kill Drakon and his soldiers right alongside us – most of the people who actually did die were faeries.”

Andromache deflates slightly. She sighs and turns to Drakon. “Sorry,” she says. “I just…” She shrugs.

“You’re currently in the mood to strangle any Fae you come across?” Drakon suggests. “Understandable. No offence taken.”

Still, Miryam has a point. Maybe Andromache was wrong to draw the lines in this conflict simply as humans against Fae. In reality, the High Fae don’t have much more respect for faeries than for humans. There’s a total of two faerie rulers on the entire Continent, and for all that Shey just proved he didn’t care about killing thousands of humans to get what he wanted, he did the same to the faeries who were involved. Drakon’s status and the protection it should have offered stopped him as little as Miryam’s.

It’s an interesting thought. Isolated, it might be difficult for the humans to fight back, but if they were to work together with the faeries, if they realized that the differences between humans and faeries are far smaller than the ones between faeries and High Fae… An interesting thought indeed.

Unfortunately, Drakon’s thoughts don’t seem to go into that direction.

“War won’t make anything better, though,” he says. “This isn’t like this war where we had a clear, manageable goal: Ending slavery. That was simple. But how do you plan to win a war against the fact that they don’t see humans as equal?” He shakes his head. “Short of killing every one of them, what way is there to resolve this issue through war?”

He looks at Andromache like he expects her to say something. She remains silent. She hadn’t thought this far yet. Of course she doesn’t want to kill all Fae, not in the slightest. She doesn’t even hate them all, she just… How can Shey and the others get away with what they did?

“All a war would accomplish is kill millions of innocents,” Drakon says. “And we’ve already…” He shakes his head and starts over. “This war has already taken things so far. What lines are left that haven’t been crossed yet? And if we take this any further, if we now start a war with our former allies… it will tear this entire continent apart. And it will hardly even matter who wins, because either way, millions of innocent people will die and reconciliation or peace will be made impossible for generations to come.”

Andromache wrinkles her nose, but she is still unable to argue. That was also one of the reasons why Nakia especially argued against the idea of a military solution: To start a war now would mean to risk everything they have won.

“Drakon is right,” Miryam says. “War is not the solution. Too many innocents have already been dragged into this – I won’t allow for any more people to be made into collateral damage by jumping onto Shey’s game of trying to murder each other in the most catastrophic way possible.”

Andromache refrains from saying that this goes far beyond a political powerplay. She doesn’t want to argue with Miryam over something like that.

“The treaty is the best chance for peace we have,” Miryam says. “I won’t let Shey’s actions ruin that. I know circumstances are far from ideal, but we can still make it work.”

Andromache stares at her, not quite believing what she is hearing. After all that happened, how can Miryam still talk of her treaty? How does she not realize that this treaty died the second Shey betrayed them. Andromache wants to take her by the shoulders and shake her until she starts seeing sense. She has to forcefully remind herself that Miryam is likely still in shock from what happened and is desperately clinging to a solution that is no longer possible as a way to cope.

“That’s not happening,” she says as calmly as she can manage. “That treaty relied on mutual trust, and after what happened, I cannot see that coming about anytime soon.”

Miryam and Drakon both look like she slapped them. It actually makes Andromache feel bad for them. Her own stakes in that treaty were always low, she really mostly went along with it because Miryam and Drakon were so very convinced that it was the only way, but for them… She doesn’t want to imagine what it must feel like to watch a thing you believed in and spent years working for fall apart before your eyes.

“And what will you do instead?” Drakon asks.

“We have decided to split up the world. One half to the Fae, the other to the humans and a wall in the middle to keep us safe.”

Drakon frowns. “What kind of wall would that be?” He asks, but Miryam is staring at Andromache, wide-eyed.

“No,” she whispers. “No, Andromache. You cannot do that. Please. It isn’t necessary, there is still another way.”

The desperation on her face stings. Andromache wants nothing more than to give in, if only to wipe that look off her face, but she cannot. Not on this.

“I’m sorry,” she says, more softly this time. “But this is the way it is going to happen. You don’t want war, so I will not start one in your name. But after what happened, there cannot be peace either.”

Miryam shakes her head. Straightens. “Just give me one more chance,” she says. It’s the same tone she always has when she tries to convince people that she can handle a situation she cannot handle. “Let me talk to the Fae. I can still fix this.”

Andromache slowly shakes her head. “Are you out of your mind?” She asks. It is a struggle to keep her voice controlled. “They tried to kill you, Miryam. All of you. What do you think will happen if you go back?”

“This treaty needs to go through!” Miryam retorts. “This is important. It’s more important than… If we are to ever have peace, we need to find a way to live together. You – “

“Miryam stop,” Andromache snaps. Now, she actually does take her by the shoulders and shakes her slightly. “Do you truly want to die over this? Because this is what’s going to happen if you go back. They are going to kill you.”

“They already did,” Miryam mutters.

That throws Andromache off, but only for a moment. Chances are Miryam is just being dramatic, and if she wasn’t… well, then she will have to deal with that later.

“If you go back, you will die, and your death will be completely pointlessly,” she says, “You will not reach your goals, only get yourself killed. Is that truly what you want your life to be? Sixteen years as a slave, two years on the run and seven years of war. Killed at twenty-five in some pointless political struggle.”

Miryam starts to cry. Drakon makes to rise, but Andromache is faster, wrapping her arms around her.

“It doesn’t need to end like this,” she whispers. “You can still live, Miryam. You have won. Don’t just throw your life away like that.”

Miryam steps away from Andromache, already wiping her tears away again. She still looks completely miserable, though, as she lets herself drop onto the trunk next to Drakon.

“But what options do we have?” Drakon asks. He looks no less miserable than Miryam. “If we cannot go back, if we will never be safe after what happened, then what about the people in our camp? They are witnesses as much as we are. Some of these people have homes. Families. We have a home. We can’t just leave that, even if we had a way to vanish hundreds of thousands of people.”

Andromache bites her lip. She didn’t think of that yet. For the humans, she supposes she might be able to hide them amongst the other newly-freed slaves, since Fae never pay much attention to humans, but even then, there would be the problem of word of what Shey did getting around. And there is no hiding the Seraphim at all, not amongst the humans and not anywhere else. Miryam and Drakon alone might hope to hide somewhere, but what would the point be if their people were still left in danger?

She briefly contemplates saying that if they were to go to war, none of that would be a problem. But that would be a very cruel way to push Miryam and Drakon to take her side. Give up your home or agree to a war you know to be wrong is not a particularly fair choice, and certainly not one she should ask of her friends.

“We can’t just vanish,” Drakon continues. “And Andromache, you can’t just split the Continent in two and build a wall in the middle. How would that even work? Do you expect millions of people to get up and leave their countries to march to the other end of the Continent and settle down there? That’s a terrible idea, not to mention that the kind of wall you seem to be thinking of won’t be easy to get.”

Miryam seems distinctly uncomfortable in her skin. Apparently, she never told Drakon about the wall spell. Understandable, Andromache supposes. Until now, none of them ever thought that spell would become relevant.

“Let’s just assume that the wall is happening,” Andromache says. Let Miryam talk that one through with Drakon on her own. “The issue is what we do with you two.”

“No, that’s not the issue!” Miryam replies. “The issue is that this wall is a downright terrible idea and – “

“And not your choice to be made,” Andromache finishes. “The decision was unanimous, Miryam. I’m sorry, but even you cannot change that.”

Neither Miryam nor Drakon argue any further after this. Miryam merely reaches for Drakon’s hand, and then, they are sitting side by side in complete silence.

Andromache feels terrible about herself. The last thing she ever wanted was to hurt them with the solution she came up with, but there seems to be no way around it. She firmly believes that the wall is the only was to guarantee the humans’ safety in the long run, and for that to work out, Miryam, Drakon and their people need to disappear. It means that they will not get the future they wanted, and that Drakon and his people will have to give up their homes, and it is far from fair but Andromache doesn’t see a way around it so she simply stands around and stares down at her feet in shame.

Finally, it is Miryam who breaks the silence. “I think I know somewhere we could go,” she says softly. “Somewhere they would never find us. Where we would be safe.”

----

Tags: @femtopulsed @croissantcitysucks @aileywrites

[prof-peach]

Hey Prof, I need your advice.

My sister recently decided she didn't wanted her bulbasaur anymore (she got him on a whim about a month ago) and gave him to me, he is quite violent and tends to attack when I try to get close to him.

Now, that wouldn't be a huge problem, but my Purrloin has gotten hurt trying to befriend him, she's quite outgoing and never really liked fighting (we enjoy contests so she knows a few more flashy attacks), so she couldn't even defend herself properly.

I don't want to give up on him and my local rescue center is filled with Bunearies (you know, after Easter kids don't want their Bunny anymore) so they can't take him in right now, any advice in how I can go about this situation?

Sounds to me like you have a tricky little dude on your hands. So you're not battle orientated which will make this harder, Bulbasaur in the wild are actually quite combat minded to defend their families and territory, and a lot of their herds consist of strict hierarchy based on power and skill, often led by older, fully evolved members of their group. 

Before you take any actions to befriend them, its worth noting that any pokemon who comes into your care showing aggression is usually doing so for one or two reasons that are pretty universal for any species. Fear being the main issue with pokemon who have been ditched, if a pokemon is unwell, if it feels exposed, if it is unsure of you or your home, your partners, it may lash out because it is afraid. Even what looks like pure anger can stem from a fear. Of course some individuals are just full of rage, its not unheard of, but for the most part it comes from somewhere else. 

For a moment, take the time to put yourself in this pokemons shoes. It was chosen, with hopes and ambitions of its own, by your sister, a stranger to them, and for whatever reason they were cast aside. This reason may be unclear to the pokemon, it may be unfair, unkind, or even without malice just out of pure indifference. No matter the reason, this pokemon has been left behind by a trainer it at one point probably wanted to try to get along with. I don’t know what your sister may or may not have done, or provided for the bulbasaur, but it will help you understand how its feeling, if you were to ask her about their relationship prior to you receiving the pokemon. If it has always been aggressive and angry, i’d seriously consider talking to it about release, not rehome. 

We humans have a preconceived notion that pokemon are pets and things to keep with us. This may be true for some sure, but not every pokemon wishes to be a captive to a human, they may want more for themselves, and wish for a free life with their own kind. We cannot put our wants and desires above that of the pokemons, so you two need to have a talk, at a respectful distance for safeties sake, to see what the Bulbasaur feels they may want. These are herd pokemon, born and bred to be with their own kind, if not a larger group, if its lonely, if it wants to go home, to start a family, or simply to not be held in a ball as some creature to be owned, then you as its current carer must give it what you can. You can always find another pokemon who wants to be your partner, but you cannot give back lost years to a pokemon who has lived a life its unhappy with. Treat them with respect, and be open and honest. At the end of the day we have a chance to help pokemon, and forcing what we want onto them is a hinderance, and will lead to them feeling unsatisfied and bitter in the long run. 

Some pokemon lash out due to the process of being handed off to someone else, trust is earnt, not always just simply given to whoever holds the pokeball. Remember this as you move forward, and try to keep your other pokemon away from them, Bulbasaur are territorial species, and have to accept pokemon into their families before simply allowing them to come and go freely into their personal space. Despite their grouchy natures at times they usually do have a morally positive compass, and defend with ferocity when they love something. Perhaps in you showing genuine concern for their welfare and future, offering them not what you want, but instead what they want, they may give you a chance to get closer, but take baby steps, and try to be their friend above all else. I bet they're feeling pretty lonely right now. 

Its worth sharing interests with the pokemon, talk about contests, see if they're interested, some pokemon have a predisposition for this, others have no interest and prefer more battle based lives, or even peaceful non-competitive existences. no amount of pressure will change a pokemon’s nature, and some just aren't cut out for the fine art of showmanship that contests require. You can however use powerful attacks in showy ways, so theres always hope that they could enjoy it, if you can work with them to their strengths. 

If possible, work to getting them outdoors, cooping grass types up can lead to stroppy, testing personalities, many thrive in the outdoors, he may need some serious outside time to compensate for the lack of exercise and natural stimulation they may have not been getting prior to your ownership. There are plenty of areas in public that are much like tennis courts, areas of space you can book for a set amount of time too exercise difficult pokemon, these locations are often secure facilities, both outdoors and indoors, to suit a range of species. find one that has outdoor facilities and book a few hours per week to go there, increasing the time whenever possible. This exercise and time with you may help to find common ground, and topics that you and the bulbasaur can bond over. This can be anything from battles, to sun bathing, playing sports, games, swimming, running or digging, and everything in between. Bulbasaur naturally are great foragers and tend to like to snaffle about in long grass and shrubland, hiding treats like berry slices in a secure environment is good enrichment and can tire the pokemon out. a tired pokemon is usually a little less aggressive, having lower energy levels and less want to expend attacks. this process also associated you with something fun, and your scent will be on the treats too, so they'll know you were the one to provide this activity for them.   

I’d also take plenty of time to observe the bulbasaur, as your sister got them on a whim, they probably had no prior knowledge of the species, or how to correctly care for them. In a month, a health complaint could have begun to show, so observe their colouration, feet, walking gait, sleeping patterns, feeding habits, and general behaviour. Excess scratching, heavy breathing, or unusual shaking or moving can suggest a health condition is starting to take form. Most can be helped if caught early, but some illnesses give the pokemon discomfort, and can lead to snappy tempers and irritability. It could be that this individual is in pain, or finding life difficult due to its health, which can cause a lot of hostility as i’m sure anyone would agree. It can suck to be sick!

This species can be won over if you can prove you have a skill of worth to them. This is the case with a lot of pokemon, having respect for something they cannot do, and learning that they need things from you can lead to them at least tolerating us humans. Its a foot in the door. A trick i like t use with particularly difficult bulbasaur is to give them their fav food, whatever it is, then put it in a clear container the pokemon cannot open. They have no thumbs, and their vines though dexterous, aren't able to open every kind of container. The pokemon will want whats inside, and be unable to access it. they will eventually give up out of frustration. this is where you come in. enter the space, don’t let your pokemon approach as this can be threatening, and open the container. leave it on the floor open, making sure they've watched you get the thing open. They can then approach and enjoy their fav food, all thanks to you and those wondrous thumbs you have. repeating this process yields good results, and starts a mutual relationship of tolerance and acceptance between you and a bulbasaur. Most will accept they want the food more than they want you gone, and you provide something they can’t get to. whatever you do, don’t let them see that you were the one to lock the food up in the container. Get a friend to do it, or do it in the room, and leave it in place on the floor, before allowing the bulbasaur to enter and investigate the item. If they see you're the one doing it, the trick is foiled, and your back to square one. Eventually this does tend to lead to the pokemon becoming less stressed with you around them, and eventually it leads to trust, and even friendship. This trick is good to use to get them use to you, once they're ok with you being around them because of your use to them, they may start to take food from you directly, engage in play, or even just sit and tolerate company for short periods of time. Do not expect this to be quick, but it does usually do the trick. 

Regardless, i do have concern that the pokemon may want to be with its own, should you discuss this and find they're not interested in being housebound and a pet, feel free to send them our way, we had exactly this situation in mind when setting up the islands facilities, and have extensive locations designed with grass pokemosn needs at the forefront. Theres a small herd of about 12 bulbasaur evolutions that live north of our labs, no people see them, they are happy as a unit, and are left alone to go about their lives, with the only interactions between humans being us giving them their yearly health check, or should we spot them with an issue, we may intervene. They live away from others and pretty much free, in a poacher safe environment. Its not ideal, we like to keep pokemon in areas they come from, with people who love them, and you show great concern for the pokemon so it would be a shame to have to let them go, BUT sometimes thats just life, and theres nothing to be done about it other than accepting that the pokemons wants come first. They may just be mistrusting so try everything else first, and see how you go. hopefully you’ll yield some results from this all. Good luck out there trainer. 

[ben0vilence]

This is a story inspired by @harbingers-appointed DK yb AU ^^ I hope I exceeded expectations. There is a little smut in here, so no minors! Hope you enjoy!~

A Heavenly Night In Hell:

Today's bounty was plentiful. Many unfamiliar constructs the human world has. I return to my abode, one I used to loathe with every fibre of my being, that is until I found the love of my life. With my most recent haul, they are sure to appreciate my efforts and be less inclined to further question my intentions. They are nothing but pure after all. I opened the immaculately decorated double doors to the castle and strode through the entrance hall, stone walls flickering a pale shade of blue courtesy of the torchlight. I hear the pitter patter of delicate footsteps echo from upstairs and smile. My darling is to grace my line of vision once more, a sight I simply cannot go without for prolonged periods of time. They dashed out from around the corner atop the staircase, panting as they grasped the railing for support. I saw them grin as they laid eyes on my gifts, and my heart thumped with longing.

"You really did get everything! Wasn't it too heavy though..?" They asked. Ahhhh, their voice and the concern that laced it was so soothing, their question was almost lost on me.

"Of course I did, anything for you, darling. And no, I used my powers to transport all this here." I chuckled. Mind you, if I'd used my raw physical strength to do so, I may not have had much success. I may be vastly taller than them, but not quite strong enough to lift some of these objects. They descended the staircase and approached me, the stool I custom ordered for them in hand. I often had to remind myself how tiny they were in comparison to myself, especially in these heels. They set it infront of me and climbed up, pulling me in for a hug. Instantly, my body melted into theirs as I wrapped my arms around their frame. I took this opportunity to discretely inhale their addictive scent from the nape of their neck and hair, exhaling warm air against their pale skin. They giggled, a sound I found most adorable.

"I have a name, y'know? Why dontcha use it?" They smirked. I grinned, my incisors glistening and sharp.

"I am aware, and a lovely name it is Bene~ But I love calling you 'darling' most of all." Their neck sunk into their shoulders as those cheeks turned rosey, a look that caused the steadily building hunger in my heart.. and explicit regions to rise.

"Praytell, what are these human devices used for?" I asked, genuinely curious.

"I still can't believe you've never done this before, haha. See, I heard from some of the other demons that before I arrived, you mostly just spent your time in solitude sitting on that throne of yours. Soooo, I thought we could do something more fun and have a movie night. Just the two of us."

My eyes widened in excitement. I had always wanted to watch a film, and now that my darling was by my side, it was to make the experience all the more enjoyable! I helped them set up everything we would need for tonight, and helped them turn the centre of the foyer room into a meadow of lush cushions and soft blankets. It took everything to contain my joy, it would all be so perfect. There was only one thing I needed to do afterwards, and that was give my hired help the night off. TK is as submissive as they come, the head of "housekeeping" too, but lately I've become suspicious of my second in command.. Don was hardworking and fearless, admirable qualities in a demon army general, but troubling in regards to Bene. It's hard enough that he's technically taller than me.. I will not have him turn my beloved against me..

                            ~~~~~~~~~

With the "riff-raff" taken care of, I joined Bene that evening in my nightgown. It was more comfortable than my day wear, true, but I figured it might even appear more aesthetically pleasing. Bene was dressed in a modest black t-shirt with a holographic design on the front, they called it "a Pokémon" I believe, and some shorts. I assume this was also for comfort. They had surrounded the area with premade confectionery and savoury deliciousness, and as they looked up at me, they beckoned me to sit with them in the cushion pile. They didn't have to ask me twice. My tail swayed with every step, and I finally took my place behind them. They adjusted their position and laid their head on my left inner thigh, nuzzling it softly. My emotions were frenzied, so much I had to bite down on my own hand just to keep myself in line. I swallowed saliva that had briefly accumulated in my mouth and stroked Bene's shoulder. They shuddered at my touch.. not from pleasure it seemed.

"Are you alright, darling?" Their eyes open, but they don't look at me. It unsettled me a little, to say the least. Other times we've held each other and they never shivered with this amount of intensity. What had changed?

"Yeah, I'm fine. We can watch the movie now." The flat affect their voice possessed did not convince me in the slightest, but I could sense that pressing them on the matter could possibly anger them. The film that played was a commentary on human society, their governments and how they used fear to control the masses or influence circumstances to benefit them. One man actively defied them, however. He destroyed monuments to their power and influence as revenge for disfiguring and torturing him for their own gain. I saw a lot of myself in this man.. Bene teared up a little as we watched certain scenes. The warmth of the blankets must've calmed them eventually as they stopped shivering, and seemed at peace with my presence. The food probably helped in that regard too. I had no idea how sweet human food could be until I tried chocolate. Solid yet creamy once it melted in your mouth, marvellous~. The film drew to a close after nearly two hours, but I almost dreaded that. The story was so intriguing and emotionally charged, but the ending was at least satisfying. Bene sat up and stretched their limbs.

"You have impeccable taste, my love." I smiled as they finally looked at me.

"Thanks, uhh.. You know something I just realized? I still don't know your name yet." They chuckled. I faltered, my smile fading slightly.

"Honestly, my name repulses me.. I don't even allow my subjects to call me by it. Any name you were to give me would be desirable though."

They hesitated at this proposal. I could tell they had a name on the tip of their tongue ready for me, but it never escaped. They thought for a moment.

"Okay.. how about Dean?" Oh, could they have thought of anything better? I don't think so. It was a little basic, but far better than the name "someone" decided to give me..

"I love it, darling~" They gave me a small smile in return, but for some reason immediately broke down into sobs. I instinctively pulled them closer to me, re-wrapping the blanket over them.

"Please.. if you're not alright, you can tell me, Bene.. Honest communication is an essential part of relationships, is it not? So as long as you're truthful, I promise I could never be mad with you." I hushed them softly as they cried into my gown, rubbing their back. Their chest soon ceased heaving.

"Dean.. I-.. there's so many things I want to say, but I can't put it into words.. so many things I want to do, but never gave a chance." Their eyes glossy with tear drop residue met mine, and I felt my heart steal itself with the anticipation of the moment ramping up.

"I'm.. I'm ready." Those eyes softened, and they leaned in. This was it, the golden moment I had spent countless nights imagining. I cupped one of their cheeks in my hand and bridged the gap, planting a kiss on those pouty lips. More followed as we found our rhythm. Ahhhhh~ my darling's tongue tasted exquisite. I was eager to taste every inch of them, and I moved down to the nape of their neck, an area I knew for sure would stimulate them. Such delicate skin, slick as my tongue slid across it. They let out a whimper, and reached a hand up to caress my horns.

"O-mmmmmmmph~" The horns are extremely sensitive areas for demons, and regardless of whether they knew it or not, they were doing a spectacular job of turning me on. I began to nibble their skin, earning trembles in response. I hold them with my left hand, and reach my right hand underneath the blankets to play with my now throbbing member, at least until Bene is ready for me. I had already leaked precum thanks to the horn stroking, it makes me wonder if they had experience. Possibly. We continued our foreplay until it escalated, and I took them into an unforgettable experience. Nothing was more euphoric than hearing them scream my new name, moan for me, cum for me, and I them. Then sink into each other as we drift into fitful sleep..

I love you so much.. now and forever, darling~

                          ~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up in the middle of the night, the demon king cuddling me close to his body. I didn't dare move, hardly even breathe. I replayed the evening's events in my mind over and over.. what the fuck was I thinking..? Hah, I wasn't thinking. My unstable emotions and impulsivity caused my brain to enter autopilot, to just give into my own madness. It's happening again.. no no no, I can't fucking do this shit again! How can he love me when he doesn't know what I am? I don't even know what the fuck I am! Except maybe a monster, a disgusting piece of filth, a run through whore, a heathen. However, when I died I thought I'd return to the worm infested ground, they'd feed on my flesh, and that would be the end of everything.. but no, here I am in that place everyone said I would go to. My body shivered violently as I felt myself become overstimulated with this vortex of negative thoughts. Don't wake up, don't wake up. Leave me alone! I just want to go home! I don't want to be here! I'm not good for you, and you'll see that soon enough! To my surprise and immense relief, he let go of me and rolled over on the bed, facing the opposite direction. Now. Now I could get up and get some air. I carefully pulled myself out of bed and crawled on all fours towards the drapes covering the windows. I opened it and morphed into my fallen form; good to know it still worked. I leaped from the window sill and flew into the dark inferno, hoping that maybe I could find a way to escape with the time allotted. Or maybe just mope around on a rock somewhere.. I honestly felt defeated already.

I landed somewhere outside the neighbouring town, and even then I had a sneaking suspicion I wasn't alone.

"Why dontcha come out and say hi? I don't bite." I smirked, and turns out I was correct. The king's second in command, Don, had been trailing me. He stepped out from the shadows, tall and imposing, much like the demon he served.

"What are you doing out here? I'm surprised the king let you out of his sight with how obsessed with you he's become. And what's with the getup?" He asked, chuckling.

"He's still asleep, so I let myself out. And this is my fallen form, something I don't usually show others." I replied, transforming back to my regular form.

"Impressive kid. But I'm gonna have to take you back, don't want his majesty losing his shit over you." He nodded as he advanced on me, grabbing my arm.

"No! I don't care if he worries, infact if he had common sense at all, he wouldn't bother! He thinks he loves me but he doesn't! He doesn't fucking know the real me and never will!" I ripped my arm away and scowled, earning a look of shock from him.

"He's convinced that I love him, or he can 'make' me love him, but the truth is I don't know what real love is. So I can't feel it.. Everything about this situation is wrong.. and even though it's not toxic right now, it will be eventually. Like clockwork.. In my house, alone but free, is where I should be. Not here.."

"So, you wanna leave, huh kid?" I nodded, and he sighed.

"I know it'll be hard for you to wait.. but I need you to be patient while I organise things. However, if you wanna leave that badly, I can help you. You gotta help me first though." He added.

"How?" I looked up at him inquisitively.

"Keep the king off my back for as long as you can, and lower his defences if possible."

"I won't have to kill him though.. will I? I don't want to hurt him.. that's the main reason I wanna leave." I murmured.

"You'll be breaking his heart regardless, so no way around that. But nah, you won't have to kill him. Leave that to me." He grinned, an ominous glow in his eyes.

"Alright, I'm in."

[scvrllet]

the inevitable / r.b

Pairing: Regulus Black x Fem!Reader

Summary: Defying the Dark Lord never ends well, you and Regulus learned this from experience

Warning(s): death, brief mention of torture, angst but with a fluffy ending (you’re welcome, we all know I usually would’ve left it angsty)

Words: 3k+

Prompt: “Run away with me, it’ll be worth it.” will be in bold

This is for @obsessedwithrandomthings‘ writing challenge (congrats again on 500 followers!) 

A/N: I cannot write fluff I’m so sorry if you cringe. Also I’m posting this at nearly 11pm so idek if anyones gonna see this

General HP Taglist: @summer-writes @lunaralpha270 @tinylumpiaa @slytherin-chaser @bloodblossom73 @peachesandpinks @mischiefsemimanaged @accio-rogers @iamak20 @klaus-m-trash

Permanent Taglist: @sleep-i-ness @emmaloo21 @62442-am @flowersgrewbackasth0rns @imintoodeeptostop

Regulus stood hunched over the basin. The green glow of the remaining potion acting as a cruel reminder of what remaining torture he has to go through. Kreacher stood in front of him with a goblet in his hands. Regulus nodded and gulped down the potion, feeling the burning sensation as it went down.

He’s only had a few sips and so far, have only felt like his insides were on fire. As uncomfortable and painful it was, he forced himself to take more until his surroundings seemed to change.

(Y/N)?” He rasped as his vision started to focus on the figure sprawled out in front of him. When his vision finally focused, that was when he started screaming and scrambled to get up. Kreacher quickly dropped the goblet back into the basin and went to hold back his master who was mumbling stuff under his breath.

“Master Black, you must drink the potion.”

“(Y/N)! She’s there! Kreacher let go of me, she’s going to die!”

“Master Black, (Y/N) isn’t there. You must drink the potion.”

By this point Kreacher had to force the boy to take the potion and he hated every single second of it. Hearing his Master’s cries and protests to save someone who wasn’t there. Kreacher only hoped that they’d be out of here soon.

Taking more of the potion only made the visions worse. He kept seeing you, then Sirius, then the both of you laying in front of him. The two of you, dead before him just before the vision changed again. This time, Regulus recognized it as a memory. It was the first time he had gotten into a fight with you. 

“I just don’t see why you’re so worked up on this (Y/N). I’ll be fine, just because my family supports him doesn’t mean I’ll become a Death Eater.” Regulus said, his tone laced with annoyance as he lied straight to your face. 

“Than run away with me, it’ll be worth it. I promise. You won’t have to worry about Voldemort or your family. It’ll only be us. Just say the word, take my hand and we’ll go.” You pleaded desperately 

It hurt him to see you so stressed over him and it hurt even more that he was lying to you. He was already branded with the Dark Mark but he just didn’t know how to tell you. He didn’t even know if he wanted to tell you. 

“No, (Y/N), I can’t. He’ll find us, find me somehow. That will only put us into more danger.” Again, lies spilled out from his mouth. 

Regulus now wondered if he had taken your hand, would have things turned out differently.

When the potion was finally gone, Kreacher quickly grabbed the locket and switched it for the one Regulus had brought that contained the letter.

“Water. I need water.” Regulus mumbled, looking around the cave before crawling towards the dark lake surrounding the island they were standing on.

“Master Black no!” Kreacher protested but it was too late.

Immediately after Regulus and cupped his hands into the water to bring some to his lips, white ghastly hands had started to crawl out from the water. Several of them from all sides of the island. It was as if they were waiting for him.

By the time Kreacher made it to Regulus’ side, the inferi were already dragging him towards the water and they both knew that there was nothing that could be done. Before he was pulled under the water, he gave Kreacher one last order, fighting to stay above the water for even just a few more seconds.

“Go! Don’t tell my family anything, and give the letter to (Y/N). Protect her at all cost and destroy the locket”

The House elf nodded and with a guilty expression, appeared out of the cave and back to 12 Grimmauld Place. The sounds of his Master’s screams and cries echoing in his head as he appeared into the home that felt colder than usual. He quickly called for his master’s owl and gave it the letter. “To Hogwarts, to Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” 

---

Mail at Hogwarts was usually delivered during breakfast unless it was considered urgent, then it’d be delivered straight to the recipient’s dorm.

You were sitting on the edge of your one of your dorm-mates bed when a pecking noise was heard from outside the window. It was one of your other dorm-mates who decided to open the window after you waved it off as a tree branch on the window. 

“It’s not a branch (Y/N),why would there be a branch here? Anyways, it’s a letter for you.” They said as they handed you the letter. 

The second you grabbed it from her hand your brows raised as you recognized the Black family crest stamped in the middle of it, sealing the envelope shut. “Regulus?” you mumbled as you got up to go sit on your own bed. 

For the past month you noticed that he was acting differently and just a week ago he apparently left school. You just assumed that his parents needed him home for some urgent business and that was why he didn’t tell you anything. He was a busy boy after all. 

Breaking the seal on the envelope you took out the piece of parchment which was written in black ink. Your heart swells as you read what was written in it.

My little dove, 

If you’re reading this then it means that I have been killed. I’m sorry I’ve kept you in the dark about this but I found out something about Voldemort. He’s created this thing called a Horcrux. He’s not human, not anymore. For the past month I’ve been trying to figure out where to find it and possibly destroy it. I know that you’d probably scold me for doing a suicide mission but that’s now why I haven’t told you anything. It’s because I know you’d join me and do anything and everything so that I could live but I can’t let that happen. I’m ashamed to be a part of this family and shamed to have waited so long before finally realizing how horrible it actually is. 

There isn’t much time. I’m writing this the night before I go to the cave with Kreacher. Hopefully he is able to destroy the Horcrux and he’ll be mortal once again. 

Also, another thing. Please don’t tell my family anything or anyone in general, especially Sirius. If they ask about me just say you don’t know. Sirius would go out of his way to try and kill him and as much as I miss him, he’s safer with the Potters. Or at least I hope. 

I love you (Y/N), I always have and always will. Not even death can stop me, I promise. 

Yours forever,  Regulus Arcturus Black.

P.S.

Please don’t rush to see me again. We will meet again when your time comes but for now, your time is far from near. Don’t rush it darling, it’s not a race to the end. I love you forever. 

You didn’t notice the tears that fell from your eyes until one landed on the letter you were now gripping tightly. Your dorm-mates had paused their conversation and were now at the edge of your bed looking at you with worried expressions. 

“What’s wrong?” One of them asked.

“N-nothing.” You lied. 

They either believed it or knew better than to pressure you into saying anything. They simply just nodded and quickly left the dorm to give you your space which you silently thanked them for. When the door closed behind them you fell back onto the bed, your head buried into your pillow as your sobs filled the room. The letter clutched tightly in your arms until you had fallen asleep. 

When you woke up the next morning you immediately sat up to make sure that no one had taken the letter and read it. You sighed in relief when it was still in your hands and hid it before getting ready for the day. Getting ready as if you hadn’t just found out that the love of your life was killed the day before. No one could find out. 

You were thankful that there was only a week left before the Christmas holidays. Though you had plans to meet with Regulus over the break, you would now be spending them grieving a boy that no one but you and Kreacher knew had passed.  You only hoped that the week would end quickly. 

---

Kreacher greeted you at the door. 12 Grimmauld Place felt colder and lonelier than ever as you stepped inside. 

The House Elf led you to the Drawing Room where a yellow locket rested on a table. You looked back at Kreacher who nodded, already knowing what you were going to ask. 

“So this was the Dark Lord’s Horcrux, Salazar Slytherin’s locket.” You thought to yourself as you picked it up to examine it. 

“Kreacher has not been able to destroy it.” The old House Elf croaked. 

“And why would Kreacher do such a thing?” A voice said suddenly from behind the two of you. You instinctively grabbed your wand, ready to defend yourself and Kreacher but as you turned around two spells were shot towards you. The locket along with your wand dropped to the ground and a third spell was aimed at your chest, causing you to stumble and fall onto your back. 

Kreacher tried to intervene but with a wave of their wand, the attacker who you have yet to get a clear look at, sent the House Elf flying into the closest wall. By the time he was on his feet, the attacker was standing by your side and harshly grabbed your shoulder before apparating out of the house. Kreacher stood there for a moment, taking in the fact that he had failed his Master not just once but twice. 

“My Lord, this is the girl.” Your attacker said, they bowed at the tall dark figure who stood before them and that was when you finally recognized who it was. Bellatrix Lestrange, Regulus’s cousin who was an extremely loyal Death Eater to the Dark Lord. It was said that she was even obsessed with him and you wondered how twisted someone must be to be obsessed with a man like him.

“And where is the locket?” The figure, who you assumed was the Dark Lord, asked. His voice was calm which surprised you. You expected him to sound colder, cruel even. 

“I-I didn’t see it.” Was Bellatrix’s reply which caused the Dark Lord to finally turn around. 

“Well then, why don’t we ask our guest then.” He suggested as he slowly stepped closer towards you. Crouching down in front of you, he placed two fingers under your chin and lifted your head up so that you were looking him in the eye. 

You were once told that the Dark Lord was actually an attractive young man while studying at Hogwarts. Many girls fawned over him but he paid them no mind. He seemed to have his own gang of ‘friends’ who ended up to be his very first Death Eaters. No one would have thought that the he would have rose to power at such an early age. Over the years, as he started to become a dark wizard was when his features started to look less human but they were subtle. From a glance you would have assumed that he was just another wizard but upon closer inspection you noticed the subtle snake-like features. 

“Now, have you seen a yellow locket? More specifically, one that shouldn’t have been touched from the start.”He asked you calmly, a wicked smirk on his lips as he watched you try to appear calm. 

“No.” You lied through gritted teeth. 

His smirk seemed to grow as he let go from your chin. “Liar!” He seethed as he stood up straight. 

He turned to Bellatrix who stood behind you and you felt your heart drop to your stomach when you heard him say, “Bella, do as you please.”

The sounds of his footsteps retreating echoed through the dimly lit room and when the door behind him closed shut you prayed, prayed for some sort of God or deity to spare you from what you knew was going to come. 

“Looks like we are going to have some fun.” She said in a sickly sweet tone before grabbing her wand and pulling you up by your shoulder. 

It felt like hours had gone by as you laid on the cold ground, not you minded. You liked the cold ground. It was better than Bellatrix’s wand burning into your skin or the cruciatus curse that felt like white-hot knives piercing your skin. 

Just when you had thought it was over, the pain filled your body again. Your bones felt like they were on fire and you tried to bite back a scream. Bellatrix only giggled, seeming to love the pain she was inflicting as she rasped her wand and pointed it at you again. 

“Please.” You had managed to say. Due to the hours of torture you had just gone through you were surprised you had enough strength to even speak. 

Bellatrix lowered her wand, her eyes no longer bearing that maniac look that often filled her eyes as her expression looked more sympathetic. At this point you were far too weak to even try and figure out if this was all an act or not. A part of you told you to not get your hopes up but on the verge of death, your hopes were already far too high. 

She crouched down and leaned towards your ear, her signature smirk returning to her face as she whispered, “You should’ve told him where it was.” before one last spell shot out form her wand.

“Avada Kedavra.” 

Your body fell limp and during the last second before death greeted you, a small smile appeared on your lips as your last thoughts were of finally reuniting with Regulus. Then quicker than ever, darkness flooded your vision and you welcomed it.  

--- 

When you opened your eyes again it was no longer darkness that flooded your vision but bright white light. Once your vision adjusted you noticed you were at Kings Cross Station except it was entirely white. Even the clothes you wore were all white. Was this the afterlife? 

“He’s waiting for you.” A familiar voice said and you turned around to see your grandmother. You didn’t hesitate for a second as you ran towards her to hug her, a chuckle escaping her lips as she hugged you back. You had lost her the summer before you started Hogwarts and it pained you to not be able to tell her what you experienced there. You knew she would’ve loved to hear what you had to say but maybe now, 6 years later, you could finally tell her. 

“As much as I’d love to hear about your years at Hogwarts, I have to wait for someone else.” Your grandmother said as if she had read your mind.

“Mom...” 

“Yes my child, though worry not, it is not her time yet.” 

Silence draped itself onto the two of you as you realized that your parents had no idea that you had died. You simply told them that you were going to a friend’s house and that you’d be back for dinner but now that wouldn’t be happening. 

“They’ll be fine, don’t worry about them. What you should be worrying about is keeping him waiting.” Your grandmother said and you looked at her with a confused expression. 

“He?” You asked, not sure who she could have been referring to. She simply smiled and then it clicked in your head. Regulus.

“Take the train down three stops, get off and wait until the train is gone before getting off the platform. He’ll be there waiting for you.” With one last hug, you left your grandmother and hopped onto the train that arrived a few minutes after. You followed her instructions, getting off at the third stop and waiting until the train was fully gone before getting off of the platform. 

Getting off of the platform, you were relieved to see that everything wasn’t all white but instead, was the countryside with farm animals and a small cottage. There was a feeling inside you that wanted for you to go towards the cottage. 

“I’m already dead so what’s the worst that could happen?” You thought to yourself before heading towards the cottage. 

The closer you got the more nostalgic you felt though you couldn’t figure out how. By the time you were standing on the front door step, you could’ve sworn that you’ve seen the cottage somewhere before. 

Before you could even knock, the door swung open and a head of black curly hair immediately pulled you into their embrace. You stood there unsure of what was happening until the familiar scent of the boy you loved filled your senses. 

“Regulus...” You said softly, as if trying to confirm whether it was really him or not that was hugging you so tightly. 

He pulled away, hands no longer holding you close to him but now cupping your face. Tears filled both your eyes though neither of you knew who started crying first. 

“You’re such an idiot.” He tried joking as he buried your face in his chest. He held you close, pressing kisses into your hair as tears streamed down both your faces. 

“I love you.” You said, lifting you head up from his chest to look into his eyes that you were starting to miss. You were happy to see that they didn’t look so dull anymore.

“I love you more. But that doesn’t mean you’re not an idiot. I told you to take your time which meant not to go and try to destroy the Horcrux. I even told Kreacher to protect you but clearly-” Pulling his face closer to yours so that you could kiss him caused his lecture to abruptly stop as he melted into the kiss. 

The moment lasted for a while but ended far too quickly in your opinion as Regulus pulled away and started to lecture you again causing you to roll your eyes. 

“You can lecture me all you want but could you at least tell me why we’re here?” You stopped him mid-lecture, pointing to the area surrounding you. For some reason it felt like home.  

“This was the life you wanted when you asked me to run away with you,” He replied with a smile that quickly dropped, “I’m sorry for not taking your hand that night. Life would’ve been different, maybe even better if I had but I was scared. I’m so sorry.”

You flashed him a soft smile, pulling his face closer to yours so that you could press a kiss to his check. A blush bloomed on his cheeks and though he tried to hide it, he knew it was no use and just gave up.

The two of you stood there for a while. Not a word being scad but instead, a comforting silence as you both took in each-others appearance. It’s been a while since either of you have been able to feel this peaceful.

“So this is the other side?” You asked breaking the silence. 

“I think so yeah. Why? You don’t like it?” The smile on his face turned into a worried expression as he looked at you. His reaction caused you to laugh. Ignoring his questioning look, you placed your hand into his and leaned your head against his shoulder. 

“No no, I like it though I don’t really care where we are.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Because I have you with me.” You replied, looking up at him with a smile which he mirrored. 

“You’re such a sap.” He teased. 

“But you still love me.”

“And I always will.”

[yukheistics]

liar, mark lee.

pairing mark lee x reader

word count 2.5k

genre angst, slight fluff

warning(s) implication of cheating

note i’m experimenting with writing styles, so bear with me on this one hehe! this concept is inspired by the ways we lie by stephanie ericsson. i finished this at 2am so idek (��‿⊙✿)

summary he knows how to lie. he knows how it works. he knows you.

There are many things Mark Lee is good at. 

He knows how to rap, sing, and dance until his lungs are on fire. He knows how to plaster a smile on his face when his company offers another tiring position for him to be in. He knows how to pretend that everything is alright for him to handle. He knows how to lie.

He has a thing or two for semantics and can construct a deception for one to believe in. He maintains his composure, sticks to his story, and walks around the truth more often than he can think. He claims to dislike lying, but the person he often does it to is you. He likes to think of it as a way of protecting you as unpleasant as it really sounds. 

“Have you told her yet?” Donghyuck asks him after dance practice when it was just the two of them alone. He looks concerned for him. “The sooner you tell her, the better. You know that.”

Mark simply shrugs his shoulders and leans his back on the mirror. “’Hyuck, just—I’ll handle it, okay? I just don’t know how to tell her.”

“Simple,” the younger male starts to wipe his sweat off with his shirt and sits next to him. “Tell her about the contract. It’ll ease her mind knowing that her boyfriend isn’t actually cheating on her.”

“Right.”

“She already put a lot on the line for you. The least you can do is tell her the truth.”

He recalls an essay he has read in his junior year of high school: The Ways We Lie by Stephanie Ericsson. It made him aware of the underlying cancer that grows within our mind that society accepts the fact that everyone lies. It’s a trait that has been embedded in the human mind for so long that it is almost impossible to get rid of.

There are ten ways listed, but all he remembers are four prominent ones: white lies, facades, omissions, and delusions. (He utilizes it all.)

“Baby, I’m fine.”

Mark reassures you. He never lies to you—not even a white lie, but he doesn’t want to worry you with his issues. It is his problem, anyways. He couldn’t find the right flow to the rap verse they assigned him to, no matter how many times he does it. Something is missing. He’s way off, he thinks. 

“Okay, fine,” you pout through the video call and cross your arms. “But if there is something wrong, you have to tell me. Even if you know I am sleeping because of our shitty time zones, you still have to call me just to tell me. I don’t care!”

He laughs wholeheartedly and grins at you. “Of course.”

“You better, Mark Lee,” you shake your head in a taunting manner. “Or else, I will go to South Korea myself and force the answer out of you. Wait, that’s too aggressive, but you get what I’m saying, right?”

“I’m still surprised I understand you in general,” he jokes and stands up to get a glass of water. “But baby, I’m fine. You know how comeback season works, it’s like, a routine at this point.”

“I know,” you address. “Just make sure to get lots of rest and know your limits. I don’t want my baby boy getting sick while I’m in another country studying law.”

He blushes at the nickname and rubs the back of his neck. “Of course. I always know my limits.”

“Take a break.”

Mark looks up from the lyric sheet and sees Taeyong staring right at him. He clenches his jaw and pushes the headset down to his shoulders before opening the door of the recording studio. “I’m fine. I just need more time. I keep messing up a verse.”

“The producer said your voice was already good during your eighth recording. You are at your twelfth right now,” the leader pauses and pats his shoulder. “I understand where this is coming from, but you never acted this way over a recording. Is everything okay?”

He looks down at his shoes. “Yeah, you know me. I have a tendency to try and perfect it the least. It’s the least I can do to our fans.”

“Just don’t push yourself. It’s already midnight. Make sure to get some rest,” Taeyong purses his lips and playfully hits his shoulder. “Plus, what would ____ think if she knows you’re not taking care of yourself, huh?”

Mark almost crumples the contract in his hands. “She’d be pretty concerned—and mad.” He pushes the chair back and runs his fingers through his hair. “Fuck, why did I agree to this?”

At this point, he wears a facade for you. He keeps saying things again and again and hopes to God that you haven’t caught on to his act. It’s a one man play. And you’re the only one watching. He looks at his best friend, who pushes a mug of green tea towards him—as if it will solve all of his problems. It won’t. 

“Why did you?” Donghyuck repeats and looks at him with concern. He has known Mark for the past ten years, but he can never understand the impulsive decisions he makes. It’s one to be dedicated to a job, but it’s another to be impulsive. “Mark, you’re gonna break her if you don’t tell her.”

Mark laughs. He glances down at the hot steam coming from the mug before looking at his best friend. “You think I don’t know that, ‘Hyuck?”

“Tell her,” the other boy urges on. “Tell her how you signed a contract that states you agreed to be in a relationship for the time being for the new group’s sake. Technically, it is the truth.”

“It’ll make her more stressed. She’s already stressed with law. I don’t need this to be a part of her concern.”

“Then, tell me,” Donghyuck finally sighs. “Tell me what you’re gonna tell her when you’re on the headlines for being in a secret relationship with a trainee?”

Mark clearly knows his faults and weaknesses. He is partaking in another version of lies: omissions. He tells you the truth by excluding one or more key components of it. You don’t need to know everything, is what his mind says when he sees you through the camera exhausted, but still excited to see him. You ask questions and he answers with the important parts being left out. He asks questions and you answer with utter honesty because he knows you too well. 

(You don’t need to know.)

“Yujin,” Mark enunciates and looks at her with a tilt of his head. “Do you think this is right by any means?”

She hums. “Well,” she takes a sip from her drink. “It’s what the company wants right? It’s their word against ours—and you should know how this industry functions at this point. It’s a bunch of manipulation and shit that is geared towards perfection, which is only utilized to please the public eye.”

“Well, I know that,” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean about this—our relationship.”

She giggles. “We’re getting paid anyways. What’s so bad about kissing in front of the camera at events to please fans?”

“Right,” he replies with a strained laugh. “I just find the idea nerve-wracking.”

She frowns at him. “Mark, are you okay?”

Here is what he learned from the entertainment industry: people don’t really want to know how you feel. The truth, they never want that. When they ask how are you, they don’t wanna know. They just ask because they feel like they have to. They don’t want you to elaborate on how you really are. It’s something that they do to make them seem like a good person. They do it for their part and not his. 

No. The two letter word burns on his tongue, but just like a mechanized script, the words that leave his mouth is a lie that he has told multiple times that leave people with a nonchalant smile on their lips: “Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He sees you for the fifth time this week, dressed in sweats as you cradle a bowl of cereal in your hands with a goofy smile on your face. “What?” you curiously ask with the spoon in your mouth. “Am I that pretty, Mark?”

“You’re always pretty,” he responds immediately with a slight smirk on his lips, which in turn causes you to blush. “I miss you.”

You smile. “I miss you more.”

He sees your tired smile once more and sighs. He wants to tell you, really, but he doesn’t want to see that smile slip from your features knowing that it is his fault. But he knows that he will be the reason you will be crying in the following week. It’s for you, he repeats in his head, it’s for you. 

I need to let you go.

“Imagine if I just became an idol, hm?” you suddenly say. “I’d probably see you more and not stress about stupid bar exams for the time being.”

Don’t. Please don’t. He urges to say, but he just shakes his head and sheepishly grins at you. “Well, if you did become one, you’d probably be a singer. I still remember when you were drunk and sang to me—”

“You said you wouldn’t bring that up!” Despite the virtual connection, he can still clearly see your flushed cheeks. Again. (He really loves you.) “That was so fucking embarrassing.”

“It was adorable.”

“Right,” you close your eyes and lean your face closer to the camera. “I love you, Mark Lee.”

“I love you too,” he responds immediately. “One day,” he rubs his eyes. “One day, I’ll finish my contract and I can be with you. We can be together. That sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

To think, he has already planned out his life with you in his mind, but he knows it’s impossible. But not only does he aim to deceive you, but to deceive himself too. It’s a delusion as Ericsson would describe it to be. It’s funny how he cannot remember a preponderance of things, yet he always remembers how delusion was described: filters out information that contradicts what we want to believe. He is building a perception of a perfect world with you, where he wouldn’t have to think about his image for a second. It’s too good to be true. It’s not real.

“It does. It really does,” you say, but the tone of your voice says otherwise. “Just promise me one thing?”

“What is it?”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Mark Lee.”

The blinding lights of the studio almost make him want to throw up. Mark watches how the staff are preparing the set and how his management are talking over the script with the interviewer. He looks at himself through the mirror one more time before facing Yujin, who is busy fixing her eyelash extensions. 

“So, the interview is gonna be live,” Yujin drawls out, puckering her lips and tilting her head at him. “Mark, be honest with me,” she taps his shoulder. “Do you hate me?”

He widens his eyes and shakes his head. “No, I don’t. I swear!”

“You sure? Because every time we talk, you look glum. You tend to zone out.”

“It’s really not because of you,” he utters. “Let’s just say, I didn’t expect the company to agree to this for publicity.”

She nods in acknowledgement. “Is that all?”

Mark thinks of Yujin as a catalyst. She’ll be the one to speed up the duration of his relationship with you and destroy whatever he has built for you. Not that any of this was hers to control. He wishes he can hate her, but all she has ever done was sign her name on a contract the same as he did. If anything, Yujin is a spawn in a much bigger scheme that acts as the catalyst. 

“Yeah, that’s all.”

Mark feels dizzy. His eyes are overwhelmed by the numerous flashes from cameras and the questioning voices of reporters. He pulls down his cap as if it’ll do him any justice and wraps his arm around Yujin—as told by the company. “I didn’t know the reporters were gonna be this much.”

“Well, since our management wants our relationship to blow up, it’d make sense in a way,” she exhaustedly replies when he opens the car door for her. “Just smile and pose, Markie,” she says and leans in for a kiss on his cheek when she catches a camera aimed their way.

He freezes. 

“Show business is show business,” she whispers in his ear and gets in the car. “It’s a cruel world we live in, isn’t it?”

Mark calls you, but he understands why you haven’t picked up in the past week. He already can see your tear-stained cheeks and hear your stifled sobs. He wishes he can tell you the truth, but he’d rather let you go with a lie. He’s good at that. He’s good at lying. He’s lied before to you. It should be easy.

“It’s been going on for the past months,” he tells you. “I-I didn’t know how to bring it up, so I just—”

“Decided to let me see it for myself?” you cut him off, chuckling nervously. “God, Mark, this whole damn time I have thought to be with you, you’ve been off fucking a trainee?”

Mark almost grimaces. But he maintains the composure he has left for himself and nods slowly. Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie until it feels right. “It just happened. One day, we were practicing and we clicked. At first, I thought it was a one-time thing to distract myself. I just needed a friend at the time,” he pauses. “One thing led to another and we slept with each other, okay? And I just lost feelings for you. I only continued our relationship because I felt obligated to.”

It’s a lie. It’s a lie. It’s a lie.

He loves you. He has always loved you, regardless of the distance between you. The only reason you had to move was because of his debut; the company did not want any news spreading about him being in a relationship, yet they were the ones pulling the strings as of right now. They explained how their new girl group was not selling well, and the infamous Mark Lee was a way to solve the problem. Mark, do this, Mark, do that. Mark, pretend. Just smile and pose. Smile. Smile beneath the lie. 

He can’t keep doing this to you.

“You did so much for me, so I kept calling you as a means to return the favor.”

He sees it. He sees the tears building up in your eyes as you force on a smile and laugh again. “What am I? A charity case?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I hate you.” 

He knows you too well. He knows that you’re putting a front—don’t we all? He thinks of the white lie you’re uttering, the facade you’re wearing, the omission you’re doing, and the delusion you’re forcing yourself into. He knows how to lie. He knows how it works. He knows you. 

“I know.” I know that’s a lie.