#Much Needed Amelioration | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

star-anise · 2 years

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You just posted like ten different things about potatoes in the span of maybe five minutes, and I gotta know your take on "The Martian".

Like, the (fictional) man alone on a planet literally only survives because of potatoes shrink-wrapped in plastic for a Thanksgiving meal. If they weren't slated to be on Mars for Thanksgiving, he would have died.

And Andy Weir (author of the original novel) did such a good job with the science of every other element to the story, I honest-to-god believe that potatoes could actually manage to grow in Martian soil (even if that's not been proven for certain afaik).

Which means..... could potatoes terraform Mars into sustaining life??? Are potatoes the key to the universe???

Haha sorry for going so hard on them! Those were mostly all posts from 2020 when gardening and fantasy worldbuilding were lockdown fixations for me. One of them blew up recently so I wanted to give The People more of the content it seemed they were looking for. I don't actually know a lot about potatoes. I just think they're neat.

I do not want to take apart the concept of "colonizing Mars" as some kind of woke gotcha. I want to take your question seriously and charitably. However, I just am the kind of person who's like "Hmm, 'colonize', we should really stop and unpack that word," so let's do that, without forgetting the potato element.

(What "I don't know a lot" means: Potatoes were a crop my family grew several acres of for a few years on our farm before we switched our focus to sheep. I am about 50% as reliable as a horticultural brochure on various potato diseases and growing condition issues. I have listened to two University lectures and read perhaps four historical journal articles beginning-to-end on how the Columbian Exchange affected early-modern Europe, that and half as much again on medieval and early modern European farming practices and population changes, and perhaps three science/history articles specifically on the domestication and proliferation of the potato. I am a white Canadian who actively seeks out information and training in Indigenous history and culture in the Americas, but that's probably still only equal to like, two Native Studies classes in university. I know more than the average person on this topic, but I am also not an expert compared to people who have devoted serious time to learning about this.)

But I have some intuitions in a couple of ways:

The Martian is probably being wildly over-optimistic about its potatoes. They would probably have been irradiated into sterility before being vacuum-packed, and I don't think you can split and propagate them that quickly or successfully. However, potatoes can definitely grow in all kinds of conditions (including under my sink).

They might not be the world's healthiest or happiest potatoes, tho. Soil quality definitely affects the end product. Presumably Watney, being a botanist studying Mars' soil composition, knew how much he had to ameliorate his soil with latrine compost (which would definitely have needed a LOT of processing, since human waste is generally not good for plants, but maybe he used chemicals to speed that up?) to get good soil. However, we would probably need to add a LOT of shit to Mars' soil (and air, and water) for it to host plant life.

Mark Watney makes a joke about having "colonized Mars" because "colony" is Latin for "farm" and he farmed on Mars so haha, funny joke! And we talk about colonies on Mars partly because that's what science fiction did, and a lot of science fiction has been into that colonialism aesthetic. But colonialism and empires actually aren't great, not just because they necessitate huge amounts of racism, oppression, and genocide—I know, you asked me a fun question about potatoes and did not sign up for this, I'm not here to drag you, hear me out—but because they're also really sucky models for agriculture and successful societies generally.

My British ancestors tried to be colonial farmers in a place that is sometimes colder than Mars (Canada's Treaty Six), and let me tell you: IT SUCKED. Most of the crops and herbs and vegetables and flowers that settlers here brought from home and are used to? DON'T FUCKEM GROW. For the Canadian prairies to become conventional farmland, farmers and scientists had to scramble to find, or produce, cold-hardy varieties of everything from wheat to roses. A lot of flowers and plants that are unkillable invasive zombie perennials in other climates don't survive our winters no matter hard we try. The trees and flowers that hold cultural or sentimental attachments for us often don't grow here. The climate is so harsh and population is spread so thin that we cannot do the 100 mile diet and eat foods we're familiar with, and can hardly even manage the 1000 mile diet. (Not that I try, but, my family did once look into it)

A huge number of colonial homesteads, where the pioneers go out on their little covered wagon and build little houses on the prairie? Failed miserably and got bought up by land speculators. My own family came out to Alberta in the 1880s and moved around from land assignment to land assignment, like, six times before settling at their current place in the early 1900s.

Meanwhile: POTATOES

Potatoes are less than ten thousand years old! I am not any kind of expert on archaeology, please nobody throw things, but humans showed up in the Andes (think: high, cold mountains) of South America roughly 9,000 years ago. There are hundreds of wild potato varieties, but they generally produce fairly tiny tubers. It took active work of Indigenous Andean people around 8,000 years ago around Lake Titicaca to cultivate specific strains of potato, doing oldschool genetic modification to make them bigger, more delicious, and hardier. From that cultivation effort around a single species of wild potatoes, they produced thousands of cultivated potato varieties.

Ancient Andean farmers and botanists also played a big part in cultivating quinoa from wild amaranth, as well as producing modern food crops you probably haven't heard of, like oca, olluco, mashua, and yacon, and also coca, which may get a bad rap because it's what cocaine and coca-cola are made from but you cannot deny it's got kick.

Basically, Indigenous people of the Americas (South, Central, and North) went all in on botany and plant cultivation. Plants that we take for granted now have mostly been developed by Indigenous people in the past few thousand years: Tobacco, sunflowers, marigolds, tomatoes, pumpkins, rubber, vanilla, cocoa, sweetcorn, maize, and most kinds of pepper except peppercorn. These things were not found; they were made, by careful cultivation of the world as it was.

This gives us a vision of the future. Colonization, and industrial agriculture, both lean us towards the vision of a totally uniform end product, with the same potato varieties grown on each farm because we have made every farm the same. Instead we could embrace biodiversity and focus on privileging local knowledge and considering the interactions of environment, plants, microbiota, and people. We could create potatoes that were happy on Mars. We could create Mars that is happy to have us. We could create a society that can accept what Mars has to offer.

A lot of why we dream about colonizing Mars is the idea that the Earth itself is dying, that we are killing it, and we need to abandon this farmstead and seek out a new frontier. I acknowledge that shit is bad, but I don't agree with that framing. I am increasingly persuaded that there is a third path between ecological destruction and mass exodus, and I think we need to reject European colonial mentality that creates the forced choice. I find far more use in privileging the knowledge of people who live on and with land than their landlords and rulers, and I especially find value in Indigenous knowledge of land management practices and food production.

I am absolutely not saying that Indigenous people were or are wonderful magical ~spiritual beings~ who frolicked in an Edenic paradise that only knew death and disease once white people showed up. This isn't noble savage bullshit, nor am I invoking people who existed once but whom I have never met. I am saying that I have Indigenous neighbours, colleagues, relatives, and elected representatives. I have learned about mental health, leatherworking, botany, and ecology from Metis and First Nations elders and knowledge-keepers. And like. They have good and useful shit to say.

This is about culture, not race. It is not that their biological DNA means that they know more than me about how to get food from this landscape. It's about cultural history and what we learn from our heritages. What have our cultures privileged? Like, Europe has historically been super into things like metallurgy, domesticating livestock, and creating dairy products. If I want to smelt iron or choose animals to make cheese from, European society would have a lot of useful information for me! And what Indigenous cultures in the Americas have historically focused on instead of cows and copper* include 1) getting REAL familiar with your local flora and figuring out how to make sure you have lots of the herbs and grains and roots and berries you need, and 2) how to make a human society where people can live and have good lives, but do not damage the environment enough to impair the ability of future generations to have the same sort of life.

*Several indigenous American cultures did practice various forms of metallurgy. It's just one of those proportional things, about what societies really go for

Conclusion

I think we could use the processes that formed the potato to find and foster forms of life that could survive on Mars. It would involve learning to think that botany is a sexy science, and understanding just how rich and complicated the environment is. To oxygenate the atmosphere, we'd have to get super enthusiastic about algae and lichen and wetlands. We would have to learn to care deeply about the microorganisms living in the soil, and whether the potatoes are happy.

We'd have to create an economy that counts oxygen and carbon dioxide production on its balance sheets. To learn how to wait for forests to grow back after a fire, instead of giving up in despair because the seedlings aren't trees yet. To do the work now and be hopeful even though we might not see the payoffs for decades, or our victories might only be witnessed by future generations.

So yes, I think we could totally plant potatoes on Mars

But I also think that if we ever got there, we'd have turned into the kind of people who could also save Earth in the first place.

Which makes it a good enough goal in my opinion.

#staranise original #agriculture #potatoes my beloved

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squirrel-art · 7 months

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Finished my little compilation of Sav and her mobility aids! ID in alt for each.

Disclaimer that I'm able-bodied & open to criticism about my portrayal! Also I realized belatedly her rollator is parked in a way that would, in fact, not keep it from rolling the fuck around, my bad.

Further details about my design philosophy/Sav's symptoms under the cut.

I played Savtas through Consular Story Chapter 1 in Full Good Girl Mode, saving all the Jedi and using the shielding ritual whenever prompted. The side effects of the rituals are vague and inconsequential in-game so as to make the job of the writers and programmers easier; characters comment worriedly about the fact that you "look tired" and not much else.

Fortunately, I have none of these restrictions. I don't know how to scientifically quantify "life-essence", but in my canon the energy required to create and maintain the shields comes right out of the body of the shielder, and behaves first and foremost like a faster-than-sustainable burning of calories. In the short-term, Sav became dangerously malnourished and fatigued; in the long-term she developed PoTS and what I've been glibly referring to as "Force fibro" in my brain, because the symptoms she experiences are the similar to that of those who suffer from fibromyalgia in real life: chronic pain, chronic fatigue, disordered sleep, and brain fog.

Some of those physical symptoms are ameliorated via use of a mobility aid, so she's tried out a couple different types.

Rollator

Sav's mobility aid of choice, purchased somewhere at the beginning of Ch 2. Sav is prone to dizziness and fatigue, and has less difficulty walking than she does standing for long periods; the rollator helps keep her balance and gives her somewhere to sit for short spells when she needs to.

The wheels do make this device better for navigating flatter and more even ground, but I imagine she can swap the wheels out for all-terrain varieties. I wonder if you could put blades on them like ice skates, to move around on places like Hoth? Well, the brakes wouldn't work, so probably not.

As mentioned in a previous post on my other sideblog, the design and colors are meant to evoke the pillars of the old Jedi Temple on Coruscant. This model is bespoke, created to Savvy's whimsical specifications. It wasn't even that expensive; you'd be surprised how many discounts people are willing to offer a Jedi!

Chair

A gift from the Jedi Council upon her defeat of Terrak Morrhage and the subsequent quelling of the Force plague. It's a more expensive model, and comes with a sturdy stand to rest it on when it's charging or not in use.

Design inspo drawn from both canon sources and the wonderful hermitmoss' hoverchair headcanons post!

I deliberated for a while as to whether Sav would have been given a wheelchair or a hoverchair. I settled on hoverchair mostly because Sav wanted a certain level of independence in her movement, but nobody was sure how long it would take her to regain enough upper body strength to reliably push herself around in a manual chair.

Sav in this image is at the beginning of her recovery, but she does continually make use of her chair after regaining some of her weight and muscle mass. Her rollator became her device of choice over the chair in part because the chair is kind of bulky and heavy, and can't be easily collapsed for transport. She probably has a lighter, more maneuverable transport chair stored on the ship to utilize in a pinch.

Looking at the design of the chair, I am already dissatisfied with it - the seat isn't raked to keep her from sliding out of it, and the control panel should realistically be attached to an extension and not directly under her hand. We'll fix that in the next pass, I think, but for now this drawing is representative of the overall design and colors.

Cane

She's got a few of these! Most have an offset or contour grip because she finds them the most comfortable, and most have adjustable bases.

Her favorite is probably the non-adjustable wooden one she got from a craftsman on Alderaan, the only one she owns made of fully organic materials.

#bonus KOTXX-era Sav reveal in that third image!#i really like this set. wish i could draw it properly #the real boots in-game have the runes on them but i couldn't be bovvered #swtor #mirialan #star wars #star wars the old republic #jedi consular #jedi oc

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satorubrain · 11 months

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I got a little angst request but with a happy ending

So Gojo got this new coworker at work and they have a lot in common so they keep hanging out but they also keep getting way of his and y/n date or alone together. This causes them to fight because Gojo doesn’t believe his new friend is trying to ruin their relationship but then later that day when he at work he overheard his friend talking to her clan and saying her plan is working. Saying Gojo and his so are fighting now and how he basically sick of y/n and would rather have her instead y/n now and all she needs to do now is get him vulnerable enough to sleep with her so she get pregnant with his child. Oh basically saying how easy it was to pretend to be his idea girl and to win him over. So after Gojo learn his new friend intentions and basically lie everything about herself. He is absolutely furious at her and decide to get bad at her for almost ruining his life. You can decide what Gojo does to her. So Gojo go back to y/n and apologise to her and make it up to her.

Impinge

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Reader.

Tags: Angst.

Synopsis: Satoru is stupid. Stupid enough that he'd listen to someone random and not you. Do you leave him for that? Yes.

A/N: This is the next part of series Changes. I recommend reading changes first but this can be read as a stand-alone . THERE WILL ALSO BE A NEXT PART!! It'll have fluff so don't worry anon :)

Previous part: Changes.

Next part: Amelioration.

It's been weeks since you both last talked. You avoided him at all costs. If he took a step forward, you'd walk ten steps away from him. And this co-worker, named Mina, surely helped you stay further away from him by clinging to him, comforting him through the breakup whispering sweet nothings to him and how she is there for Satoru no matter what happens.

You couldn't tolerate listening their conversation anymore. Not only because she's comforting him but also how well she is faking your personality. Unlike you who sincerely were there for your people, Mina simply camouflaged as you to get Gojo Satoru all to herself. Her plan seemed to be working well.

You sigh loudly, getting up and leaving the room. You could care less about Gojo falling in her trap because you genuinely tried and gave your best to save him instead he decided you were the one with fault.

"She must be stressed, poor her" Mina fakes her sympathy towards you.

"Maybe." He curtly responds. Satoru genuinely couldn't comprehend your behaviour. What happened to the y/n who got along with everyone in the school. What happened to the y/n who would never isolate someone? Mina and you were so similar, both of you were kind, sweet and loving yet why did you hate Mina so much? Were you that jealous?

Things only worsened when late at night, in the closed teachers room Mina was complaining, crying, about you. How you have been poisoning everyone's brains and turning everyone against her. "Satoru" she chokes out "Ever since you broke up with y/n, no one has been talking nicely to me. Even a while ago, I saw Nobara and Maki walking with y/n happily until Nobara saw me and was literally glaring down at me. Satoru, I promise I always wished the best for you both- you know me right? I've always just tried to be there for you both!"

"Calm down Mina, y/n isn't the kind of person who would do that. But I'll talk to her about it, okay?" He defends you, thats the least he can do.

"Thank you Satoru!" She exclaims as she hugs him tightly, seeing your belongings from her peripheral, knowing you'd definitely teleport to get them. Mina buries her face in his chest like you would, muffling her sobs like you would've. Satoru can't help but feel soft, Mina is too similar to you and maybe now he's trying to replace the hole you left with her, wrapping his arms around her. "It's nothing" he whispers.

"Oh?" You should've expected this. "Well, sorry for the intrusion. Unfortunately, I won't be able to leave quickly, I need to pack up." you utter, placing the transfer letter envelope on the desk before sitting down on the chair as you start packing up your items in a box.

Gojo pushes her away before gripping your wrists. He could care less about anyone else right now, he needs to stop you right now. "Where are you going, y/n?!" he asks, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Transferring to Kyoto Jujutsu High, where else? And what does it matter to you Gojo?" you pause freeing your wrists from his hold "It's not very nice to be this greedy. Go to Mina, she's going to need your comfort more now" you inform him before turning to Mina "Mina, I have a lot of things I could say to you but none of them are that important. I'll tell you just one thing that I will fucking kill you if you ever dare come near my kids. I promise you even The Gojo Satoru won't be able to stop me." you threaten her, smiling slightly as you see her face become pale. Her body slightly trembles as she tries to hide herself behind Gojo. You think she deserves praise at this point for being so committed to the act.

"Y/N." He yells out of desperation. He thinks he's been stabbed again. You didn't even use his name anymore, you used the family name. Has he really become a stranger to you now? You might've really killed him. "Y/n, just listen to m-"

"There's nothing for me to hear. Goodbye Gojo Satoru." You state, packing the last of your belongings, leaving behind the ones gifted by Satoru which was the majority. Teleporting away to your home with your lightweight baggage without hearing anything he has to say.

It's been a month since you've been gone.

Barely anything has changed between her and Gojo, mainly because how well she pretends to be you. Always wearing the same shade of lipstick you like, the same style of earring you'd wear. Sometimes Gojo might call her by your name accidentally before correcting himself. Mina was creating a perfect illusion. Despite the warning from his colleagues, Gojo paid it no mind- afterall you and Mina were just similar.

It was just a lie he has been telling himself.

"Hm. They've separated as well. Y/n doesn't even wanna see him, so it's only a matter of time till I can baby trap him afterall last night he almost kissed me! But it's still annoying whenever he calls out her name accidentally. Well anyways I'll tell you the details later." she whispers to her friend on the phone call "Hm. Bye"

Listening to the conversation was the last nail in the coffin. He shouldn't have gaslighted himself with the lies he created just because your relationship had reached a rough patch. You both? Similar? He's going to punch himself in the face. You and jealous??? He thinks he deserves to be stabbed for saying that shit. He shouldn't have pushed you away, he shouldn't have been so, so foolish.

"Baby trap me huh? That would've never happened. No matter what you would've never gotten that close to me. Also, it was you who tried to kiss me and not the other way around" He speaks from behind her, taking the phone from her hand before crushing it, with a cold smile on his face. "Listen well, I'll do you one last favour. Leave and never return if you want to live a happy life okay? No don't even think of defending yourself, you're useless in all ways possible."

He rests against the wall, sighing loudly after she leaves. He truly feels defeated. He was supposedly one of the strongest but how did he always seem to lose the people he truly cared about. Particularly this time, he was fully at the fault.

"You're an absolute fucking idiot, I'm sure you know that but aren't you even more persistent?" Shoko curses him while persuading him to still chase after you. "You really should let her beat you up y'know" she jokes around trying to cheer him up.

"Honestly, I deserve it" he agrees although seriously. He'll do anything you ask him to do if it means winning you back.

THE NEXT PART IS GOJO'S REDEMPTION ARC AND I WILL FINISH IT IN COUPLE OF HOURS. MY DEAR ANON PLEASE JUST WAIT A LITTLE BIT LONGER 😔

Part 3: Amelioration

[REQUESTS ARE OPEN]

[MASTERLIST]

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo imagine #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x y/n #satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo angst #gojo fanfic #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #jjk x y/n #jjk drabbles #jjk imagines #changes series

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phantoms-planet · 3 months

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(already made a post about this but it was giving me issues so I'm making a separate one)

Danny's obsession with Protection begins to take hold, changing him from a normal ghost to a godling. Unfortunately his new status catches the eyes of a twisted organization, one that wishes to use his powers for their own gains. He is captured and his friends and family killed. Danny is contained well below Amity in one of the organization's secret facilities. In order to use one of Danny's new powers, healing tears, Danny is subjected to nonstop of projections of people in peril he has no power to save.

Bruce is suspicious of just how successful this new medical company is. They popped up out of nowhere and quickly gained a reputation for being able to make medicines that could cure just about anything. As batman he investigates further and finds a research and containment laboratory hidden from the public. As "Brucie" Wayne he manages to gain the trust of the owner and CEO of Ameliorate and convinces a tour out of them.

It's easy to sneak away unnoticed for a moment, but less so to hide his surprise at a white haired, ethereal boy chained down there, sobbing uncontrollably. Bruce decides it's time to pull the Justice League in, save the boy, and shut down the company.

First | Prev | Next

Tw; Death mentions, torture, mention of drugging, inhumane treatment of Danny

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

His core screamed out in agony.

A protection god forced to watch as thousands, millions died in front of him, unable to stop it.

Tears flowed down into a collection basin below.

Danny didn’t know how long he’d been there. He didn’t care. However long, it was too much. He wished his friends were there. Sam and Tucker… Their lifeless bodies flashed in his mind and prompted another huge wave of tears to splash into the basin.

Jaz would be able to quench the sorrow with her obsessive knowledge of how emotions worked. She was overbearing at times but he missed having someone care about him so much.

His mom and dad could sooth the ever-present ache with their special brand of care and he knew they wouldn’t hesitate to wreak havoc to save him.

But Maddie and Jack were gone too; shot down trying desperately to save their children. Jaz taken out weeks later while Danny and her were on the run. Danny had rushed to her and then there was a net and then-

This was all his fault; if he hadn’t gotten sloppy with using his powers, if he had kept his ghostly side hidden better.

Instead of his loved ones there was nothing but the overwhelming screens covering every inch of walls, broadcasting carnage and death 24/7. There was a person dressed in all white who came in to feed him. They didn't matter. The people who were shown on the screens mattered. In danger, scared, hurt. They were the reason Danny tried so hard to get out.

A sob jolted his frame enough the chains rattled. All he had wanted was to help people!

Escape should have been easy. He was a god: escape should have been EASY!

He thought they may have been drugging his food.

None of his powers were working as strong as they should have been, some not working at all, but he still had his wail. Danny pulled in as large a breath as he could manage as the feeder person frantically booked it out of the room. Every screen shattered under his scream, plunging him into blissful silent darkness. A soft sigh slipped out. Relief. Finally relief. Seconds later the screens rotated and brought a fresh barrage of misery.

The basin overflowed.

___

Bruce was happy with the new medical company at first. Goodness knew Gotham needed a miracle when it came to the overflowing hospitals and untreatable illnesses caused by rouges and pollution alike.

They came in and started producing serums, pills, vaccinations, creams, you name it they had it, that could cure nearly anything. Terminal disease? Taken care of. Joker gas? A breeze for their formulas. Fear Toxin? No sweat. It had taken a while for the company to gain a footing with Gotham’s mistrust but once they had it, they were selling cure all’s at a truly staggering rate.

Bruce had first heard their reputation when one of the actually tolerable moms in the PTA raved about how her daughter was taking some pills and apparently getting sick much less frequently and less aggressively. He had briefly considered trying to get something for Tim, even.

But the problem was that this new company was too good at healing things. Just because Gotham needed a miracle doesn’t mean they exist and would show up out of nowhere. No, this was just suspicious.

Tim and Barbara had begun to dig through the company’s entire digital footprint and it was as if the company truly did just suddenly exist. Bizarrely there was no crime related to them. Not that they had found yet anyway.

He didn’t like this. People were getting better, which was great, but something in his gut told him this wasn’t right. How was the Ameliorate corporation coming up with cures and treatments for every illness, disease, condition, and toxin that ever existed? It very well should have taken centuries of research and development but there wasn’t anywhere near that long of a history to justify the turn out.

“Master Bruce?” He snapped out of his thoughts to a fresh cup of tea being set beside him. Alfred was frowning at him.

Bruce grumbled out a sigh. “Thank you, Alfred. Is Tim-?”

“He is still sleeping. I assume it will be quite a time before he wakes, given how long he was up.” Alfred nodded to the batcomputer. “Is there any progress?”

Another grumbly sigh. Bruce ran his hands down his face before responding. “None. I don’t understand it, there’s no possible way this company could be doing what it’s been doing. Not enough time or research facilities.”

“Perhaps, Master Bruce, there is a facility not in their records? One they don’t wish for people to know about?” It took a moment for the words to set in but when they did Bruce lunged to the computer for another round of exhaustive research.

It took hours.

Finally, Bruce had managed to find allusions to another, much larger, much older facility. It seemed to be somewhere near Illinois, Michigan, or Wisconsin. This facility seemed to be more for containment than research however.

Strangely that’s the only thing he could find. Unfortunately, it was also time for him to go into Wayne Co for some meetings. With slight reluctance Bruce sent what he had to Barbara before stepping away from the computer and making his way from the cave.

There was another big event at the museum soon and the owner and CEO of Ameliorate would be attending. Perhaps he could lay on a thick layer of Brucie charm. It was a long shot, but he would keep it as a fallback plan just in case. No matter what, Bruce knew he had to find out what was in that containment facility.

#danny phantom #dc x dp #dp x dc #ao3 fanfic #my writing #Barred Protection #tw death mention #tw drugging #tw captivity

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roguehongsami · 5 months

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Velvet Crowbar | Pt. 2

pairing/s: guitarist!wooyoung x fem!metalhead

genre/s: smut, au

synopsis: 1983. wooyoung is making your breakup a hellscape. but him getting kicked out of velvet crowbar was the escape you needed all along, as it pushed him to his breaking point.

content: age gap (18!reader x 23!wooyoung, consensual), unprotected sex (condomize), breakup? sex, dacryphilia, creampie, possessive ex, talk of ownership, animal abuse (don't), alcohol consumption (don't), drug overdose (don't).

word count: 4.5k

navigation: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

masterlist here

A month went by since Y/N had last seen Wooyoung. He stopped picking her up from school, never even attempted to check on her. Their relationship slowly sizzled out in the past weeks. Aside from school, nobody had seen Y/N. Not at the junkyard where the local metalheads would go to vandalise abandoned property, not at shows, not even at house parties. Y/N took up space everywhere she went and her absence was felt.

Conversely, Wooyoung had put himself back out there again. He was at every party, every show. Playing at small venues with Velvet Crowbar. He was with a different girl every week. It wasn't all sunshine. He could not bring himself to admit that the separation had taken a toll on his guitar playing and songwriting. It was fairly noticeable. Everyone could see it. Wooyoung drank minimally and dabbled a bit in recreational drugs. Y/N knew but it never bothered her because he had a handle on it. Now he was pitching up to rehearsals either drunk or doped up, screwing up a solo or two.

People were talking.

Mrs. Scott was gentle not to set her off. She was a lot more careful with her words, always made sure to give her a hug when she could. One of her friends informed her of Y/N's hospital visit with Wooyoung in the prenatal wing. Put two and two together, she had her answer. As furious as she was, she could never vocalise it as it would undo all progress made to ameliorate their bond.

"Mrs. Wentworth told me you were at the prenatal ward a month ago."

Silence met her on her side of the door.

"I'm not angry, Y/N. You ever need to talk about it, I'm here." she sighed. "I know what it's like..."

Y/N unlocked the door for her mother and laid back down on the bed. Mrs. Scott spooned her and planted a kiss on her cheek.

"Before you, I fell pregnant quite young. Your age, actually, and your father was about Wooyoung's age." Mrs. Scott exhaled. "Your father wasn't ready, nor was I. The reason I was against you dating Wooyoung was because, it felt as if I were watching you act out my past."

"The difference between dad and Woo is that my being here proves that dad knew he wanted a future with you." she whispered, almost impossible to hear. "Woo talked a big game but when things got a bit too real, he showed me how undependable he was."

Mrs. Scott squeezed Y/N's arm reassuringly. "I'm sure that's not true, sweetie. He was probably as scared as you were."

"You know, I cried after that. I was hurt. I laid there in bed, he didn't even hold me." she broke into a sob. "He was dead asleep. That pregnancy changed everything."

She turned around and buried her face in her mother’s chest. "Woo felt like forever to me." a disheartening wail filled the room. "Jesus, I hate him so much!"

"No you don't, sweetie." she cooed in her daughter's ear. "I could see it but didn't want to admit. That boy loves you as much as you do him. Give yourself time to work through the pain first. You'll both eventually find your way back to each other."

A few moments passed, faint sobs occupied the atmosphere. As much as Y/N wanted to believe her mother’s words, she couldn't. Her deep-seated abandonment issues were eating away at her core. She blamed herself more than anything. Red flags as bright as day, she chose to not heed the warnings.

This was one thorny bed she laid in.

She hustled out of bed and sat in the alcove by the window, contemplating where she had went wrong. Her eyes followed as the neighbourhood children played in the cul-de-sac. Little giggles making their way into her room. Unaware of a few tears running free on her cheeks.

"He stopped picking me up from school, always coming home late." she scoffed. "Said rehearsals with the band were taking longer than usual, I knew he was lying. He found any and every excuse to not be around me."

Her body turned to face her mother. "You know he blamed me for getting pregnant? He showed me how despicable he can get, but I shouldn't have expected so much from an alcoholic junkie. That's my fault."

The room fell silent. Mrs. Scott taken aback from the change in Y/N's emotions. She felt partially responsible for how everything had unravelled. Too much was going on all at once and she felt as if she was losing a grip on her daughter. Relieved that she was starting to see the light, ultimately the price was not worth it.

Y/N started getting dressed, putting on a much more comfortable look.

"Where are you going?" Mrs. Scott asked.

"The haberdashery downtown. I'm gonna get some material." she said, nonchalant.

Mrs. Scott stood up from the bed, excitement painting across her face. Clapping her hands endlessly, her glee almost contagious to anyone within her vicinity. She threw her hands around Y/N shoulders, pecking her forehead. Y/N's brain quickly registered the situation, and just allowed herself to be cocooned.

"Are you sewing again?" Mrs. Scott queried, jumping up and down in her spot with Y/N enveloped in her arms.

"Please unhand me." Mrs. Scott stood inches away with a gleaming smile on her face when her daughter spoke. "I came up with some designs after Wooyoung signed me up for art classes. I also applied to a bunch of schools, so I need to have some pieces to present when they call me for interviews." she shrugged. "And I need the distraction."

Everything felt like it was falling back in place. A turbulent annum marked by loss, arguments and broken trust. Things were looking up in the Scott household and Mrs. Scott couldn't hide how grateful she was. Y/N felt a sense of relief wash over her. Her mother pulled her by her hand, leading her out of her bedroom and down the stairs.

"Come on, we're getting you a new sewing machine. Top of the line!" Mrs. Scott shouted. "I'll get somebody to clean the atelier so you can have your workspace back."

"Mom, I don't need a new machine and I can work from my roo-"

"You need a stimulating environment to make clothes and your room just won't do." Mrs. Scott waved her hand dismissively.

Her mother swiped her car keys off the kitchen counter and marched to the door, Y/N trailing behind her like a lost child.

Day by day, Y/N was slowly getting back to her old self. She could feel the Wooyoung-sized hole stitching itself back up. Picking up the pieces and putting herself back together, it was going to be a long road. Acquiescing herself with things she used to love doing was the first step. Most after school activities were fairly routine; an hour of art class, three hours at the atelier and the remaining hours spent studying for exams.

To unwind before the final paper, Brady Halliwell hosted a house party for the matrics. Y/N was ready to make her social return.

Unlike every other outfit, this time she kept her look simple. She was without the usual heavy, dark makeup. She sported a white woolen sweater, a black seamless long sleeve top, with black bell-bottoms and checkered Vans slip-ons. She made her way downstairs and as she was about to slip out, Mrs. Scott stopped her.

"You're writing Maths on Monday, where are you headed?" Mrs. Scott asked.

"Brady's party."

Mrs. Scott stared at her worriedly.

"Not the kind of party Wooyoung would go to, mom. Different crowd."

She nodded. "Oh, okay." she stood up from the couch. "I'll drive you."

After a silent ten-minute drive, they arrived at Brady Halliwell's house. You could hear the music from outside. Some people were sitting outside on the porch. Two guys, presumably drunk, were chasing each other with hosepipes on the front lawn. She made her way past the crowd, eyes landing on her. Hushed whispers and murmurs, here and there. Her friends were in the living room, standing in a circle, chatting up.

One of her friends, Murphy, saw her approach. She threw her hands in the air and screamed, "She's back!"

The lot turned around, shock painted across their faces. They pulled her into an embrace and made space for her in the circle.

"I thought this wasn't your scene anymore." Rosanne spoke loudly over the music.

"Yeah, what brought you here?" Caroline asked.

Y/N struggled to find her words and she shamefully looked down at her shoes. Her friends immediately caught on.

"Don't worry, we get it." Murphy pulled Y/N's wrist and put her arm over her shoulders. "I know we don't do it like your rocker friends, but tonight, my sole mission is to get you so shit-faced that you won't even remember that good-for-nothing's name." she smiled ear-to-ear.

[ . . . ]

As Y/N stood there with a solo cup half-full with beer, listening to Brady Halliwell talk about the golden age of film, she was feeling regretful. She felt so out of place; the music wasn't what she was used to, the setting was too "put together" for her liking. As hard as she tried to be invested in the conversation, it just wasn't interesting. Visual media was never Y/N's forte.

Brady stood at about 5'6 with a medium build. Brown hair, brown eyes and olive skin. Nothing but a sweet guy with a big heart. He was the scrum-half of the school’s rugby team, always raking in distinctions on his report, with an interest for old hollywood films.

"Casablanca is a good watch, especially when-"

Brady was cut off when two men appeared from behind Y/N and stood at either side, putting their arms over his shoulders.

San and Seonghwa were the other members of Velvet Crowbar, who've all known each other since their high school days. That's when they had formed the band, along with Hongjoong who played rhythm guitar and was lead singer. San was their bassist and Seonghwa was their drummer.

"How's it going Bradford?" San grinned as he looked down at Brady, chewing his gum.

Seonghwa playfully punched Brady in the stomach and grinned. "Long time no see, buddy." he faced Y/N. "It's been a while, Y/N."

"What are you guys doing here?" Y/N's face wore a bored look as she rolled her eyes.

"Just here to see Bradford." San deigned. "He promised to show us his rugby trophies."

Seonghwa lightly chuckled as his smile materialised. "Yeah. Actually, let's go see them right now."

San and Seonghwa walked away with Brady, with very little protest on his end. Y/N stood in her spot dumbfounded as she watched their backs disappear into the scene. She put the solo cup down on the counter. As she turned around to go find her friends, she bumped into a sturdy figure. Her balance disturbed, she lost her footing and stumbled back. When she looked up, she was met with a cold expressionless face.

Wooyoung grabbed her wrist and led her through the crowd into an empty bedroom. A few eyes followed them. Y/N was in too much shock to speak. She was confused and trying to process everything that was happening. He locked the door and released her from his hold. His eyes were droopy and the stench of alcohol was coming off thick.

"What are you doing here? With San and Hwa no less." she exasperated, her arms crossed over her chest.

"I just needed them to distract Bradford so I could get you alone." he spoke calmly. He pulled out a blunt from the inside of his leather jacket. "Want?"

She smacked the blunt out of his hand. "No, Woo. Who told you I was here?"

"Somebody at our show told me you were here. And by the looks of it, I was right." he towered over her. "You're not having a good time. But what do mall-maggots know about fun? They're all gonna grow up to be a bunch of yuppies with a penthouse and some kids in a few." he cupped her face as his words slurred and leaned in close enough for their lips to graze. "But you don't want that, do you?"

She remained silent, her chest heaving up and down. She could hear her heart beating in her ears. Too frozen to react.

"You wanna have fun first. Make a mess, yeah?" he kissed the corner of her lips. "With a guy like Halliwell? You'd be stuck in Kialecombe forever."

He was right.

The smell of alcohol from his breath invaded her nostrils, driving her into a dizzy spell. His voice carried so much weight. A weakness of hers. He knew how to get into her head. What to say and how to say it. Getting her back would surely straighten him out. His head was telling him he would never find love like he did in Y/N. Flaws and all, she loved him all the same. They wormed their way into each other's hearts. No, it was more than that.

It was a psychic imprint.

"You abandoned me." she whispered as she averted her gaze.

"You needed space." he whispered. "So did I."

Her eyes began welling. "You avoided me and blamed me. The abortion was just a wake-up call. I don't think we were ever gonna work."

Wooyoung would not give in. He felt himself coming undone the longer they were separated. Willing to try anything but admit his mistakes, he was determined to get her back. And he knew exactly what to say to reel her back in.

"Tell me you don't still love me. I'll leave and never come back." he held her gaze with the most serious look in his eyes.

"I... I..." she shamefully hung her head.

You were never a good liar, Y/N.

He planted his lips on hers. She tried to fight against it but gave in. He grabbed the back of her thighs and hoisted her off the floor. Her hands started undressing him, stripping him of his jacket and shirt. He sat on the bed and undressed her top half until her chest was revealed. His lips found her nipples to toy with. After a few minutes, he laid her down.

She stood up and took off her lower garments. As he was undoing his zip, she threw her arms over his shoulders and kissed him feverishly. Once he was completely stripped down, he straddled her and laid back down. He peppered kisses all over her neck and jawline, nipping the skin.

He lined himself up against her entrance. As he slowly pushed himself in, he kissed her to muffle her moaning. His thrusts started picking up speed and impact. She could feel him dancing right by her cervix. He changed angles until he could find her spot. When tears started falling down her temples, he knew he had found it. She dug her nails into his back.

"Can't you see we were made for each other?" he pounded violently in her walls. The squelching of her cunt filled the half-silence in the room, making her body shudder. Her back was arching. He nipped her nipple then smacked her thigh.

Hearing him grunt in her ear was making her release near. Her walls clenched around him and she locked her legs. She nipped at his neck, her hands getting tangled in his locks. Here and there, her moans escaped, but were not loud enough to get the attention of party-goers on the other side of the door.

He slowed down a bit until he completely stopped. He was panting, sweat beads gliding down his forehead with his hair sticking. His fingers raked through his hair, slicking it back. He held her face, squeezing her cheeks with his fingers. "Open up." She obliged, he dropped saliva into her mouth. Like clockwork, she reached for it with her tongue.

"Good girl." he smirked.

He unlocked her legs and put them over his shoulders, the back of her thighs pressed against his chest. He started thrusting again and she couldn't handle it. She was crying from all the pleasure. His lips crashed into hers and explored her mouth. Everything was all so overwhelming for her. That clamping motion was back yet again and he felt it.

"You cry so pretty. Really missed seeing that." he thrusted into her slow and hard. They locked lips momentarily. "You're my girl, nobody else can have you." she moaned in response. He thrusted even harder and looked her in the eyes. "Promise me you won't ever leave me?"

She moaned breathlessly in response.

The knot in her stomach snapped. Her walls clenched more. She bit down on her finger as she came around his cock. Her legs were shaking over his shoulders. As he slowed down, giving her slow deep thrusts, a white ring formed around his cock. His own high followed soon after, painting his seed inside her. You'd think he learned his lesson, guess not. He pulled out of her. A thick white stream was leaking out of her.

They laid in bed for about 30 minutes, his arm slinked over her waist and his face buried in her hair. He was napping. She stood up from the bed, shoving his arm off her waist. He woke up and saw her sitting up. He ran his fingers over her bare back, she jolted. As they both stood up, getting dressed, Wooyoung spoke.

"Y/N?"

Silence.

"Y/N?"

Silence.

"Will you please just talk to-"

"You keep roping me into your nonsense and I keep letting it happen. Murphy was right about you." she deadpanned.

"Murphy hates Seonghwa for cheating on her, so she hates me by association." he sneered. "Can you really trust that her opinion isn't biased?"

She threw on her sweater. He walked over to her side of the room. Her hand landed on the doorknob. He put his whole weight behind his hand, keeping the door closed. She turned to meet his gaze with a deadly glare.

"Make no mistake Y/N, I have friends all over town. Any time you think you've got something good with another guy, I'll be there to ruin it." he spoke, monotonous. "You're my girl."

"You're the easiest piece of meat in Kialecombe, it's actually embarrassing." she shoved him away from the door. "Don't think I don't know about the girls you've been bedding these past few weeks."

He pocketed his hands in his jacket. "Collateral damage." he shrugged nonchalantly. "We were made for each other, and deep down, you know it. Everybody does. Nobody has what we have."

"Had." she snickered as she pulled the door ajar. "And you... I love you, Woo, but I'm smart enough to know you're gonna hold me back."

She walked out of the bedroom, Wooyoung trailing right behind her. A few eyes landed on them. Whispers here and there. She hitched a ride with one of the guys from school. He was kind enough to take her home, dropping her off at her doorstep. As she walked in, the TV was still on. Mrs. Scott was awake. Her eyes were glued to the screen, downing palms of popcorn, watching Grease. When the door closed, her attention was brought to Y/N.

"You're back! How was it?" Mrs. Scott spoke with her head peeking over the couch.

"Pretty great."

It was the last day of Exam Season. Anxiety was thick in the air as students were flipping pages through their notes and textbooks. Others reciting their material out loud. Some scrambling to get an extra pen or pencil. The teachers came out of the assembly hall and ordered them to pack away anything that wasn't stationery. The students stood in two files, girls and boys.

Y/N pat down her skirt, repositioning her floppy bow and blazer. When she turned to her left, there stood Brady in his blazer, decorated with his rugby and academic badges. As he turned to face her, offering a small wave, there was discolouration around his eye. Not much of swelling, just tint. The bruise was fairly noticeable.

"Brady, what happened?" she whispered, eyes wide.

He gave her a kind smile. "Nothing serious. Got headbutted at the jol, that's all."

She rubbed his arm and gave him a sympathetic look. "Oh, I'm sorry."

Once they were all seated in the the assembly hall, the teachers walked around handing out the exam question papers and answer sheets. The students talked amongst themselves while they waited for the teachers to finish handing out papers, and read the examination rules.

Y/N leaned over to her right. Murphy and Rosanne inched closer and Caroline, who was seated behind her, leaned in as well.

"What happened to Brady?" Y/N whispered.

"Got roughhoused by San and Seonghwa." Murphy responded.

[ . . . ]

Hongjoong stood in the corner practicing his riffs. San and Seonghwa sat on the couch making jokes, cackling endlessly. The producer, Matt, sat in front of the soundboard, preparing for their recording session. They had been in the studio for about an hour and a half. Behind on their session, a paid one at that, everyone was growing impatient. An opportunity they had been awaiting and it was slipping away.

A ruckus from outside jolted everyone out of their train of thought. They all exchanged confused glances before what sounded like metal dustbins, clashed. Everyone moved from their positions and rushed outside. As Hongjoong pushed the metal door open, he was met with a sight of Wooyoung laying in a pile of rubbish, dustbins spilled over and another one crushed under his weight. In front of him stood Gareth, a session guitarist hired by Matt.

Seonghwa ran to Wooyoung's side, San pushing Gareth back to make distance. Wooyoung could barely hold himself up without losing balance, a bottle of Jack wrapped in a brown bag in his hand. A nasty bruise decorated his jawline.

"What is this? What the fuck is going on?" Hongjoong spoke.

"Get off of me!" Gareth growled as he shoved San. "Ask your friend." he pointed at Wooyoung. "Found him at the bar two blocks down. I was trying to get him here for recording."

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Wooyoung pushed Seonghwa, who was holding him up to stand.

"Dude you were supposed to be here like an hour ago." Matt spoke.

Hongjoong walked over to Wooyoung and grabbed him by his jacket. He shook him violently. "You said you'd be better if we got you alone with Y/N." he grit through his teeth. "San and Hwa even dealt with Brady. What's your problem?"

"You should learn to chill, Hong. Cranked so damn tight all the time." Wooyoung professed, his speech slurred.

"We looked the other way when you started doing coke 'cause your playing was still good." Hongjoong hissed, eyes laser-focused on Wooyoung. "But you've been a violent and miserable mess since Y/N left your sorry ass. Your playing is sloppy and you're holding us back." he pushed him up against the wall behind him, surprising Wooyoung and dropping his Jack Daniels on the concrete path. "You're out."

Hongjoong backed away from Wooyoung, turning his back to him and walking to the studio door. His eyes were wild as he could not believe what he had just heard, his words immediately sobering him up. He straightened himself up and slicked his hair back.

"The fuck do you mean I'm out?" Wooyoung croaked out.

"Pack your shit and go! You're out of the band." Hongjoong snapped. He disappeared into the building.

Wooyoung walked toward the door but San and Seonghwa blocked his path. He fought them relentlessly. "Move out of my way!" he screamed. "This band is nothing without me! You need me! I made you! VC was my idea!"

As Hongjoong returned from inside, he had Wooyoung dufflebag and guitar case in his hands. He threw his belongings on the ground. He stuck his hand in his back pocket and threw a small roll of bills on the dufflebag.

He pointed a finger at Wooyoung and said to San and Seonghwa. "Get him on the next bus back to Kialecombe. I don't wanna see his face ever again."

Hongjoong went back into the studio, Matt and Gareth following him. The door closed with a clank from the inside. San and Seonghwa let go of Wooyoung. He stood there, ears red and chest heaving. His anger raw and unmasked. San picked up Wooyoung's belongings and the put the money in his pocket.

"Sorry, dude." Seonghwa whispered. "We tried to talk him out of it."

"Yeah. You know how Hong gets when he sets his mind to something." San added.

Wooyoung screamed from the top of his lungs, frustration culminating to the point of nearly usurping his conscious mind for control over his body. The alcohol had evaporated out of his system in that second. He trudged down the alleyway, cursing under his breath. Not a single coherent thought in his head. All he could think of was ways to get back at Hongjoong. A stray dog strolled past him. He swung his foot back and railed it into the innocent, unsuspecting animal. A pained whimper filled the atmosphere.

San pushed Wooyoung in the back, causing him to stumble forward. "What the hell is the matter with you?" San yelled at him.

"Fuck off, San!" Wooyoung bit back. "He thinks he's hot shit. I'm gonna make him regret meeting me."

San and Seonghwa exchanged worried glances, Seonghwa shrugging his shoulders. They walked behind him as they accompanied him to the bus station. It wasn't long until he was on a bus back to Kialecombe, jotting down ideas on a piece of paper. He only had one goal mind and he was going to see to its fruition.

"My family's going to the Blue Coast for the December holidays. Ah!" Caroline shrieked. "I'm gonna get tanned and watch the dolphins. Argh, I can't wait!" she shook Rosanne as she spoke.

"I can't either, if it means you don't get to shake me for a month." Rosanne grumbled.

Caroline looked at Rosanne with a blank expression then unhanded her. She took a sip of her milkshake as she rolled her eyes. Y/N chuckled, popping another fry into her mouth. Rosanne smirked to herself, a small giggle escaping her mouth.

"Where are you going for the holidays?" Rosanne put forward to Y/N. "I'm going to Ivory Canyon with Murphy."

Y/N sipped her milkshake and cocked her head up. "Mom and I are flying to Old Western to look at flats for when I go to university next year." she stretched her arms out as a gesture of relaxation. "Then we're going to Torino Cape."

Caroline leaned over the table and put her hands under her head. "Oh my god and Torino is so fabulous this time of the year. There's always animals roaming the streets, it's wonderful."

As Y/N was about speak up, Murphy came running into the diner, the doorbell ringing. Everyone turned to watch Murphy as she ran toward their booth. She slid between the table and seater and planted herself beside Y/N, accidentally crushing her into the wall.

"Wooyoung got kicked out of Velvet Crowbar." Murphy announced with a smile plastered on her face.

Y/N's heart sank at the statement. Everyone's eyes grew wide, their gazes landing on Y/N who was visibly distraught. Caroline smacked Murphy's arm and shot her daggers.

"Tact, Murphy!" Caroline hissed.

"He had it coming after he abandoned Y/N when she... you know..." Murphy's voice trailed off, hinting at the abortion.

"It's okay, Care. Stuff happens." Y/N spoke through a halfhearted, uneasy smile.

It was not okay. As much as she wanted to move on from Wooyoung, a part of her was concerned for his well-being. Especially seeing how bent out of shape he was at Brady's party. Velvet Crowbar meant the world to him and he had his entire future riding on their success. Without them, where did he stand? Y/N could not allow herself to get sucked into Wooyoung's world again.

[ . . . ]

Curse her bleeding heart.

She opened the door after found herself knocking for the fifth time to no avail. It was unlocked. She peeked in, eyes scanning the living room. As her eyes wandered, studying Wooyoung's apartment. It had been months since she last came over. The sink was piled with unwashed dishes. Counter carrying empty pizza boxes.

It was far worse than she had imagined.

Her feet were leading her to the bedroom. Slowly pushing the door open, she was scared of what she might see. Her heart was thumping at an uncomfortable pace. Slow steady breaths. She dropped her backpack and rushed to the bed. Wooyoung was unconscious, body sprawled out. He only wore jeans. A string of blood stretched from his nostril to his upper lip. On the bedside stand was a silver tray covered with a white powder substance, and an empty bottle of Jack.

"Woo?" she shook him lightly.

No response.

"Woo? Woo, wake up!" she gripped his shoulders and shook him even more violently.

He was unresponsive.

She picked up the phone on the bedside stand and spin-dialed an emergency number. It rung for a few seconds, but those seconds felt like forever and a day to her. Finally, a woman's voice answered on the other end.

"Kialecombe General Hospital. How can-"

"I need an ambulance at five-five-three Concord Street, The Sands, floor two, unit ten." Y/N cried, trying her best to remain coherent for the operator.

"Okay, tell me what happened?"

"I- I got here and he was unconscious..." she cried more. "He's not waking up. There's empty bottles of alcohol, and drugs everywhere. Hi-his nose is bleeding. I think he overdosed."

"Do you feel a pulse? Is he breathing?"

She put her ear to his nose. No warm air brushing against her skin. Nothing.

"There's nothing!"

"An ambulance will be there in two minutes, hang tight."

Y/N hung up the phone and kept trying to wake Wooyoung up. He was in too deep and she was losing hope. She hit him in the chest repeatedly, crying and begging for him to wake up. Moving on was the last thing on her mind, she just wanted him to wake up.

"Woo, wake up! Wake up!" she pounded on his chest.

The living room door flew open as two paramedics rushed in. The stretcher was outside. They came in the bedroom. One of them pulled Y/N off Wooyoung, asking her stay aside. They carried him out and laid him on the stretcher and rushed out of the apartment complex. Wooyoung was loaded into the ambulance, the paramedics told her to get in the ambulance.

Once they arrived at the hospital, she was asked to stay in the waiting room. She paced up and down the space, fisting handfuls of her hair, cursing herself. She felt partially responsible because his spiral only occurred after their separation. Tears endlessly running down her face. Teeth biting the inside of her cheek. The other visitors in the waiting room were watching her. It felt as if she was coming undone at the seams of her being.

"Y/N, what happened? Mrs. Wentworth called and said you were here." Mrs. Scott took off her sunglasses, bringing Y/N out of her reverie.

She turned around and fell apart in her arms. She could not string together a sensical sentence. Everytime she opened her mouth, a sob would unleash. Mrs. Scott pressed her head against her chest, rubbing her back to calm her down.

"I went to g-go see W-Woo..." she lifted her head off her chest. "I was going to check on him b-because he got kicked out of the band. And then I found him in his b-bed..." she broke down again. "Mom, he wouldn't wake up." she stood a few inches away from her mom, watching her with glistening eyes. "He got worse after we broke up."

"No, no. This isn't your fault." Mrs. Scott held her shoulders and held her gaze. "He made his choice and you tried your best."

"Mom, you don't understand." she sniffled and wiped her tears away with her shirt's sleeve. "This would've never happened if we never broke up."

"You don't know that." she brought her daughter into a tight hug. "Listen, we need to leave, otherwise we'll miss our flight. Mrs. Wentworth will update us on his condition but Y/N, you can't be here. You've come so far, don't let this drag you back into the dark."

Y/N obliged as she nodded her head. They left the hospital and headed back home. She sat in the car with Mrs. Scott, sobbing into her chest, while the chauffeur loaded their luggage into the car. Soon enough, they were sitting in a plane to Old Western. The last image she saw in her head was of Wooyoung's unconscious body, before drifting off into slumber.

PART 3, READ HERE.

#ateez #jung wooyoung #wooyoung smut #wooyoung angst #roguehongsami

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mountainficss · 4 months

Text

ameliorate • park seonghwa

a·me·lio·rate

/əˈmēlyəˌrāt/

make (something bad or unsatisfactory) better.

WORD COUNT: 2525

SUB!Reader + DOM!Seonghwa

WARNINGS: unprotected sex, drinking, slight angst, make-up, creampie, marking, possessive sex (?), usage of (y/n), pet names/nicknames, bondage

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You took a long sip of your peach vodka, the alcohol sending burning sensations down your throat as you listened to the thundering bass from the club speakers. This loud and crowded environment wasn't your type, but you needed a distraction from your recent heartbreak.

Park Seonghwa was the perfect boyfriend, everything about him you were in love with. He was kind and caring, always patient and understanding with you. He loved spending time with you and would often stop by your apartment for surprise visits, bringing you flowers and your favorite snacks. He was with you through thick and thin, you experienced everything with him. You cried with him, laughed with him, you even had your first time with him. He was your everything. Despite him being flawless, you still had your doubts. Your insecurities would often consume you, you felt like you were a burden to him and that eventually led to you breaking up with him. You had come to his apartment to break it off, leaving with a simple "It's best if we're not together." You had turned away before you could see the pained look on his face, and he watched you leave without once turning back. Although you were cold to him, you sobbed uncontrollably as soon as you returned to your empty apartment. You loved him so much, but you felt you had to set him free. You wanted him to be happy, but you couldn't understand that he was happy with you and only you.

You had been miserable for weeks, so you decided to come to the club's bar and attempt to drown your sorrows in alcohol. Little did you know, Seonghwa had gone to the same club for the exact same reason.

When you left, Seonghwa was devastated. He still remembered everything about that day when you walked out of his apartment for the last time. He tortured himself thinking it was his fault, he thought he wasn't enough for you. You were perfect to him, and he couldn't help but wonder if he had hurt you or taken you for granted. He would cry every day, wishing you would come back and give him a second chance. He thought about you constantly and tried his best to distract himself from the pain with a change of atmosphere.

He sat alone at a table across from the bar, the booming music filling his ears. His eyes scanned the club, unintentionally landing on you sitting by yourself at the bar. His eyes widened and his heart began pounding as soon as he saw you, the memories of that day flooding back. He wanted to look away from you, but your beauty had captivated him yet again just like the day he first met you. Feeling a pair of eyes on you, you looked up from your drink only to meet the eyes of Seonghwa staring at you widely. Your stomach dropped when you saw him, looking away immediately and trying your best to keep your face emotionless. A swarm of butterflies relentlessly attacked your insides, your feelings for him resurfacing at a rapid rate.

As soon as Seonghwa saw your eyes dart away from his own and back to your drink, he stood from his seat and hastily made his way to the bar. You felt him standing next to you, trying your hardest to ignore it. "Hi," he smiled timidly, his mind going blank and struggling to find the words to say to you. You kept your eyes down, not once turning to look at him. "Hi, Seonghwa." You responded coldly, taking another swig of your drink.

"Can I drink with you?" He asks shyly, sitting next to you and studying your face. You nodded silently, his presence not at all helping your current state. You tried your best to forget about him and the things you felt for him, waving your hand to get the bartender's attention and ordering a round of shots for yourself.

Seonghwa watched in horror as you downed shot after shot and slowly began to succumb to the alcohol. He had only one drink, while you were on your fourth tequila shot of the night. He witnessed you drunkenly swaying in your seat, flagging down the poor bartender for the umpteenth time tonight, starting to order another shot. Before you could order, Seonghwa stopped the bartender, causing you to protest. "C'mon, Hwaaa," you slurred, as Seonghwa flinched at the old nickname. "I'm not done drinking yet~" Your words blended together as you hiccuped.

"I don't think you should drink anymore, (Y/N). I can take you home," he suggests. You scoffed, rising from your seat and almost losing your balance. "Fuck you," you mumbled groggily. "I'll walk home myself." Your feet stumbled over each other as you struggled to find your footing, taking drunken strides towards the exit. You felt a hand on your waist as Seonghwa led you to the doors. You blushed at the sudden contact. "I'll bring you home," he soothes, helping guide you to the parking lot.

·𖥸·

After 20 painful minutes of Seonghwa trying his hardest to escort your intoxicated form up the stairs to your apartment, you had both finally made it to your front door. The alcohol in your system had slightly worn off over time, but you were still having trouble standing. "You should probably lay down and get some sleep," Seonghwa advised, turning to look at you.

You were shaking, sniffling quietly as hot tears began to roll down your face, staining your cheeks. Your bottom lip quivered as you sobbed pathetically. Seonghwa's eyes widened, caught off guard and quickly reaching to hold your hands in an attempt to calm you down. "No, no, please, why are you crying?" He questioned, panicking as he tried to stop your tears. He reached one hand to your face to gently wipe them away as you cried harder. "I'm sorry, S-Seonghwa," you bawled. "I shouldn't have left you...You didn't deserve the way I treated you. I'm s-so sorry..." You rambled. Seonghwa felt a sharp pang in his heart, seeing you so upset hurt him more than anything. "Hey, i-it's okay, I know you just wanted the best for me," he reassured as you frowned. "I know you hate me now," you croaked, your throat feeling tight with sorrow. You felt his arms wrap around you, pulling you close as your head rested on his chest. You could hear his rapid heartbeat. "I could never ever hate you," he muttered, the smell of your coconut shampoo reaching his nose. "I love you so much." He choked back a sob. Without thinking, you gazed up at him and pressed a fervent kiss to his lips. He kissed you back passionately, one hand grabbing your waist and the other reaching around to tangle itself into your hair. Your hands slightly gripped the fabric of his shirt, deepening the kiss. You used one hand to reach for the doorknob, not once breaking the kiss as you fumbled trying to open the front door to your apartment. You pulled him inside, shutting the door behind you as you continued your heated make-out session. You both pulled away for much-needed oxygen, and shortly after you had caught your breath you began to devour Seonghwa's neck. You peppered him with sweet kisses and sucked on his skin gently, soft sighs leaving his lips. You reached to unbutton his shirt, undoing one of the buttons. Seonghwa wanted you to keep going, but he used all his willpower to stop you and detach you from his neck. "W-Wait, (Y/N), we can't do this. You're drunk—I'd never take advantage of you while you're drunk." He stammered, the thought of your lips on his neck still replaying in his mind. You whined, playing with his shirt collar and looking into his eyes pleadingly. "Please, Seonghwa," you begged. "I'm not drunk anymore, I just miss you...please..." You trailed as Seonghwa studied your features, noticing your pupils dilating with desire. Although most of the alcohol had worn off and you were mostly sober now, Seonghwa still wanted to respect you and make sure you didn't regret your decision later on. He wanted so desperately to resist you, to ignore your sweet pleas, but he had missed you just as much as you missed him. He whimpered, surrendering and tilting his head to give you access.

You began sucking on the exposed skin again as he pulled you closer to him by your hips. You felt his clothed bulge press against your front, his sighs and whimpers turning you on even more. He tapped your thigh, signaling you to jump into his arms as he carried you to your bedroom. He laid you down carefully, showering you with little pecks, from your neck up to your cheeks and forehead. "God, I missed you so much," he babbled, speaking between kisses. You started to undress each other, discarding your clothes carelessly across the floor. You felt so exposed being unclothed under him, but you loved it. Every touch from his nimble fingers would set your skin ablaze, even after being apart from him for so long. His kisses traveled down to your chest and stomach as you whined, the feeling of his soft lips on your skin sending you to heaven. "You're perfect," he whispered against your skin, his praises making you needier. He pulled away, reaching to retrieve his belt from his pile of clothes on the floor. You gave him your wrists, and he used the belt to bond them together. "You need to tell me if you're uncomfortable, okay baby?" He instructed, the sudden pet name making you blush. You nodded quickly, your mind unable to form proper sentences. He held your wrists together over your head with one hand, the other hand reaching down to your core. He ran his fingers through your wet folds, loving your reactions when he rubbed them up and down. He removed his fingers and brought them to his mouth, sucking off your arousal and savoring the taste like he would never taste you again.

He placed his free hand onto your hip and aligned his member, watching your expression as he steadily pushed in. He watched every second of how your face twisted in pleasure, a sigh escaping your throat at the feeling of him filling you. He gave you some time to adjust, his thumb tracing little patterns onto your hip. You nodded slightly, letting him know it was okay to move. "Hwa, I-I missed you," you choked weakly, your legs wrapping around his waist to feel him deeper. He pulled out almost completely, stopping at the head and thrusting back in slowly, repeating his actions. "I missed you more, baby," he gushed, his voice a little strained due to the pleasure distracting him. You were so incredibly tight, he knew he wasn't going to last long this way. "You're everything I could have ever asked for, please don't think otherwise," he reassured, his hips hitting your bundle of nerves with every push of his length. Your moans became louder as he gripped your wrists tighter.

The speed of his strokes increased as he buried his face into your neck, whispering sweet words and praises. "Everything about you is perfect, baby. I was so happy with you," he mumbled as you heard the headboard of your bed banging against the wall from the force of his lewd actions. He pounded into you harshly, making you cry out. Your walls tightened around him as he fucked you at an animalistic pace. You felt your climax approaching, your walls fluttering uncontrollably around him and bringing him closer to his climax too.

"Don't. Ever. Leave. Me. Again." He hissed angrily next to your ear through clenched teeth, spitting a word with every thrust. He made sure you didn't even consider leaving him again, roughly fucking every idea of letting him go out of your head. Your eyes rolled backwards as you warned him, "H-Hwa...gonna cum!" You held off for as long as you could until he gave you permission to finish. "Cum, baby. Make a mess for me," he demanded as you felt his dick twitch inside of you. Your climax overpowered you as you cried loudly, your eyes screwing shut as he helped you through your orgasm. You never wanted to feel this euphoric feeling with anyone else, you only wanted Seonghwa. He moaned lustily, his seed spilling inside of you as your walls clenched around him at the sound of his lewd moans filling your ears. You loved the sounds he made because of you, they were so beautifully filthy. His broken moans died down, turning into lustful whimpers. His hips moved slowly, both of you experiencing your highs together. He wanted to stay inside of you forever, being so close to you was pulling at his heartstrings. Your fatigued body laid under his, breathing heavily as he quickly released your bonded wrists and pressed soothing kisses to your temples.

He pulled out carefully, eliciting a hiss from you as he nestled into your neck again. You both caught your breath, clinging to each other as if one of you would disappear if you released each other.

The silence was broken by sniffles as you felt Seonghwa beginning to quietly cry into your shoulder. His sobs were heartbreaking, his tears wetting your skin as he wept to you. "Baby, p-please..." He pleaded weakly. "Can we start over? I'm—I'm sorry if I didn't make you happy," he hiccuped, choked cries leaving his throat painfully. The sound of his sniveling caused tears to well in your eyes, a pained feeling reaching your chest as you sobbed with him. You reached a hand around his head to run your fingers through the hair on his nape as his crying refused to cease. "I miss you so much," he bawled, holding you tightly.

"I wanna start again Seonghwa," you cried, kissing the top of his head repeatedly, the faint woodsy scent of his cologne reaching your nose. He looked up at you hopefully, his large starry eyes still filled with tears. He leaned in and kissed you passionately, stray tears dropping onto your face as you kissed him back. He had calmed down a bit, pulling away from your lips gently. "I'm sorry we had to make up this way, I promise I'll take you out tomorrow so we can fix this the right way," he comforted. He smiled gently, the sight of him bringing butterflies to your stomach once again. "I'm so sorry for everything, Seonghwa," you sniffed. "I really want to fix this. I want to be better for you," you confessed, nuzzling your nose into his hair and letting his scent consume you.

"Tomorrow, okay? We'll talk about everything tomorrow." Seonghwa reassured, caressing your skin carefully. You felt your eyelids closing, sleep threatening to overtake your body. He held you tightly in his arms as you nodded slightly, eyelids finally drooping shut. "I love you so much," Seonghwa mumbled sweetly as the both of you drifted off peacefully in each other's arms.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

#ateez smut #seonghwa #park seonghwa #ateez x reader #ateez fic #ateez seonghwa #ateez imagines #mountainficss

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mariacallous · 5 months

Text

U.S. President Joe Biden’s approach to the Israel-Hamas war, especially his seemingly preternatural support for Israel, has been criticized across much of the U.S. political spectrum. An NBC News poll published Nov. 19 found that just 34 percent of registered voters approve of how Biden is handling the war. Many younger voters in particular are angry; and some Arab and Muslim Americans are telling pollsters they won’t vote for Biden in 2024 because of his stance.

The Democratic Party itself is deeply divided on the issue, with even some moderate Democrats urging Biden to do more to restrain Israel. And inside the administration, the president is seeing dissent from staff in the White House and State Department of a kind these two authors never witnessed during our government careers. Biden has even been accused of supporting “the genocide of the Palestinian people” by a member of his own party.

Yet given the president’s long and deep attachment to Israel, the brutality of the Oct. 7 Hamas attack, and the lack of policy alternatives in the first several weeks of the crisis, it’s doubtful that Biden could have followed another course that would have been more successful. Standing by Israel, deterring Hezbollah and Iran from escalating the conflict, and pursuing negotiations to secure the release of hostages as well as buy time and space to ameliorate—though admittedly not end—the catastrophic humanitarian situation in Gaza have proven to be the right, though hardly perfect, choices.

Still, having tethered U.S. policy to Israel’s war aims—the eradication of Hamas—Biden now finds himself in a bind. The humanitarian crisis in Gaza and the exponential rise in the deaths and suffering of Gaza’s civilian population have undermined U.S. credibility at home, in the Arab and Muslim world, and in the international community. Going forward, the success or failure of U.S. policy may well rest on whether Biden can reshape Israel’s military campaign, alleviate the humanitarian situation, and engage Israel and other partners in coming up with a workable plan for post-war Gaza.

Like most of the world, the Biden administration was stunned by the timing and severity of the Hamas attack. But the potential damage to U.S. interests was clear from the get-go. The administration had previously concluded that a major effort to resolve the Israeli-Palestinian issue given the Netanyahu government’s priorities would be futile and had shifted focus instead on negotiating an Israeli-Saudi normalization accord. The Hamas attack, along with Israel’s punishing response and the rising death toll it has caused in Gaza, put that on hold, as did the increasing danger of a new front opening along the Israel-Lebanon border.

Preventing an escalation and widening of the war that could pull in the United States was now a key priority, as was trying to limit the damage to U.S. relations with the Arab and Muslim world as Israel’s military action claimed thousands of Palestinians lives. Securing the release of the estimated 240 hostages—including at least 10 Americans—kidnapped by Hamas also moved to the top of the administration’s priorities, both for moral reasons and to create humanitarian pauses in fighting in exchange for their release. In an effort to regain some ground with the Arab states and Palestinians, the administration began to talk about the importance of not going back to the Oct. 6 status quo, the U.S. commitment to a two-state solution, and the need to create a new post-conflict reality in Gaza.

For Biden, though, backing Israel wasn’t a hard choice; it was virtually guaranteed. His Oct. 10 speech—one of the most powerful of his presidency to date—set his frame: The United States would give Israel the time, space, and support to do what it believed it needed to do against Hamas. U.S. policy began to evolve as the deaths of Palestinians and destruction in Gaza began to rise. But despite growing opposition, that frame has remained remarkably consistent.

Biden faced an Israel that had already been moving sharply to the right and was now thoroughly traumatized by Hamas’s sadistic and indiscriminate killing of Israeli civilians on Oct. 7. An Israel, in other words, primed to respond with extreme violence and disinclined to worry too much about Palestinian civilians. Indeed, like Hamas, which doesn’t regard Israeli civilians as innocent, some Israelis—especially Netanyahu’s far-right political allies—consider Gaza’s population to be complicit in Hamas’s atrocities. The fact that Hamas uses civilians as shields against attack reinforces this attitude.

The Biden administration also faced an Israel that saw this moment as an opportunity to deal decisively with threats from Lebanon and Gaza that it has been living with, if uneasily, for years. And because Hamas’s rage was unleashed on Gaza’s border communities, which contained a disproportionate number of liberal Israelis who notably detest their current government and favor a two-state solution, it unified Israeli support on the right and left for a crushing response. Moreover, because the attack was made possible by Israel’s own blunders, the government felt that it needed to restore perceptions of power and its willingness to use it. This all pointed to a no-holds-barred counteroffensive.

Biden has dealt with these obstacles as well as anyone could.

To manage the risk of escalation, Biden did two things—one privately and the other publicly. Privately, he told Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu that Israeli preemption against Hezbollah in Lebanon—a very real possibility early in the crisis—was a nonstarter. Washington would not support it, and for Israel to proceed would damage U.S. interests; not a good idea when Israel was isolated internationally. Biden then deployed two carrier strike groups—a total of 180 fighter bombers—to the Eastern Mediterranean and beefed-up U.S. military power in the Red Sea and Persian Gulf.

The message to Hezbollah and Iran was clear: Don’t start anything. Thus far, both adversaries have indicated publicly and privately that they got the message. Yes, Hezbollah-Israel exchanges have been at their heaviest since the 2006 war. But both parties have pushed but not exceeded the rules of the game. The threat of a regional war that could suck in the United States is, for the time being, in abeyance.

Through Biden’s visit to Israel, as well as U.S. Secretary of State Antony Blinken’s repeated trips and U.S. Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin’s visit, Biden made it impossible for Israel to launch its ground offensive in Gaza until the United States had at least weighed in and the Israeli fury had cooled somewhat. He bought time for Washington to influence the pace and scope of Israel’s campaign. The reason U.S. Marine Corps Lt. Gen. James Glynn, who commanded the U.S. forces that participated in the anti-Islamic State campaign in Raqqa, Syria, and Mosul, Iraq, was dispatched to Israel ahead of the planned ground offensive was to caution the Israel Defense Forces (IDF) against a scorched earth strategy and suggest ways they could meet their military objectives in Gaza without the kind of wholesale destruction the United States unleashed on Islamic State-occupied cities in Syria and Iraq.

Granted, there was no way this warning would influence the Israeli air campaign already underway in Gaza, especially in its initial phase—partly because the violence was expressive but also because Hamas had deliberately tunneled under heavily populated civilian areas, and the IDF had no good ideas about how to deal with the situation without bombing.

Biden was also successful in compelling Netanyahu to accept the need for humanitarian corridors and resume the flow of water and now fuel to Gaza. Without Biden’s intervention, it’s a safe bet that none of these Israeli concessions would have been forthcoming. Indeed, it’s unlikely the current humanitarian pause, which has allowed more aid into Gaza and significant hostage releases, would have happened without Biden’s personal effort and U.S. intervention. Israel on its own would not have gotten there until things were much worse, if ever.

Could the Biden administration have forced Israel to embrace a more permanent ceasefire, as many have urged Biden to do? What threats might it have used? A halt to U.S. military assistance would have sparked a firestorm in Washington, destroyed Biden’s demonstrated influence on Israel’s crisis response, and pushed Israel to rely on less precise weapons, leading to more civilian deaths—and all likely without changing Israel’s actions.

Imposing conditions on Israel’s use of U.S.-supplied weapons is another option being raised not just by progressive Democrats but by a few more centrist ones as well, though the latter group is so far just asking questions and requesting information rather than pressing for restrictions. Such an approach would have to involve looking at individual weapons: how they are deployed, what are legitimate military targets, and whether Israel has carefully calibrated the impact on civilians in the area. This seems almost impossible in the middle of an active warzone and in any event likely would not alter Israel’s operations.

Should the United States have withdrawn military support for Israel in other ways, such as by redeploying the carriers in the eastern Mediterranean, the U.S. destroyer in the Red Sea, and the U.S. X-band air defense radar installation in Israel’s Negev desert? Doing so would undermine the U.S. objective of deterring Hezbollah and Iran from escalating the conflict and likely trigger an Israeli preemptive war against Lebanon. Such a step would, in effect, play into Iranian hands and undermine, not strengthen, deterrence.

Recalling the U.S. Marine expeditionary force whose missions include embassy and country evacuations, hostage rescue, and other special operations would undermine U.S. readiness for any number of contingencies. Voting against Israel in the United Nations can be guaranteed not to move Israel’s needle one bit. The administration might have considered using U.S. forces to protect aid convoys entering Gaza against Israeli wishes, but this would pose risks that would truly be incalculable.

As the Israeli ground campaign now renews, so do the greatest challenges for the Biden administration’s policies. The United States cannot prevent Israel from resuming military action in northern Gaza or the more worrisome unfolding of a major military campaign to root out Hamas’s infrastructure and kill its leadership in the south. With nearly half of Gaza’s population displaced into the south and disease and lack of necessities taking their toll, a massive ground campaign in densely populated areas there would be disastrous. Indeed, when comparing pre-Oct. 7 Israel-Hamas conflicts with the appalling Palestinian death toll of the past month and a half, it’s clear that Israel is being far less discriminating this time around and has expanded its rules of engagement in attacking Hamas targets embedded in or near civilian areas.

The question is whether Biden can, through pressure and persuasion, reshape Israel’s thinking and create the requisite time and space not just for safe zones but for reliable channels to deliver humanitarian assistance. Having had Israel’s back over the past 50-plus days, the U.S. president is in a position to wield influence over what may well be the most important juncture in Israel’s war against Hamas. Still, Biden must be realistic: Stopping Israel from dealing Hamas’s military capacity a death blow was never in the cards.

The other issue is how to bring the Israelis around on the elusive question of an endgame in Gaza. Privately, the Biden administration has been hammering the Israelis to think this through, though Netanyahu has been reluctant to engage largely because of the demands of his extreme right-wing coalition partners.

Blinken has already laid out publicly a number of “nos” for post-conflict Gaza, including no reduction in territory, no forced relocation of Gazans, and no use of Gaza as a platform for launching terror attacks. We still have no idea how Israel sees the future, other than the certainty of some Israeli presence and perhaps buffer zones until some new reality that can guarantee Israel’s security could be established. But who does Israel envision governing Gaza? And what will Gaza’s relationship to the West Bank be? Biden has called for renewed negotiations for a two-state solution. Both that issue and the future of Gaza will ultimately depend on whether and how the war reshapes Israeli and Palestinian politics.

Uncertainties abound—hardly an unusual state of affairs in the middle of a major Middle East conflict. Yet despite all of the criticism and the grim death toll among Palestinians and Israelis, and given the constraints and things beyond his control, Biden has fared pretty well so far in preserving U.S. interests and preventing matters from getting worse. For a crisis with so many moving parts, that is no small achievement.

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 months

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The Other Mountain - ao3 - Chapter 25

Pairing: Lan Qiren/Wen Ruohan

Warning Tags on Ao3

———————————————————————-

The evidence from the Fire Palace came in not long after, confirming Lan Qiren’s deduction.

Wen Ruohan still looked stupefied by the revelation, though he’d lived up to his word and believed Lan Qiren immediately, which was nice. He just hadn’t believed it of Jin Guanshan, Lan Qiren supposed.

That was reasonable enough.

Jin Guangshan might not be especially smart, but he made up for it by having cunning in spades. Lan Qiren could out-argue him nearly every time, particularly on matters of morality, but Jin Guangshan got his own way just as often, whether through schemes and maneuvering or underhanded tricks. He’d been pretty close to Wen Ruohan, too. The Wen sect never made alliances, it was part of their founding principles – the clan over everyone, the clan over the world, Wen Mao at what was either his finest or his worst depending on what commentary you were reading – but Jin Guangshan was good at flattering people, and Wen Ruohan liked to be flattered. He enjoyed not only the reality of being powerful, but the pageantry of it: he liked it when people bowed to him or recited phrases honoring him, he liked it when people thought about him, and he liked it when people praised him, even when they were smarmy sycophants obviously out for their own interests like Jin Guangshan.

(Having now spent a little more time with Wen Chao, Lan Qiren felt that he had a better understanding of Wen Ruohan’s character. Wen Ruohan was smarter, subtler, and far more experienced than his second son, and certainly more ruthless, but Lan Qiren could see that some of the same characteristics were there, writ miniature. Certainly some of the same flaws: Wen arrogance and self-absorption, a prickly competitive pride – though with Wen Chao, unlike his father, not quite enough cleverness and talent to justify it – and of course a tendency towards indolence and laziness, impulsiveness and excitability…not to mention, interestingly enough, a certain degree of gullibility, worsened by their tendency to think themselves above being tricked.

It was a little adorable, actually.

Wen Chao, at least, was young enough that Lan Qiren felt confident he could help ameliorate the worst of his flaws, or at least help him manage them better and with fewer awful tendencies than his father. As for Wen Ruohan…well, it was good for him that Lan Qiren liked him so much. He’d never met a man more in need of a beating. And that included Lao Nie.)

“Why would he be so foolish?” Wen Ruohan asked, not for the first time. He had started pacing – almost as if conjured up by his irritation, Cangse Sanren had appeared, this time with Wei Changze trailing behind her. “No Great Sect directly encroaches on another, not like this. We all refrain because we all know where it would lead…why would he incite war against me?”

“Not just a war, but a war in which you are the aggrieved party,” Wei Changze agreed. He looked worried, probably because of his natal sect’s potential involvement – the Jiang sect were formal allies with the Jin sect, close to the point of having arranged for a future engagement between Jiang Yanli and Jin Guangshan’s son, Jin Zixuan. The engagement had been mediated by their mothers, who had been close as girls, but even Lan Qiren, who did not gossip and tried not to listen to it when it was presented to him, knew the rumors that claimed that Madam Jin had utilized that very connection to help win her current place as mistress of Jinlin Tower. “It does seem rather implausible, not to mention irrational.”

“People act irrationally out of fear,” Cangse Sanren said. She’d perched herself on the stool again, with her knees pulled up in a dreadfully inappropriate manner; Lan Qiren was starting to wonder if she had difficulty getting comfortable unless she was contorting herself. “His conduct being irrational doesn’t necessarily mean that this is a trap.”

“It could be,” Wen Ruohan said.

“Anything could be. In this case, I don’t think it is. Qiren-gege is right: Sect Leader Jin decided to bet on a roll of the dice with Qingheng-jun, siding with him and trying to box Sect Leader Wen into a major loss. He probably figured that two Great Sects acting together were hard to stop, especially since he could bulk up their power by suborning Yunmeng Jiang through their alliance with his sect. And it’s a good point! With three Great Sects you can do a lot!” She shrugged. “But he didn’t realize that Qingheng-jun was insane, so his plan failed.”

“That’s not unreasonable. But it is unreasonable to go from there to ordering an assassination.”

“I suspect that part is likely my fault,” Lan Qiren said heavily. “Jin Guangshan has always been able to rely on his knowledge of people to manipulate them. With Wen Ruohan, he counted on knowing how to calm him down whenever he overstepped, whether through flattery or gifts or otherwise. But now, for the first time, we rejected his attempt to smooth things over…well, I rejected it, and Wen Ruohan endorsed that rejection. That may have spooked him.”

“Spooked him enough to try to kill me?” Wen Ruohan sounded offended, even though he himself had pointed out several times that his temporary vulnerability made it a perfectly reasonable time for someone to try something. “I understand that he had a relatively narrow window of opportunity at present and would need to act swiftly if he wished to take advantage of my impairment, but at the same time, it seems like rather a bold move, particularly for him. Maybe it is a trap.”

“Even if it is a trap, how can we avoid it?” Lan Qiren pointed out. Quite reasonably, to his mind. “I despise war. I would do everything within my power to avoid it where possible, but despite that, even I know that trying to kill another sect’s sect leader can lead nowhere else. If we do not respond in force, it would be tantamount to saying that anyone can try to kill the people in the Nightless City with impunity.”

“How bloodthirsty of you, Qiren.”

“He’s not being bloodthirsty,” Cangse Sanren objected. “He’s being logical.”

“He’s being terrifying,” Wei Changze said bluntly. “He’s not wrong, it makes sense, it’s the way it has to be. But wars aren’t bloodless, and they shouldn’t be started bloodlessly.”

Lan Qiren frowned. He was hardly being cold-hearted, he didn’t think – it really was only logical, and not just because his new sect happened to be the victim. The Wen sect was the most powerful sect in the cultivation world; its behavior set the standard for the rest, for better or for worse. If they didn’t take the strongest possible measures against someone who had ordered an assassination now, it would suggest that such things were acceptable, or at least not too objectionable, and setting such a precedent would be disastrous for the entire cultivation world, not just the Nightless City. Every sect would start thinking about how to target each other.

They had to stamp this out at once. They had to make it so incredibly clear that the consequences of this type of behavior vastly outweighed the benefits, that there would be immediate and overwhelming reprisals, that the only outcome would be utterly cataclysmic. The only way to do that was to go to war.

There was simply no other choice.

What had Jin Guangshan been thinking? It would be one thing if he were in the Wen sect’s position, thinking that he was strong enough to cast off the consequences or maybe even to intimidate whoever he had offended out of demanding justice. But they weren’t a small sect being threatened by a large sect, where they would have to balance accepting an intolerable offense against the risk of their sect being subsequently destroyed. The Wen sect was large and powerful and unlike most sects, it had an army. An army, and a powerful sect leader known for conquest and tyranny. It would never take such an insult lying down.

Jin Guangshan wasn’t strong enough to go against Wen Ruohan’s Wen sect, and surely he knew that. He’d done the equivalent of poking a bear with a stick and running away, expecting the bear to chase.

Under the circumstances, it was pretty obvious that there had to be some sort of trap involved.

Why get a bear to chase you if you didn’t have plans to deal with the bear once you got it to where you wanted it to go? Lan Qiren was perfectly willing to believe that Jin Guangshan was a little stupid, or even more than a little, but he wasn’t that stupid. He must have, or at least must believe that he had, some sort of ace up his sleeve that would enable him to turn the tables against them at the last moment, some final card left to play, something that he plausibly thought would let him triumph over not only a weakened Wen Ruohan, but the entire Wen sect army.

But what could it be?

“– need to look at who we’re dealing with here,” Cangse Sanren was arguing. “Don’t look at the situation as a general rule, what would normal people do and why would they do it. We need to think about why Sect Leader Jin would do what he did. ‘People are different, and different people react differently to the same stimulus.’”

That almost had the sound of a rule.

Actually, now that he thought about it, Lan Qiren thought he might remember having said something similar to Cangse Sanren all way back when they were still adolescents, back when she’d been frustrated by not being able to understand why people acted the way they did. He’d overheard her ranting about it one afternoon and he’d been struck by a sudden sense of kinship. As one person struggling with the same issue to another, he’d offered to share the benefits of his hard-won lessons on social norms. He hadn’t actually expected her to accept, but she had, and he’d spent a number of highly enjoyable afternoons explaining what he’d figured out to her, occasionally even supplementing his explanations with charts and the like. It had been fun.

He hadn’t realized that she remembered.

“I see your point,” Wei Changze said thoughtfully. “Sect Leader Jin is rich and powerful, and he was born rich and powerful. I doubt he’s ever haggled or been desperate for anything in his life. He doesn’t need to take risks, he probably never did before, and now, for the first time in his life…”

“Exactly! He’s exposed. It’s probably the weakest hand he’s ever held. Combine that with pride and egotism, and he decides to double down – ”

“It is still irrational,” Wen Ruohan said with a scowl. “Starting a war with another Great Sect – with my sect – is tantamount to suicide. Jin Guangshan may be foolish, but he is not that foolish. To act so recklessly is unlike him. I think – ”

“Qiren-gege,” Cangse Sanren interrupted, turning to look at Lan Qiren. “Can you call a doctor? I think Sect Leader Wen might be under the influence of some sort of severe fever or mind-altering drug – ”

“What?!”

“Or possession! It could be possession, we haven’t checked – ”

“Cangse Sanren, that is enough,” Lan Qiren said sternly.

She crossed her arms and arched her eyebrows. “Sect Leader Wen is refusing an invitation to go to war? A justified war, that no one will be able to object to? By the laws of the night-hunt, that definitely qualifies as aberrant behavior sufficient to necessitate a check for possession.”

“I am not refusing,” Wen Ruohan snarled. “I am merely – ”

“I think my brother might be involved,” Lan Qiren announced, deciding that the minor breach of etiquette involved in interrupting people and blatantly changing the subject was less egregious than allowing this conversation to continue any further. It wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed that Wen Ruohan was being unusually squirrelly about being handed an opportunity that he would normally salivate over and even scheme wildly to obtain, but he also had enough insight to be able to determine that his hesitation was more than likely due to him still being unnerved by their earlier discussion about Lao Nie rather than any actual anxiety over the notion of going to war.

After all, Lao Nie and Jin Guangshan had ascended to their positions at around the same time. To lose one would be an ominous sign for the other, and Wen Ruohan had already lived past the length of a human lifetime, had already lost every single person he’d known as a young man. He hadn’t yet prepared himself for more loss, more change.

Lan Qiren could sympathize with that.

“I do not mean to be repetitive on the topic of my brother,” he added, when everyone else had stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at him. “I assure you, I am not seeking to lay the blame for all my misfortunes in one place simply for convenience. I genuinely think that my brother may have played a role in what happened.”

“I doubt your brother has access to assassins,” Wen Ruohan said dryly, then smirked. “Unless – ”

“There are no secret assassins in the Lan sect.”

“Hey, Lan Qiren,” Wei Changze said. “Remind me again, what was that really cool skill that Lan Yi invented? Starts with ‘chord,’ ends with…?”

“…Chord Assassination is named that way because of its similarity to other already existing methods of combat, and the fact that at the time using a string to garrote one's enemies was considered the sole province of assassins,” Lan Qiren said, rubbing his temples. “We do not employ actual assassins.”

“But theoretically, if you wanted to – ”

“If I wished to assassinate someone, I would not use Chord Assassination to do it. I have a sword. I would merely stab them.” He scowled at the crowd of grinning monkeys in front of him. “As I very recently demonstrated, if you recall. Can we return to the subject at hand?”

“Right, your brother,” Wen Ruohan said. He was still smirking, but Lan Qiren was willing to give him a pass on account of smirking being better than the tight and angry expression he’d had earlier. “Explain your thought process. How is he involved?”

“He was always exceptionally talented, and he continued to improve both his cultivation and his swordsmanship during his time in seclusion,” Lan Qiren explained. “Having faced him, I would rank him exceedingly high, putting him among the greatest cultivators of our time, up there at the top alongside Wen Ruohan and Lao Nie.”

“From what I hear, you’re not that bad yourself,” Cangse Sanren put in, rather unhelpfully. “Especially once you factor in the element of surprise.”

“He’s magnificent,” Wen Ruohan informed her. Also unhelpfully.

Lan Qiren decided to ignore them.

“We know that my brother has not returned to the Lan sect,” he said. “We know, too, that he must have worked with Jin Guangshan to put together the plot that led to the mountain collapse in Xixiang, though presumably Jin Guangshan was only informed about the parts of the plan that involved causing Wen Ruohan to take a loss, rather than the parts that involved mass slaughter of innocent lives.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Wei Changze mumbled. “I’ve met him. He might not mind.”

Lan Qiren was also not particularly sure, having also met Jin Guangshan, and indeed having had to spend significantly more time around the odious lecher than he would have preferred. Still, the rules said Be easy on others.

“However it may be, we know that they worked together. It was likely one of the Lanling Jin sect’s spies that was used to set up the plot, and Lanling Jin’s support was critical to springing the trap by convincing the rest of the world of the truth of their claims – in short, for whatever reason, however he did it, my brother successfully obtained Jin Guangshan’s support. I propose that when my brother left Xixiang, he may have gone to ground in Jinlin Tower.”

“Jin Guangshan also left the battlefield early, around the same time that your brother disappeared,” Wen Ruohan said, nodding. “His absence was commented on at some length at the party. Wasn’t that why he was handing out those stupid trinkets? To distract everyone from that?”

“Trinkets?” Cangse Sanren perked up, resembling a magpie catching a hint of something shiny. “What trinkets?”

“Commemorative coins to celebrate the event.” Wen Ruohan wrinkled his nose in genuine disgust. It was adorable, though possibly Lan Qiren was biased. “I had my subordinates pick up a few extras, if you’d like some.”

“Ugh, no thanks. They’re probably unbelievably gaudy.”

“They are. They’re also made of gold.”

“We’ll take two,” Wei Changze put in at once. “Cangse, stop scowling. Even if they’re hideously ugly, it’s not like we’ll keep them for very long. We’ll sell them the next time we run out of cash.”

“Oh, all right…”

Lan Qiren pointedly cleared his throat.

“I believe I see where Qiren is going with this,” Wen Ruohan said, returning to the subject with the speed of a man who knew Lan Qiren’s temper. “If Qingheng-jun has gone to ground in Lanling, that may be what Jin Guangshan is counting on to defeat any attack that we throw at him…though that still seems unreasonably foolish to me. There is a limit to what one man alone can do.”

“That was the previous wisdom,” Lan Qiren said. “You just demonstrated that it might not be the case.”

Wen Ruohan looked pleased.

“So you think your brother, what, told Jin Guangshan that he could do something similar to what Sect Leader Wen did at Xixiang?” Cangse Sanren looked thoughtful. “And Jin Guangshan believed him, so he thinks that even if we attack Jinlin Tower, he’ll be able to fight back, or at least cause enough damage to the Wen side to make a siege not worth continuing. Not the worst plan, I guess.”

“No, but it is also not an especially good one,” Lan Qiren conceded. “But I think you had it right earlier in your analysis of Jin Guangshan: he placed his bet on my brother, and now that the risk has gotten greater and the stakes higher, he has chosen to double down on that bet.”

“Hold a moment,” Wei Changze said. “That was a gambling metaphor. Lan Qiren, you know how to gamble?”

Lan Qiren threw the nearest thing to hand at his head.

He expected Wei Changze to dodge, the way anyone else who knew him well would have, but apparently he’d managed to take him by surprise – he hit him dead on, the paperweight hitting his head and bouncing off.

“Owwww…” Wei Changze whined with theatrical pitifulness to his wife, who was sniggering unmercifully at his expense. “Cangse, don’t laugh! Your husband is injured…”

“I have a better question for everyone to consider,” Cangse Sanren said, eventually yielding enough to press a kiss to her husband’s definitely-not-actually-bruised temple. “What is Qingheng-jun getting out of this arrangement? Jin Guangshan gets a powerful weapon, but what does Qingheng-jun get? What is even his goal, now that his plan has failed?”

That was a good question. Lan Qiren had been wracking his brain for answers, but short of “trying to kill me” – which would involve explaining why his brother hated him enough to consider breaching the taboo against murdering one’s kin – he couldn’t think of anything. What could his brother’s motive possibly be? Why wouldn’t he go back to the Lan sect? What in the world could he still want, after having lost his schemes for power, lost face, and lost even his chance for revenge…?

“He wants to kill everyone, of course.”

Now everyone turned to stare at Wen Ruohan, who shrugged.

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked. “It’s certainly how I would feel under the circumstances.”

“…please explain,” Lan Qiren said, still staring. “What do you mean, ‘kill everyone’?”

“I mean exactly that. If you put me in a situation where, to my perception, the whole world has seen my disgrace, I would naturally want to raze it all to the ground to cover it up.”

“That’s not natural,” Cangse Sanren announced. “That’s definitely not what most people would think…uh, right, Qiren?”

“Certainly not,” Lan Qiren assured her.

“It seems natural to me. Perhaps it is the assumption of rulers…?”

“You’re so full of yourself. Why are you like this?”

“It seems like a fairly wild assumption to me,” Lan Qiren said, turning back to Wen Ruohan before he could answer the question. He suspected that Wen Ruohan’s answer, whatever it would be, would be annoying enough to kick off a fight, and they should not waste time nor energy on that. No matter how tempting it might be. “That my brother would so swiftly go from wanting to damage the Lan sect but not kill it, to wanting to kill not just them but far more people…when you say ‘everyone,’ do you really mean the entire cultivation world? How would he even do something like that?”

“Oh, I know! Poison the water – I’ll be quiet now, Qiren-gege, please don’t throw anything at me.”

Wei Changze politely cleared his throat, possibly in an effort to save his wife from Lan Qiren’s wrath. “Is there perhaps some other goal that he could be seeking to pursue at this stage?”

“I can’t think of anything,” Wen Ruohan said.

Cangse Sanren thought for a moment, then shrugged in agreement.

Lan Qiren…was going to have to mention it.

“He may want to kill me,” he confessed, and winced at the expressions of alarm on both Wen Ruohan and Cangse Sanren’s faces. “To remind you: I am here, I am fine, there is no cause to worry.”

“He’s your brother. He wanted to kill you?” Wen Ruohan was scowling. “He tried to kill you?”

“I think you should have mentioned that earlier,” Cangse Sanren said, with a shockingly identical look on her face. “Say, preferably before you went to a party where someone else tried to kill you…?”

“I do not think that was related,” Lan Qiren protested. “It is my belief that the assassins wanted to kill me to avoid me taking over the Wen sect in the event that their attempt to kill Wen Ruohan was successful.”

They were still glaring at him.

“Why does he want to kill you?” Wei Changze asked, in what would have been a helpful breath of fresh air and logic except for the fact that Lan Qiren dearly did not want to answer that question.

(He’d moved from being embarrassed to being angry about it. How dare his brother question his integrity like that? How dare he question He Kexin like that? Wasn’t it enough that he’d forced her to marry him, that she’d borne his children despite being in seclusion…? How could he have thrown away ten years just like that, without a moment of regret…? Even Wen Ruohan had regretted ordering Lan Qiren to the Fire Palace almost immediately, and they’d only been married for the equivalent of a blink of the eye!)

“Yes, that’s a good question,” Wen Ruohan said. “I knew he hated you and would gladly see you dead, but most people would not violate the taboo of killing one’s own blood-related kin with their own hands. What could compel him to go to such extremes?”

“I…that is, he…” Lan Qiren was stuttering. He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply. Be strict with yourself. Stop bad habits. Do not tell lies. “He thinks that I seduced his wife.”

“He what?!” all three of them shouted.

Lan Qiren grimaced at the loudness. He hated to even repeat the slander, though in truth he felt a certain amount of relief at having shared the information with them, freeing himself of a burdensome secret. As always, the rules were right, and following them the correct path.

“Not just that,” he said with a huff that encompassed all of the complaints that had been weighing him down. “If that were not ridiculous enough – as if He Kexin and I did not barely tolerate each other! – he continuously accuses me of seeking to subvert him through violations of the rules against promiscuity and debauchery. His relationship with his wife, his alliance with Wen Ruohan… I do not know why he is so fixated on the subject, but he is.”

Cangse Sanren suddenly laughed.

Lan Qiren turned to look at her, feeling betrayed. What was funny about what he’d said?

“I’m sorry,” she sniggered, her laughter getting more out of control rather than less. “I’m sorry, are you saying that your brother thinks you’re some sort of – seductive vixen?”

“…I did not say that.”

“But you meant it! That’s what you meant!”

Lan Qiren thought back over his brother’s accusations. “Well. I mean, I suppose – ”

Wen Ruohan started laughing as well.

Lan Qiren tried to glare at him, but it was impossible, not with Wen Ruohan looking as overwhelmingly gleeful as he did. Even Wei Changze had hidden away his face in his sleeves, his shoulders shaking with laughter. Cangse Sanren was nearly in tears.

“You!” she kept chortling. “You! Lan Qiren! Harlot and seductress, a nation-destroying fox-face beauty…you. With – ”

She hiccupped.

“With – with your slutty, slutty thousands of rules…”

Wei Changze fell off his chair, now completely covering his head with his sleeves. Wen Ruohan was by now bent over at the waist, the volume of his mirth reaching that typically associated with chittering baboons – in fact, it was possible he was crying with laughter as well.

Admittedly, even Lan Qiren could see the humor of it.

“Please do not refer to the rules that way,” he still said with a faint sigh. The laughter seemed to be doing them all some good. “You may continue to poke fun, but please limit your pejorative comments to me.”

Tragically, all three of them were more than willing to abide by that restriction, and insisted on continuing in the same vein for some time. It turned out that they all had several additional and very colorful suggestions that they felt the need to express before they were willing to change subjects. Or, well, Wei Changze and Cangse Sanren produced the majority, while after a few contributions Wen Ruohan primarily spent his time looking at Lan Qiren with a hungry expression that suggested that he had a new idea for what they could do later when they were alone.

Possibly something involving a nation-destroying fox and an indulgent emperor.

After a suitable interval, once the giggles seemed to have mostly passed, Lan Qiren cleared his throat pointedly.

“Can we focus?” he asked. “Need I remind you all that we must now prepare for a war? I cannot imagine that such an endeavor will be an easy one.”

“Easier than you might think,” Wen Ruohan said. He was still smirking lazily, but the tension from earlier had completely disappeared – now he looked the way Lan Qiren would have expected, full of anticipation and ambition, eager for an opportunity to expand his sect’s power at the expense of others. “I gave all the necessary orders to mobilize the army already to deal with the situation in Xixiang, and no one has ordered them to stand down. On the contrary, I suspect my generals have been putting them through their paces in an effort to demonstrate their competence to me – it will take no time at all to get them ready to march.”

“They’re all eager for a fight,” Cangse Sanren agreed. “Or at least to go out and show off.”

“War isn’t about showing off,” Wei Changze reminded her, but she only shrugged carelessly.

“What actually needs to be done to prepare?” she asked Wen Ruohan. “I’ve never seen a war before…Ooh, will there be siege weapons involved? Can we take some?”

Wen Ruohan snorted and took up his brush. “I’ll put together the orders, and you can take them to my generals. We will depart in the morning. I will include that you have my permission to examine the armory – ”

“Yes!”

“– but you will need to clear anything you wish to use with me before you remove it.”

“Spoilsport.” She smirked. “You know me so well by now. Don’t you trust me?”

“Not with siege weaponry.”

“I don’t trust you with siege weaponry, and it’s because I know you,” Wei Changze put in, looking alarmed. “Cangse – ”

“Beloved husband of mine – love of my life – ”

“You do not need siege weaponry!”

“But my love, sometimes women want something really big and really, really destructive…”

Wen Ruohan finished what he was writing and held up the page. “Take this and get lost. I have something to show Qiren, and I do not require your company for that.”

“I bet you don’t,” she giggled. “Be careful, Sect Leader Wen, you never know what a sexy beast like our Qiren might do – ”

“Never say that again,” Lan Qiren said firmly. “Ever. Under any circumstances.”

“I do have to ask, Senior Lan,” Wei Changze said. “Has your brother ever…met you?”

Lan Qiren reached out and picked up the inkstone from the table.

Wei Changze fled the room laughing, hand-in-hand with his wife.

“You know, I’d been planning to find a reason to repurpose the Fire Palace,” Wen Ruohan remarked. “But it hasn’t been repurposed yet. There’s still an opportunity…”

Lan Qiren snorted and put the inkstone back. “That is unnecessary. Is what you want to show me the gift you mentioned earlier? The painting?”

“It is. I do not know if it will be to your taste, but I wish to present it to you nonetheless.” Wen Ruohan rose to his feet, gesturing for Lan Qiren to join him, then paused. “Do not ask me to explain the meaning behind it.”

Lan Qiren nodded, accepting the limitation, and followed him. He was immensely curious. Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji had told him about their conversation with Wen Ruohan on the flight from Xixiang to the Nightless City, and that had been funny enough – Lan Qiren had privately enjoyed the thought of Wen Ruohan interrogating two children as to the best method of apologizing to him – but he had been particularly captivated by their mention of Wen Ruohan’s claim of being an accomplished painter.

Wen Ruohan was notoriously vain. If he was an accomplished painter, shouldn’t his own paintings be everywhere in the Nightless City, given place of honor? Since they weren’t, what was the reason?

He’d even taken a little time to ask around with the record-keepers of the Nightless City, discovering to his surprise that Wen Ruohan had once been more famous as a painter than a tyrant or even a warrior, back when he was only a young master and one son among many. Only…he had also been assured that Wen Ruohan had given up the habit of painting long ago, so long ago that few people could remember it.

Lan Qiren wondered what it meant, that he’d picked up his brush for Lan Qiren’s sake now. Or even if it meant anything at all – perhaps it was just a whim, just a mindless impulse that was, as he himself warned, not susceptible to questions about his intent…

“Oh,” Lan Qiren murmured, stopping just inside the threshold of the secondary study. Wen Ruohan had just stepped aside, letting him see the painting.

It was – beautiful.

Wen Ruohan painted the way he wrote, bold and fearless, arrogance and self-assurance in every stroke. The painting was a masterpiece of the cultivator’s art, seething with deeper meaning: he’d captured both image and spiritual energy, the overwhelming feeling of the image pouring out at the viewer. The trees towered over the ruined earth, the blood and the ash, the remnants of war – devastating and grim, gloomy, despair tasting like soot on the tongue –

“I don’t explain my paintings,” Wen Ruohan said.

“I do not require an explanation,” Lan Qiren said, stepping forward and looking it over more closely: had Wen Ruohan really completed this in a single evening? No wonder it had taken him into the next day. It was exquisitely detailed, sparse lines coming together to suggest deeper meaning, adding additional complexity to the image. “It makes perfect sense to me. It is beautiful. Thank you.”

Wen Ruohan stepped up behind him. “I’m pleased that you like it.”

He put his hands on Lan Qiren’s waist. His breath was hot on Lan Qiren’s ear.

“Tell me, do you know what this scene depicts?”

A war scene, Lan Qiren wanted to say, but something stilled his tongue. There was something in there, something more than just a war. There was devastation, yes, the remnants left behind by a battle, grotesque in its intrinsic cruelty, the shadows all that was left of those that passed through and left this in their wake, but there was something else here. Something almost familiar…

“Obliteration,” he said, and that felt right. “A broken heart.”

Wen Ruohan’s hands tightened around him.

Lan Qiren tilted his head to the side a little, not looking away from the painting. “Is this my sect?” he asked. “My Gusu Lan…did we do this?”

“Mm. Your sect, and mine. There was a war between our sects when I was young.”

Lan Qiren traced the lines of the painting with his eyes. The way the trees loomed, tall and almost misshapen…he calculated the time in his head. The Lan sect records mentioned a war from over a century ago, though details were sparse. Perhaps deliberately: that war was not considered a point of pride for their sect, even though it had been instrumental in settling the borders of their territory where they presently lay. On the contrary, it had always been referred to with some censure, seen as an overreaction, though no one had ever mentioned what exactly the sect leader of that time had been reacting to.

If he had the dates correct, Wen Ruohan would have been very young indeed.

“Thank you,” he said once more, unable to say anything more than that. His chest felt full of feelings, which he could not bring himself to express aloud. One day, perhaps, his eloquence would return, and he would be able to put the feelings into words – or perhaps he would do what Lan Wangji suggested in the essay he had composed in response to Wen Ruohan’s request, and put to music the feelings that Wen Ruohan, who was not gifted in composition, could not.

Obliteration.

Obsession.

Perhaps other people would not appreciate such a gift. It was a war scene, after all, and they were about to march to war themselves – such a thing could have been a mockery, disdaining the sacrifice and destruction that awaited them, the pain that accompanied all wars. What sort of gift was this for a lover? One did not often associate war with love…

Well, perhaps other sects did not. But Gusu Lan did.

A broken-hearted Lan on the path of just revenge will not rest until they have obliterated the cause of their grief. Complete destruction, without mercy or regret. Whether external or internal, whether the target is another or themselves…such grief demands an answer, and Gusu Lan will answer.

If you have been consumed by love, if you are mad with it, then I am mad alongside you.

My feelings are just as strong as yours.

I will be your partner, as you have been to me. I will match you in this as I will in anything else.

Believe me.

Lan Qiren smiled.

Yes, he would need to finish composing that song for Wen Ruohan one of these days. He thought he might even know how it went, now, the difficulty he’d been previously having with it melting away in the heat of the inspiration. The heat of the sun, perhaps – it seemed apposite.

He thought Wen Ruohan would like it.

Wen Ruohan chuckled, resting his chin on Lan Qiren’s shoulder. “I assume I should resign myself to a lonely night of listening to you at your guqin? I know what inspiration looks like.”

“It will not be lonely,” Lan Qiren said peaceably. “I will be there.”

“All for the best, I suppose. I do have a war to prepare for – if I were to spend all evening in bed, I really would be letting myself get distracted by a nation-destroying fox.”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes and shook Wen Ruohan off. Where was his guqin? Back in the other room, right. He should make his way there at once…

The daze of inspiration did not lift by evening, when he went to sleep, and it continued throughout the morning. It even continued past the point when the army set out – Lan Qiren merely relocated himself from the bedroom to the carriage and carried on, slowly refining the song he was putting together.

By the time he actually managed to extract himself long enough to notice where they were and what was going on, they were already well on their way to Lanling.

He could hear the army singing as they went. Not musical cultivation, since the Wen sect didn’t do that, but rather just an ordinary person’s travel song, one of the ones from Qishan. It was surprisingly euphonious to hear them all together like that, even though Lan Qiren could tell that most of the people singing had never had any sort of training and many didn’t know how to hold a tune.

He shook off the lethargy of a particularly long period of creative activity, stretched out his aching hands, and got out of the carriage, intending to explore. He was quite curious.

Lan Qiren had not had much opportunity to date to interact with the Wen sect army.

The entire concept of a professional army of cultivators was an innovation of Wen Ruohan’s own making. Most sects did not have anything of the sort. When they went to war, they took only their sect disciples, armed with whatever sect treasures they happened to have, and it boiled down to being a battle of power and talent. Even the Great Sects, which went to war on a larger scale, had to rely both on their larger selection of outside disciples and on the subsidiary sects that swore loyalty to them to make up the numbers.

Wen Ruohan had not been satisfied with that. Contrary to the approach of most sects, which fiercely guarded their cultivation styles and resisted spreading them to others, the Wen sect had taken its cultivation style and broken it down to its barest essentials, until it was barely more than rudimentary, and then they’d taught it to all the recruits that joined their army. The truly talented were accepted as proper sect disciples, becoming outside disciples just as with all the other sects, but those that were less talented, the ones that other sects would have rejected outright, were offered the chance to learn cultivation in exchange for their service. For many, it was the only opportunity they would have to learn cultivation in their lifetime – many of them were people born in ordinary families, without cultivator ancestry or lineage, and they happily traded their loyalty for the chance.

No, to call it mere loyalty would be to understate it. Wen Ruohan’s army was fanatically devoted to him.

And why wouldn’t they be? Their families back home were able to boast to all and sundry that they had a cultivator in the family, an immortal who could touch the clouds, and borrowed their glory to better their own fates, while their hometowns grew bold and unafraid, each one feeling that they had a resource they could rely on for when evil spirits emerged from the dark. The common people were proud of their cultivators, prouder than most, and Lan Qiren couldn’t blame them one bit.

As for the soldiers themselves, however poor their personal cultivation might be – many of them could not even fly a sword – they still found themselves with a career, salary enough to let them marry a wife if they chose, as well as a home, a place to belong. Those of them that were talented were given resources that they could not find anywhere else. Cultivation was a rich man’s province. To progress in cultivation, one required both money and leisure: sufficient time to spend in meditation, contemplation, and art, whether the sword or an instrument, and also access to spiritual jade and other tools, a place with appropriate spiritual energy…the Wen sect, with all its power and wealth, was able to hand such things out more liberally than most sects could ever dream. There was a reason that many sects voluntarily came under the Wen sect’s banner, and why even those that hadn’t joined voluntarily often found that they had trouble extracting themselves later.

The Wen sect’s soldiers even had the glimmer of hope that they could one day exceed their relatively lowly station, demonstrate their worth through their talent, maybe becoming one of the Wen sect’s outer disciples – or even higher than that. The Wen sect was rather famously one of the few that voluntarily shared its surname, adopting in the best of the best so that their brilliance could shine light onto their clan’s glory. Lan Qiren had no doubt that the dangling prize of that goal was a feature of many of the surrounding soldiers’ dreams.

The end result of it all was an army whose numbers dwarfed the rest of the cultivation world.

Sure, any solid sect disciple, and certainly one from any Great Sect, could easily match themselves against three or four Wen sect soldiers, and a talented one would be able to defeat still more than that. But battles weren’t merely cultivation against cultivation, not when there were such numbers, not when the Wen sect army could bring to bear treasures and siege weapons and formations that utilized numbers as their basis. It didn’t matter if a talented cultivator could defeat ten Wen sect soldiers if they were up against a hundred.

The army must have been such a scandal when it was first proposed, Lan Qiren mused to himself. But who knew how long ago that had been? By now, no one objected on the basis of it violating orthodoxy. It was just accepted as being part of what the Wen sect did…

He wandered through the army, nodding at the Wen sect disciples who served as lieutenants as he passed – they saluted him in return, though they did not stop marching. He could not quite determine the way the army was organized, though he could see that there was some sort of division, with various smaller groups each being distinguished by the presence of a flag: either the one with the Wen sect name, white with red calligraphy, or else the symbol of the sun.

He had never noticed it before, actually, but the army’s emblem was black with a golden sun, a contrast to the white-and-red that was the Wen sect’s emblem in peacetime. He wondered if that was Wen Ruohan making a private joke to himself: that mysterious black sun that was the greatest weapon of his cultivation power, and the black sun of his army that was the foundation of his political power, too.

Probably. It seemed like him.

Lan Qiren wondered if Wen Ruohan expected him to accept some of these soldiers into his classes as well. Many of them were already adults, but surely they had children that they wanted to educate, and for those that came from common families, without a cultivation background, it was possible that even the adults would benefit from a solid foundation in orthodoxy.

He certainly wouldn’t mind if that was the case. He had started his classes by inviting second and third sons, branch members and cousins, all the troublemakers that other sects grew impatient with. It was only later, once he’d gotten a reputation as a teacher, that people had started sending him their talents, their geniuses and their heirs. It wasn’t unheard of for him to accept a particularly promising disciple even if they lacked a sect’s surname – he’d even agreed to take on servants as students a few times, though his sect elders had always given him an earful whenever he’d done so, looking down their noses and citing Avoid imparting knowledge to the wrong individuals with a disdainful sniff.

Not that he especially cared about what the Gusu Lan sect leaders thought right now. Especially ones like Lan Zhengquan, who had been one of the harshest critics of Lan Qiren’s classes. What a joke that turned out to be now! He’d always been unreasonably concerned that Lan Qiren was letting slip some of Gusu Lan’s secrets, rather than just helping people understand their rules and establish the moral basis they would need, helping them find ways to improve themselves as they went down their own cultivation paths.

Judging others by his own standard, Lan Qiren supposed. The hypocrisy was truly vile.

He’d have to find time to go to the Lan sect to confront them, and soon. Even though it had been ten years since the injustice that they had perpetrated, now that Lan Qiren knew about it, impatience bubbled under his skin – he wanted to go at once, wanted to fix it at once. He wanted to excise the tumor of that crime from his sect’s heart, wanted to cut out the rot and purify the whole thing, to remake the sect back into its original intended image.

He wanted Gusu Lan to be everything that it should be. His nephews deserved that.

Whether he would be able to achieve his aims, he did not know. But he felt compelled to try.

Eventually, Lan Qiren’s wandering took him to where Wen Ruohan was conversing with his generals, all of them sitting or standing around a map in a moving pavilion drawn by horses. He paused briefly before greeting them, enjoying the sight of Wen Ruohan in his element: he looked alive, spirited and enthusiastic, even as he lounged back indolently in the seat that was very nearly a throne and waved his hands as he spoke, smirking as he dismissed some idea or another.

After another moment, Wen Ruohan noticed him, and his smirk widened momentarily into a genuine smile as he waved for Lan Qiren to join him.

Lan Qiren climbed up onto the pavilion.

“We’re discussing strategy for dealing with Lanling Jin,” Wen Ruohab said, not bothering with a greeting – or indeed with any questions or teasing about the fact that Lan Qiren had just spent several days in non-stop composing. Presumably he understood the impulse. “It is complicated by the fact that Jinlin Tower is based in an urban environment, surrounded by Lanling City.”

Lan Qiren nodded. That was one of the unique features of Lanling Jin – the Cloud Recesses were nestled among the valleys between the mountains, while the Unclean Realm was built into the very side of their own mountains, both of them isolated from the nearest towns, and while the Lotus Pier was situated near a large trading town, both on the same river, it was not part of it. The only one that was remotely comparable to the urban nature of the Jin sect was the Nightless City, but even that was different: the Nightless City was a city, yes, but the entire place was under Wen Ruohan’s personal management as sect leader, with even the ordinary people belonging to the Wen sect in some way. Lanling City, in contrast, was full of ordinary people who might pay tax to Lanling Jin, but who were otherwise completely uninvolved with them: ordinary merchants, tradesmen, artisans, scholars…

It went without saying that if they simply ignored the existence of the city and attacked anyway, there would be tremendous loss of life. Ordinary people were no match for cultivators, and Lan Qiren couldn’t even imagine what they would do in the face of siege weaponry: large scale treasures with effects that stretched out well into the distance around them, formations that could bring down entire forests and shake mountains, and all of that not even bringing into consideration the sort of specialist arrays a master like Wen Ruohan could put together. It would be a disaster.

A disaster Wen Ruohan was currently trying to avoid.

(Lan Qiren did not flatter himself into thinking he was the only or even primary reason for that. Wen Ruohan was a canny politician, well aware of the importance of saving face in public – he would never go around blatantly slaughtering common people left and right, as that would risk drawing the ire of the entire cultivation world. Certainly he would not do so when it was easier to take precautions, and in so doing win admiration and praise for his restraint. But whatever the cause, it was nice to know that Lan Qiren’s lover was not, in fact, a bloodthirsty madman with no sense of conscience or self-control, as he sometimes treated himself in his worst moments.)

“What is your plan?” he asked.

“It depends on the circumstances when we get there, which won’t be long now – we’ll get there by this afternoon. You can already see the lights of Lanling in the distance from here if you fly up a little, and in another shichen you won’t even need to do that.” Wen Ruohan tapped the map with a sharp fingernail, indicating where they were. “If they took my words to heart and set up their shields, we will have no choice but to set ourselves around them. We can take measures to evacuate the city back by some distance, creating a buffer zone in which we will operate. However, we are hoping that they haven’t raised the shields at all – that they are still hoping for some end that involves negotiation rather than fighting. If that’s the case, we will send a delegation inside to confront them.”

“How will that help?”

Wen Ruohan’s smirk was vicious. “Once we have people inside their shield perimeter, everything gets a great deal easier.”

Lan Qiren frowned, disapproving – No dishonest practices, no concealing sharp weapons – but ultimately he decided not to object. The Wen sect was well known for their treachery and disregard for convention. If Jin Guangshan invited them into his city despite knowing that, it could barely even be called a dishonest practice.

Wen Ruohan was watching him, and his smirk broadened triumphantly when Lan Qiren refrained from speaking. He’d probably been betting with himself as to whether he would or not, and was very happy to have been proven right.

(If he mistakenly thought that Lan Qiren had set aside the concern entirely, he was going to be very disappointed in the future. What Lan Qiren considered to be appropriate under the present circumstances, when Jin Guangshan had literally tried to murder them both and scapegoat his own allied sect as the perpetrator, was most certainly not what he would be willing to allow for in other situations.)

“What is your plan for what happens after that?” Lan Qiren asked, deciding to move on.

Wen Ruohan waved at one of the generals, who stepped forward and began to explain.

The army rolled inexorably forward.

It was late afternoon by the time they arrived. By that time, the forward parts of the army had already settled into their pre-arranged places outside the city gates, setting up siege formations – the gates themselves were full of civilians from Lanling City, peering anxiously down at them.

Lan Qiren was pleased, if somewhat conflicted, to see that Jinlin Tower had not activated its shields.

That presumably meant that they really were planning to try to negotiate, rather than simply start fighting right away – a remarkably foolish move on Jin Guangshan’s part. This entire sequence of events had been one misstep after another for him. He should never have gone up against Wen Ruohan.

Or Lan Qiren, for that matter.

(If Lan Qiren ever managed to find that Wang Liu that Wen Ruohan had spoken of, the spy that had deliberately incited all of Wen Ruohan’s worst insecurities and set Lan Qiren up for the Fire Palace…!)

“Not long now,” Wen Ruohan observed. He looked smug and satisfied, as well he should. It didn’t really matter if his personal cultivation was temporarily weakened, not when he had his army there to wield.

“No,” Lan Qiren agreed, unable to refrain from a faint sigh. If only they could avoid going to war at all...! “Not long now. Will we send a messenger first, or shall we await them?”

“An excellent question. I expect they will try to make us wait…” Wen Ruohan’s voice trailed off, his eyebrows arching slightly with surprise as a lone cultivator flew out of Lanling City, clearly heading their way. “Or perhaps not. That seems rather impatient of them.”

Lan Qiren privately agreed. Putting aside everything else, displaying that level of eagerness for a conversation did not speak well for Lanling Jin’s negotiation skills – showing desperation was a rookie mistake, and not one Lanling Jin would normally commit. It struck him as odd.

He said as much to Wen Ruohan, who frowned and agreed.

Perhaps for that reason, he told his general “Send the messenger in as soon as he arrives,” when normally Lan Qiren knew that he’d likely make the messenger wait outside as a demonstration of power.

Not long later, the messenger appeared. He was a middle-aged cultivator, clearly of relatively high rank in Lanling Jin, wearing Sparks Amidst Snow – meaning that this was a Jin of the main family, no less. That was an interesting choice for a negotiator; it suggested a considerable degree of respect, above and beyond the sort normally afforded to enemies.

“Sect Leader Wen,” he said, saluting respectfully, and then, in a move that surprised Lan Qiren, saluted Lan Qiren as well. “Senior Lan. Thank you both for granting me an audience. I have a message for you from Lanling Jin.”

“Oh?” Wen Ruohan drawled. “And what does Jin Guangshan have to say for himself?”

“Nothing,” the man said grimly. “You see, Sect Leader Jin is dead.”

#mdzs #wen ruohan #lan qiren #cangse sanren #wei changze #my fic #my fics #Megafic

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biblioflyer · 1 month

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Bad Dune Takes are the Mind Killer

I'm going to type up some more robust thoughts on Dune part 2, but I've seen some subtle bad ideas circulating that are drawn from shallow readings of either the films or the books or both.

First off, anyone who swallows the Bene Gesserit propaganda about their eugenics program needs to be pushed back on. They are NOT sorting humans from animals. The function of the Gom Jabar test (I will look up the proper spelling later and edit it in), doesn't even really seem to have anything to do with the metaphysics of the setting so much as its testing for self discipline. This is something that is nature AND nurture.

The dirty truth of the matter is that no one is a true Tabula Rasa, we do inherit some tendencies genetically, but barring a serious developmental disorder, those are tendencies. Tendencies can be ameliorated, if not even outright disappear in the noise of lived experience and explicit education.

If Feyd Ruatha can pass the Gom Jabar, you know its not actually testing for merit, its testing for a specific set of traits that the Bene Gesserit find useful.

Those traits are part of the ingredients they are seeking for the Kwisatch Haderach (yes, I know, I'll edit it later) but here's the kicker!

Major book spoilers ahead

While this is probably not exclusively the Bene Gesserit's fault, all of these secret societies, all of this obsession with bloodlines, and perfection is a time bomb. Paul is not a white savior. Paul is a labradoodle. He is an incredible endgame of generations of effort but he's a symptom of a broader problem that he himself vaguely glimpses and his son, Leto II, sees in all its terrible truth: the Bene Gesserit and their ilk are reserving autonomy for themselves, perhaps even at the genetic level, and trying to breed complacency into "the commons." The ones they regard as "animals" unfit for and incapable of self direction. People who are only fit to be ruled.

Sound familiar?

Its feudalistic "divine right of kings" merged with eugenics.

AKA fascism.

Paul and Leto II become despicable tyrants and authorial fiat would seem to indicate they are trapped by a sort of accelerationist framing of the problem. The end result of the millennia of power brokering in the background by all of these secretive societies and open monarchism is a humanity that is doomed. One way or another, it will be snuffed out. Whether by a total war, plague, or collapse of civilization.

This is why I say that the Bene Gesserit endgame is labradoodles. Pretty? Yes. Companionable? Sure. But like many, many, many designer breeds very, very lacking in genetic diversity.

This is what selective breeding gets you. Its why Leto II foresees the need to provoke a "Great Scattering." To ensure humanity exists in so many places, in so many different genetic and cultural forms that it cannot be subjugated by even the most charismatic and supernaturally powerful tyrant - not even by himself - and incapable of being extinguished by any plague or natural disaster. Because consolidation into too narrow and tight of a socio-cultural-political footprint means when (not if) that civilization screws up epically, it brings everyone down with it.

So if Roddenberry believed in the end of history, as expressed by the Federation: a society that is not incapable of error but IS capable of introspection and correction in the wake of error such that it is extremely unlikely to collapse from its own errors and contradictions. Then Herbert seems to be positing that history has no end. It will be one damn thing after another for all time and his implicit solution is that we desperately need diversity: genetic diversity and cultural diversity otherwise a self anointed superior sect of schemers and intriguers will get us all killed in the end by making us docile and homogeneous in order to make us more useful: to them.

Herbert also is suggesting that events like the Fremen Jihad is a likely bit of blowback from such consolidation. That human beings (the very same the Bene Gesserit regard as animals) naturally crave autonomy, dignity, and the essentials of life and if you press these things, the result will be a socio-political nuclear explosion.

I don't know if Herbert was an accelerationist. But it doesn't really matter because this leads me to the second bad take:

The Jihad and the Golden Path are not good, actually. Authorial Fiat dictate that they are necessary because authorial fiat dictates that human civilization in Dune has become so consolidated and bent to the whims of shadowy schemers that any attempt to wrest control away and return it to "normal" people, if indeed that is even possible given the technologies and superhumans running around, will result in such disorder and chaos that it be, functionally, genocide even if it is not genocide in intent.

The Jihad itself is also a consequence of the Great Man relying on people who only see a sliver of the overall project and interpret it through their own prism. That prism being one of anger, resentment, and a desire to see others conform to their worldview in order to ensure they are never again under anyone's boot.

Authorial fiat dictates that by the time Paul is born, there's no way back. No way to unwind all of this mess. The systems and structures are too complex, too interdependent. The Bene Gesserit, the Face Dancers, and everyone else I'm forgetting have too many contingency plans to fall back on. Not even a psychic can pull the Jenga pieces of civilization out delicately enough to restack them without the whole thing coming apart, not if he has to rely on millions of people with an axe to grind against the civilization he's trying to reform, a civilization that spent millennia trying to subjugate the Fremen or drive them into extinction.

But I maintain accelerationism is bad. You're not psychic. I'm not psychic. There's no Kwisatch Haderach lurking in the background to see what comes next. If you burn it all down, there might be a flourishing of dignity and freedom on the other side or it might be extinction because some other "cabal" will just take over and do the same things only meaner and dumber.

So if not accelerationism then what?

Federationism.

Introspection always. Seeking reform and equity before the power structures get too entrenched that gambling on a Great Scattering following in the wake of genocidal messiahs start seems like a good idea.

I'm not dunking on Dune to build a motte and bailey around Star Trek. I love Dune, but people tend to fixate on icky parts and call them good, when the whole point was don't let society get so bad you need to cross your fingers and hope the God Emperor is secretly an enlightened genocidal tyrant who is waiting for you to get restive enough to strike him down as part of some harebrained scheme to generate so much historical trauma it inoculates humanity against tyranny for all time.

Which of course, is a false premise. Herbert may or may not have known this in the mid-20th century, but we live in a world where 5-6 generations later, everything we were supposed to learn from and never repeat about tyranny, fascism, eugenics, and being disinterested in how and why there came to be fighters in difficult to pronounce faraway lands who seem to be rather upset with us, is now a thing that has to be taught and can be disputed and debated.

#dune part two #dune part 2 #dune #dune spoilers #star trek #scifi ethics #golden path #fandom commentary

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preservationofnormalcy · 14 days

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I’m hungry.

I’m eating as much as normal but I’m hungry like it’s making me angry and I just want to EAT. But I can’t. Already ate. Not allowed. But I keep getting hungrier and my teeth are starting to hurt.

Okay, okay. Slow down. We need to figure out what this is before you eat something ill-advised.

If this is some form of…transformation, metamorphosis, whatever, (and that’s what my money is on) a real risk here is that your mental state is changing faster than your physical state. For instance, one thing that isn’t well known about lycanthropic or vampiric infections is the risk of a misaligned brain and digestive system. There’s a short window where your brain craves raw meat or blood (and you may even have the dental hardware for it) but the body is unable to handle it, sometimes leading to some real sickness. Obviously we should try and reverse the change, but in the short term we need to ameliorate the effects.

If you’re having cravings for things that aren’t really food in any way, like solid objects or something, absolutely do not partake until we can get a look at you. Don’t adjust your diet as much as you can handle it. Fill up on bread if you have to - if taht doesn’t help, wean back down. We’ll get someone out there.

#office for the preservation of normalcy #ask #advice

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tanoraqui · 9 months

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I love your world building! Your name ideas are awesome. Love the idea of Indis being a true prophetic mother name

-@outofangband

Belated thank you! Also, sharing my thought process on that one because it's a very classic Silmarillion headcanon origin: it bothers me that Indis's name means "bride." I hate how it reduces her to a feminine trope - at "best", only here to have a troubled marriage; if you're a staunch Fëanorian, a femme fatale homewrecker. I immensely dislike how this is, in fact, an fairly accurate description of her role in the story...

Which is deliberate on Tolkien's part! The "canonically correct" way to ameliorate this misogyny (though neither erase nor excuse it) is to remember that this whole text is a mixture of history, legend and myth passed through multiple storytellers over thousands of years, translated and re-translated and interpreted through the eyes of elves and men and hobbits and men again, until even if this person ever actually existed in the history of Middle Earth - IF! - "Indis" probably wasn't even her epessë, much less her commonly used name. Probably her name got ink blotted on it at some point, or mixed up with someone else's name, and the next Númenorean scholar to rewrite the text followed the Archetypal School of historical interpretation and decided to name her "Indis" because of her role in the story...

But this, too, bothers me. Because I love the framing device of these various books, I love the historian-given dubious canonicity of literally every detail of The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, and especially of The Silmarillion. But! We need some solid canon upon which to hang all our headcanons, so it's imperative to retain a delicate mental balance of knowing everything could be made up (more than it already is by being fiction!) while also adhering to as much as possible as something that Really Did Happen - and names are pretty solidly in the latter category. I mean, everyone has multiple and for those who don't, we tend to make more up, but a belief in the basic premise of the text is necessary in order to function in any fandom, and "names of characters" is pretty "basic premise."

So it's impossible to ignore that her name is Indis; and it's impossible to ignore that the name "Indis" is closely connected to her place in the narrative, more than most characters, and that said place is uncomfortably non-feminist - you can round out her character all you like, but you have to admit that her role in the story is to be the Second Wife and Mother whose acts of being a wife and mother cause trouble! That's a fact! And it's not great! And the name "Indis" isn't helping because if she was named anything but her literal narrative role, that would be characterization! She could be noble like Artanis, she could be of the sea like Eärwen, but she's not! She's just "bride"!

...so, I redeem this by making this definition of her life deliberate within the text - and not just by a future Númenorean scholar, but by Indis's mother. (Female! O! Cs!) Furthermore, names of prophecy are implicitly grand (even if they're not necessarily either good or bad). It makes being a bride itself feel more active - and why not! Do Indis's acts of love and marriage not change the fate of the world just as much as Lúthien's? Consider that Indis's act of marriage is so important that it echoes back through the Great Music to be known by her mother as she held the future bride as a babe in arms. Consider a mother holding her child under stars beside a lake and going, "damn, this kid is gonna have ripple effects. I should add a bragging warning label."

Also, if you accept the headcanons that

a) most Elvish languages treat "sex" (physical) and "marriage" (soul-bonding) as basically synonymous; and

b) Indis spends thousands of years in the Second/Third ages patiently and stubbornly figuring out how to Make It Work between herself, Finwë and Miriel, such that all three of them can marry with genuine all-around mutual love unto the end of days, for peace among the still-troubled Noldor but mostly for happiness for herself and those she loves most (also an act of bride-ship worthy of prophecy, note) -

then you can with a straight face imagine Indis saying, "I fucked my way into this mess and I'm going to fuck my way out of it."

Feminist critique + consideration of canonical historicity + elaborate headcanon web = sex joke! Now that's good fandom!

#indis #outofangband #the silmarillion #analysis #vanyar #feanor and feanor's kin #(WHETHER HE LIKES IT OR NOT)

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actuallysaiyan · 1 year

Text

What Makes Love The Exception(Prince!Vegeta x Fem!Saiyan!Reader)

Warnings: Mentions of battling, mentions of sending gory gifts, lots of fluff, Vegeta being Vegeta, Planet Vegeta AU, marriage proposals, kissing Word count: 2.4k Pairings: Prince!Vegeta x Fem!Saiyan!Reader A/N: Here it is, something I've been working on for a few weeks now(maybe even months?) This is for my dear friend @dreadsuitsamus, who writes some of the best content I've ever read in my life! And consider this something for the very special Saiyan Day!

You’re left puzzled when bouquets of flowers and roses are dropped off on your doorstep day after day. Longing words written in ink on beautiful cards with declarations of love. The fanciest perfumes are what start appearing after that. The gifts just keep escalating, and you aren’t even really sure what to make of it. Then the heads of enemies start appearing, and you can’t help but feel a little impressed by the effort being put into this.

Your friends are starting to tease you about your secret admirer. You go on missions, long and far away from your home planet, and you think about what you might come home to. It’s all the same when you come home, but it just progresses to bigger and better things. You’re starting to get the idea that whoever this is, they are very serious about their crush on you. They might even love you, and you aren’t even sure who it is. But that’s what keeps the mystery going for you and the thrill of it all becomes so exciting.

You think about your potential suitors. Not many of the Saiyans on this planet genuinely interest you, so you begin to think about how just having the secret admirer is the fun part. Maybe that’s all it will ever be, and you begin to think about how that’s fun in its own way.

On the other side of things, Vegeta is practically tearing his hair out of his head. How could these gifts not be working? Surely, you should know by now that it’s him sending you all of this. No other Saiyan could even dream of even being able to afford any of this stuff. Maybe some of the nobles could have afforded the few waves of gifts, but now you were being lavished with thousands of dollars worth of luxurious gifts. He’s not even sure how to approach you. You’ve been the object of his desire for so long.

He spends countless hours pacing in his office inside the palace. How could you not know it’s him? After all this time, you should be smart enough to suss him out. He’s literally the prince of all Saiyans. Ever since the moment he’s laid eyes on you, he’s been completely head over heels with you. Despite your sweet nature, you are one of the strongest Saiyans there is besides him. You train so diligently, making you the envy of very many on this planet. You show kindness to those who are most deserving, but you aren’t afraid of letting those who are undeserving see the power that you hold.

The more he thinks of you, the more desperate he becomes. How will he get you to see that the two of you belong together? It’s increasingly maddening for him, and he spends so much time training and fighting to try and get you off his mind. All the while, you have hardly any clue that it’s actually him. Part of you wants to find whoever is gifting this all to you and maybe take them out on a date, but the thrill of not knowing is sincerely what you’re enjoying.

Days and weeks go by, and soon it’s been two months since the first gift arrived on your doorstep. The gifts don’t stop coming, and their extravagance keeps ameliorating with the time. Now you have an idea that it has to be someone noble. You wrack your brain trying to come up with the most potential person, and it shocks you when you realize it could be nobody but the prince. Your cheeks flush, and you know you can’t just confront him about all of this.

Meanwhile, Vegeta is dying waiting for you. He needs to make a more direct move at this point, but he’s panicking. He isn't much for feelings and emotions. Vegeta ponders what he might actually say to you as opposed to giving you all these gifts. Vegeta isn’t sure how much longer he can keep doing this. It’s driving him crazy.

Things change when you’re instructed to go on a mission with him, Nappa and Raditz. You’re more than excited to prove yourself to the prince and his team. But also you’re thrilled to know that you might get the scoop on what’s going on with all these gifts you’ve been receiving and if they actually are coming from Vegeta. After all, you’re certain that nobody else could afford to keep sending all these lavish gifts to you for months. Vegeta seemed to be the perfect candidate in your mind. Something about that really troubled you. You never really thought of yourself as someone special enough to garner the attention of the prince of your entire planet.

Despite usually taking pods to go on a mission, the team opts for a ship from the royal fleet. You’ve never been on any ship of this caliber, so you are most impressed and very giddy. Secretly, Vegeta takes a lot of pleasure in seeing you react to it like this.

Nappa doesn’t chastise the prince, but Raditz takes great pleasure in teasing him once you’re all on board. As Nappa takes the liberty to show you around the ship, Raditz gleefully pokes fun at the lovesick Vegeta.

“Awhhh, is our widdle prince in love?” Raditz teases, elbowing Vegeta.

With a glare so forceful it could bore a hole in Raditz’ head, Vegeta growls a warning growl. Raditz raises his hands in defense, and then shrugs his shoulders. Vegeta is very displeased with how this is going already.

“I am NOT in love nor am I “widdle”. Now shut up, you’re giving me a headache!”

Raditz takes this as his cue to stop, he’ll poke more fun later, even if he knows it’ll earn him even more glares and even some violence. But that’s the Saiyan way of life. Knowing when and how to pick your battles and sometimes realizing your battles are to tease the prince.

The days go by fairly well with you on board the royal ship. Vegeta keeps his distance, which causes you to believe he doesn’t actually like you. You wonder if maybe it wasn’t him sending the gifts. You wonder if maybe you’ve read this situation completely wrong. Either way, now you have to go on this mission with them.

Once you’ve all reached the planet that you were meant to get intel from, you noticed somewhat of a shift in their behavior. Raditz was cockier, Nappa seemed annoyed but Vegeta was eyeing you even more. He seemed almost interested in getting to know how you handled yourself in battle. All four of you soon realized that you were getting into a pretty intense battle.

The inhabitants of this planet weren’t going down without a fight. They were prepared to give their lives to protect their home planet. Something you found admirable and relatable, despite the fact that you were meant to rough these people up and possibly end them to gather the intel you needed. These feelings are what caused you to end up in the medical bay of the royal ship.

You had fought valiantly but you underestimated how strong your enemies were. You collapsed on the battlefield after being wounded in your side and your chest. It was Vegeta who found you and he carried you back to the royal ship. He thought he had lost you for good.

You wake up a few days later, sore and bandaged. You had thought you had died and so did Vegeta. He was so prepared to leave this world along with you. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. You truly are the love of his life, and though he may not be able to articulate it, he knows that he adores you.

He is sitting on a chair near your medical bed. Tubes and wires come from your pitiful form. Vegeta grunts before sitting up straight. He notices you awake and he gasps in surprise. This quickly turns into a disappointed frown as he marches towards you. You cower a bit at his intimidating form.

“So, you’re finally awake.” He grumbles. “PIty considering I’d rather you not be wasting medical resources.” He curses himself for being so callous.

You’re surprised at his behavior, but you know that’s just how the prince can be sometimes. “Prince Vegeta, please let me apol—”

“Save your apologies for someone who cares! I’m sending you home.”

Tears well up in your eyes. You try to hide them from him but he scoffs when he notices them. Your heart aches at the notion of disappointing your prince. The last thing you wanted to do was make the Saiyan you were falling for disappointed. He was becoming so important to you, even past the point of just being your prince.

He leaves you to cry, hiding his own tears. For days, he worried you had died for such a stupid cause. And in his typical prince Vegeta fashion, he couldn’t even tell you how much he cared for you or how happy he was that you were still alive. He wanted you home safe for now. He would not be sending you back into battle as he feared the worst for you.

You were sent back home in the royal ship while Vegeta, Raditz and Nappa took pods to the planet to finish the mission. In the time it took to return home, Vegeta had the realization that if he didn’t confess to you, he would lose you. If not through intense battle then maybe through a new suitor. It just didn’t sit right with him. After all this time of sending you these gifts and trying to woo you, he wouldn’t lose you again.

And as you healed and the Saiyans returned home, you began to see one of your teammates in a new light…

Raditz came to you as soon as he got home. When he returned, he regalled you with tales of the battle after you were wounded. He tried to embellish lots of details about himself, but he realized you were so much more interested in Vegeta. Still, despite Raditz’ cocky and pompous behavior, he grew on you eventually. He made you laugh and slowly, he was charming you.

As months went by, you and Raditz grew closer. And he noticed that despite you becoming good friends with him, you still longed for the prince. Often you’d ask Raditz about the prince, and yet you never really showed Raditz the proper attention he was seeking. When he tried to make your relationship official(much to Vegeta’s dismay), you had to decline it.

“I gotta admit, I’m a little hurt.” Raditz says with a sigh. “But I know you’re in love with Vegeta.”

You blush, “W-was I that obvious?”

Raditz laughs, “I’ll admit something to you. Vegeta was the one who was sending you all those gifts. I think he meant it as a Saiyan marriage proposal, especially with the heads of your enemies.”

This is all you need to request a formal meeting with the prince. It’s granted almost immediately. Both of you are nervous about seeing each other again since the mission, but both of you are nervous in such different ways. Vegeta thinks you’re going to ask to never be put on a mission with him, and you’re worried he’s not going to see you in the same way he did before.

The day of the meeting, you dress in your most beautiful gown. You do your makeup and pin up your hair. These are things you don’t usually do most days, but you know that you should look your best when accepting a marriage proposal. It makes you feel so giddy inside, despite the previous nervousness.

Once you arrive at the throne room doors, you’re greeted by the royal guards. They let you in, and you make your way towards Prince Vegeta. He’s sitting on his throne, and he looks so lost in thought. But when he spots you, his breath hitches in his throat. He’s never seen anyone look so beautiful. You’re completely breathtaking.

“Let’s go somewhere more private,” He suggests to you.

You agree and he escorts you out into the royal gardens. It’s a bit of a breezy day out, but it’s so beautiful in the gardens. The smell of flowers permeates the air. You can’t help but think that this is the perfect setting to accepting his marriage proposal.

While the two of you walk through the rows of exotic and domestic plants and flowers, Vegeta begins losing his nerve. He’s not sure what to make of all of this. But he knows it feels so good to have your little hand clasped with his. Your fingers are intertwined with his, and you keep smiling at him.

“I know it was you, Prince Vegeta.”

He gasps, “W-what do you mean?”

You smile sweetly, “I know it was you who sent me all those gifts. I’m very touched by your generosity.”’

Prince Vegeta is without words. He’s been so focused on giving you the gifts as a means to woo you and romance you. He’s never been good with words. It’s the easiest way for him to let you know that he loves you. And now that you know it was him, he worries you might not return his feelings. You surprise him by turning to face him and you wrap your arms around his neck. He freezes, but he doesn’t pull away from you.

“I accept,” You simply state.

“You accept?” He questions.

You giggle and kiss his lips. “That was your attempt at a Saiyan marriage proposal, right?”

With his cheeks burning and his heart racing, Prince Vegeta sees that you understand the intentions of his gifts. He wants to say something about your wording of the phrase, considering it wasn’t an attempt. It was a true way of asking you to be his wife. But he knows he shouldn’t be harsh with you.

“Correct,” he responds and he kisses you back.

The wind picks up, scattering flower petals all around you. It’s so romantic out here. You know that you’re not making a mistake at all. Prince Vegeta was your savior, your lover. You know he’d be able to treat you right. You both smile at one another sweetly.

“I love you, Prince Vegeta.”

He smirks, “And I love you.”

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