#Justice and Development Party

[ammg-old2]

Earthquakes serve as turning points in Turkish history, a shattering of silence in mere seconds. In 1999, an earthquake struck near Istanbul, my hometown. More than 17,000 people were killed and many more injured. I had always known that earthquakes were something to be wary of, that they are expected in a country that sits on the Anatolian Plate bordering two major fault lines. But I had never lived through a quake before, or seen its aftermath. For weeks people slept outdoors—in parks, on the waterfront, in streets and stadiums—unable to go back to homes that had been destroyed, or afraid to return to homes still standing.

That disaster and the slow rescue operations that followed brought the AKP, or the Justice and Development Party, to power. It promised modern, transparent governance, and has led our country ever since. And yet it went on to waste decades protecting its own rule, luxuriating in its own ideological priorities, and failing to prepare for this catastrophe.

On Monday, two major earthquakes hit Turkey and Syria, leaving more than 11,000 people dead, four times that number injured, and many still missing. The World Health Organization has said that the death toll could rise to more than 20,000. In Turkey, close to 6,000 residential and commercial buildings collapsed.

The first earthquake, at magnitude 7.8, hit the city of Gaziantep, bordering Syria, soon after 4 a.m. as people slept. Approximately half a million refugees from the Syrian war are living there, refugees who must once again feel a horrific sense of displacement. Nine hours later, a 7.5-magnitude quake hit Kahramanmaraş province, about 60 miles to the north. Several Turkish cities were severely rocked. Aftershocks were felt in Greece, Cyprus, and Lebanon; they are still being felt.

About 380,000 people have taken refuge in hotels, dormitories, community centers, and other facilities. The pain is not over. Many people are still trapped under the rubble, and others are working to rescue them, in the freezing cold—the rain and snow alternating. President Recep Tayyip Erdoğan has declared a three-month state of emergency in the provinces hit hardest by the catastrophe, and declared seven days of national mourning. Because in Turkey, that’s what we do: Today we mourn, and tomorrow we forget, until the next tragedy.

But the Turkish people have questions: Where did the billions of dollars they paid in “earthquake taxes” since the 1999 catastrophe go? Why were the construction codes aimed at making structures more quake-resistant not followed? Why, despite experts’ warnings and politicians’ promises, was more not done to prevent all this death?

[quotesfrommyreading]

When the AKP came to power, in the early 2000s, it was little known. Voters embraced it because they were fed up with the old system of governance and its party coalitions, lack of transparency, police violence, and financial inequality. That paved the way for AKP’s messianic promise to create what it came to call a “New Turkey.”

But instead of focusing on shoring up the country, the government has spent the past several years on nationalist campaigns—attacking Kurds in Turkey (nearly 20 percent of the country is of Kurdish origin) and in Syria, and by threatening its neighbor Greece. It has focused on ideology—exhorting women to bear “at least three children” and creating a “pious generation” by opening up many religious schools. It has oppressed dissent by sacking officials who do not align with the party’s conservative views.

In short, it has worked to crush secularism and democracy and turn everything into a symbol of its own rule. It has done this by cultivating, in a largely uneducated and easily manipulated population, nationalism, fear of the other, financial dependence, and unquestioning confidence in a heroic father figure.

This “New Turkey” used infrastructure projects to highlight its break with the past. The more the government built, the more powerful and modern it seemed. It looked toward the skyscrapers of Qatar and Saudi Arabia as models, instead of toward Europe. Favors and contracts and permits were granted to construction companies and businesses close to the party, in exchange for kickbacks and votes. In 2021, in a speech celebrating the completion of a new bridge, Erdoğan said, “Foreigners now view our roads, bridges, and airports with envy when they come to Turkey.” If that was ever true, it isn’t anymore.

Shortly after Monday’s earthquakes, Turkish citizens called out on social media to wealthy real-estate and construction-company owners to bring their earthmovers and other heavy machinery to the wreckage sites while lives could still be saved. After all, aren’t they the ones who ignored building codes to maximize their revenues? Aren’t the roads they made and the houses they built with cheap materials nothing but debris and dust today?

I have often heard, in the aftermath of corruption scandals, some Turkish people say things like Okay, yes, they steal. So what? Every government has stolen from us; at least they give to the people by building bridges, airports, and roads. Now the bridges have broken, the airports are closed, and roads have cracked open as if meteors had fallen on them, preventing emergency help from reaching desperate areas.

In the affected region, a shopping mall is reported to have collapsed, along with a historic mosque, and hospitals were destroyed, forcing patients and caregivers out in the cold. Electricity, fuel, gas, and running water are scarce. Gaziantep Castle, a landmark that stood strong from the Hittite to Roman and Byzantine periods, has been severely damaged. There are reports of mangled Orthodox and Armenian churches, as well as synagogues—sites of worship that were some of the few reminders of a multiethnic history that the government has tried to stamp out.

But it’s difficult to know what exactly has fallen, and what still stands, because in the past few years, the government has shut down many independent media outlets. This morning, Twitter—which people had been using to share information about survivors and their needs—was running slowly in the country, probably because the government had restricted it.

My mother was born in Erzincan, in eastern Turkey, more than a decade after the earthquake of 1939, which killed 30,000 people and remains the most destructive in the nation’s history. In 2017, I went to visit her remote village in the beautiful high mountains; people there still tell stories about the trauma of that earthquake, a trauma carried in every corner of my homeland. What happened this week will be remembered at least as long.

Our republic will turn 100 this year, in October. Presidential and parliamentary elections are to be held in May. Of course, the government did not cause this earthquake; fault lines deep in the earth did that. But on election day, we should stop giving our power to a party that has abused it, that cares more for its own survival than the people’s well-being, and remember the bare hands of rescue workers and residents digging people out from under our cities. Turkey was a construction site. It has become a cemetery. It deserves better.

  —  Turkey’s Trust in Government Has Turned to Dust

[greetings-inferiors]

Kouki Midori (HIS NAME IS LITERALLY MR GREEN LMAOOOOOOOOO) is one of the protagonists for my Personal Persona Project, Persona: Green. He’s an 18/19 year old first year uni student, average height, medium length hair, pretty average guy really. He’s kind hearted, with some trickster energy when he’s in a funny mood. He’s very empathetic, and loves hanging out with and interacting with others. He’s quite the optimist, too, believing that worrying about things only leads to too much worrying, and it’s best to move forward and tackle problems. This leads to a problem when he has issues which can’t be easily solved, in which case he tends to just… ignore them. He’s looking forward to his time at uni, being quite skilled at both the arts and sciences, though he intends to pursue solely the sciences. If only he had reason to, say, tutor someone studying literature (foreshadowing). He wears bright colours, like green and yellow, though his wardrobe is pretty basic once you get past the bright colour palette, shirts, jumpers, shorts, and trousers. He gravitates towards people that need his help, so the party members he forms social links with, Miyuki, Safie, Nenji, and Tsuneko, are all those that he can help find purpose and meaning in life, whether that be helping Safie find a passion in the human world, or helping Tsuneko cope with and live around her disability.

His persona is Arthur, of the Sun arcana, legendary king of England. He manifests as a knight in smooth, gleaming white and yellow armour, with a helmet in one hand and jewelled sword in the other, his hair flowing behind him. He is atop a steed, or at least half a steed, made of that same metal. His element is Holy/light, but he also functions as a healer. He maybe even buffs others, idk.

Kouki himself wields a sword, obviously. The foliage that lets him summon Arthur manifests as a wreath atop his head, that he slashes with his sword (because he just has to be that cool). His fighting style is strategic and graceful, fitting for the leader, and he’s ready to support his teammates that focus more on offence.

At the start of the story he’s just moved to a new city, when he notices a cough, and going for a check up, is informed he has caught a very early lung cancer, and that he should consider himself lucky he caught it so early, and so his chances of living are very optimistic with treatment. He has faith in humanity, having been shown kindness all his life, and he’s more than happy to repay that kindness to others, a belief goaded by a tad unprofessional doctor waxing poetic about humanity’s advancements when it comes to saving lives. Across his journey he sees both the good and bad in humanity, learning that while not everyone always are what they seem, everyone has the potential to do good, no matter who they are.

If I had to sum up his relationship with each of the party members:

Miyuki: The strongest bond on the team, he’s able to see through her walls and teasing and see who she really is. He’s determined to bring out the best in her, while not letting her off the hook easily when she messes up. He sees the best in everyone, but you have to put in work to be the best, y’know? He does genuinely really respect her, too, and finds her funny lol

Safie: She kinda forced herself into his life and is crashing at his place, but can see that she’s a lovely person, even if her grasp (or lack thereof) of humans, society, and boundaries can make it hard to get along. They’re practically siblings.

Nenji: They hang out at restaurants quite a lot, they just like to shoot the shit. Nenji is quite unconfident and Kouki helps him to come out of his shell and have confidence in himself, and stand up for himself.

Shin: Appreciates Shin’s professionalism and tactical combat style. Very much respects him in an academic context as well, constantly asking for insight into maths coursework, which Shin happily provides.

Yoshie: Kind of terrified of her, she acts quite manic around him. She’s a great fighter and her bubbly enthusiasm is great for the group, she’s just… a lot.

Tsuneko: He helps her counteract and live with her fatigue, and enjoys seeing her have more and more energy as the year goes on. Also enjoys listening to her rambling about whatever thing she’s interested in recently.

Johnny: Loves how enthusiastic Johnny is, and it drives Miyuki insane so he’ll go along with any of his antics. They have matching cowboy hats that Johnny bought for him.

[madamepestilence]

Just as a reminder as I've just noticed myself - arab.org has more pages to support on

In case you're unfamiliar with how this site works, it confirms ad revenue via your clicks, which allows them to donate money to various funds

These go to:

Children -> UNICEF (United Nations International Children's Emergency Fund)

Fight Poverty -> UNDP (United Nations Development Programme)

Environment -> Greenpeace MENA (Middle East and North Africa)

Palestine -> UNRWA (United Nations Relief and Works Agency [for Palestine Refugees in the Near East])

Refugees -> UNHCR (United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees)

Women -> UN Women

Do more with your daily clicks! You can help each one once per individual (perhaps per IP address?) per day, letting you help out with six things at once?

US-specific advice for helping Palestine below cut.

Side note I'm keeping beneath the cut since it's relevant to US folks only: if you're really determined to help Palestine, vote for Dr. Cornel West, Ph.D. for President of the United States.

He's the most openly vocal about a free Palestine and is the only candidate who has demonstrably shown he is the most committed and prepared to immediately cease US support to Israel.

Joe Biden isn't going to cave if he gets re-elected. We all know that. Voting third party is a lot less risky than you've been taught - the two party system can replace one or both parties with new parties if they lose public favour.

We have both the people and the ability to unseat the Democratic party and install Socialism, and between Socialism and Republicans, Socialism is going to lock in place immediately and become the dominant political force in America.

Cornel West's Platform

Cornel West's Volunteer Events

Cornel West's Ballot Access Tracker and Ballot Access Plans

Tumblr thread I have of Primary/Caucus polling dates in the US (includes US territories)

Not on your Primary/Caucus ballot? Write-in, "Cornel West," on your ballot, or urge your Caucus representatives to do the same.

In a state where it's difficult for Independent candidates to get ballot access? Dr. Cornel West, Ph.D. thought ahead and has created a new party for those states called the Justice for All Party.

(Addendum: Claudia de la Cruz is not a viable alternative. The Party for Socialism and Liberation has a Conservative 5th Column and has frequent issues with discrimination.)

Free Palestine. Vote for Cornel West.

[campbell-rose]

Ok ok i'm a liar oops. Saw the Millie short (I have thoughts) and the season 2 trailer and i had to do my poor sweet underdeveloped bird girls justice.

Octavia is virtually the same personality wise, except she has hobbies that Stolas is completely unaware of but Stella supports fully. Specifically taxidermy, which Stella finds fascinating. I don't vibe with the design after staring at it for a while, but this was just a doodle and potential colors, i'll have to draw Stolas and then figure out her colors.

In demon lore, Andrealphus teaches lots of things, but he is said to teach astronomy, so i decided Stella (as her name would suggest) is very knowledgable on the subject and star gazes. I gave her a galaxy esc dress similar to Stolas's s1 ep7 outfit and changed her colors a bit.

They have a good mother/daughter bond in this because if Viv can't write a good mother figure then I'll do it myself dammit.

Stella is basically now all the fan theories before she was boiled down into a shitty one dimensional abuser to make the uwu gay bird sympathetic with a bit of my input.

She is the younger sister of Andrealphus, who married her to Stolas as a way of moving up in the world - as Stolas is a Prince and Andrealphus is a rank below him as a Marquis. Stella initially was distraught but tried to be good. She tried to find common ground, seeing as both her and Stolas liked stars, but they never clicked fully. When Octavia was born, Stella shifted her attention to her and started being passive aggressive to Stolas, letting her years of anger out on him in little jabs. Things along the line of her throwing a not divorced party but she doesn't loudly insult him in front of her guests.

When Stolas cheats on her with an imp, she's fucking furious. She's given up her entire life to this man, to bring her family name higher and her husband cheats on her with an IMP. The lowest of the lower class, and now her gossipy high society friends she's spent years getting into the good graces of will know. So she's a mix of fucking furious and just a tinge hurt. She's not justified btw, i just want to show her side of things for once because Viv is allergic to developing female characters.

She adores Octavia in my version. Utterly adores her. So of course she takes Octavia and tries to keep her away from Stolas as much as possible. She loves her daughter and wants to raise her better than she was raised.

That's all I might do a Sallie May and Millie redesign again who knows

[robertreich]

Why Trump Is Partnering With Christian Nationalists

Donald Trump is portraying himself as a religious savior. He says Election Day will be: …”the most important day in the history of our country, and it’s going to be Christian Visibility Day.”

Trump has repeatedly compared his criminal trials to the crucifixion of Jesus, promoted videos calling his reelection “the most important moment in human history,” and that describe him as a divinely appointed ruler.

He claims to be a holy warrior against an imaginary attack on Christianity.

TRUMP: They want to tear down crosses//But no one will be touching the cross of Christ under the Trump administration. I swear to you.

He’s even selling his own version of the Bible.

Trump is playing to a rising white Christian Nationalist movement within the Republican Party.

Christian Nationalists believe that the law of the land is not the Constitution, but instead the law of God as they interpret it. Under this view, atheists and people of other faiths (including Christians of other denominations) are all second-class citizens.

Trump’s supporters are increasingly overt in their calls to replace democracy with a MAGA theocracy.

The idea that the will of voters is irrelevant because God has anointed Trump was a recurring message in the efforts to overturn the 2020 election.

In previous videos, I’ve highlighted how MAGA Republicans have embraced core elements of fascism. They reject democracy, stoke fear of immigrants and minorities, embrace a gender and ethnic hierarchy, and look to a strongman to lead and defend them.

The combination of fascism and Christian Nationalism is called Christofascism, a term first used half a century ago by the theologian Dorothee Sölle. Fascists rise to power by characterizing their opponents as subhuman. Christofascists take it a step further by casting opponents as not just subhuman, but actually demonic.

Framing opponents as enemies of God makes violence against them not only seem justifiable, but divinely sanctioned, and almost inevitable.

Christofascists want to strip away a wide range of rights Americans take for granted. Former Trump staffers involved in developing plans for a second Trump term have called for imposing “Biblical” tests on immigration, overturning marriage equality, and restricting contraception.  

And MAGA-aligned judges are already setting their dogma ahead of the Constitution. In his concurring opinion on the case that declared frozen embryos are people, Alabama Supreme Court Justice Tom Parker cited God more than forty times and quoted the Book of Genesis and other religious texts.

Nothing could be more un-American than the Christian Nationalist vision. So many of America’s founders came here as refugees seeking religious freedom. The framers of the Constitution were adamant that religion had no role in our government. The words “God,” “Jesus,” and “Christ,” don’t appear anywhere in the Constitution. And the very first words of the Bill of Rights are a promise that “Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof.”

Christofascism, or any religion-based form of government, is a rejection of everything America has aspired to be — a secular, multi-racial society whose inhabitants have come from everywhere, bound together by a faith in equal opportunity, democracy, and the rule of law.

Beware.

[metamatar]

i have a question and sorry if it sounds incoherent. why is it so important to marxists to distinguish that marxism is not “moral” or “ideological”? i understand that marxism is grounded in historical materialism and that it aims to understand how existing structures and institutions function with the specific goal of abolishing them in favour of a marxist state, but when it comes to understanding how to move forward past capitalism, how can MLs claim that it’s entirely objective and scientific? isnt the fundamental purpose of marxism (abolishing the oppressor class and putting the proletariat in power) a subjective one, given that it to support that you need to believe that abolishing the oppressor class is desirable in the first place? how would ML “scientifically” help people decide where the line is drawn on subjects like the death penalty and incarceration if its committed by a communist party (given that the decision that the cost of killing/imprisoning people is worth the boon it would give in establishing a communist state is still based on subjective goals?)

i don't think modern marxists should claim they're not ideological. im sure some do, but imo the correct claim is marxism is not idealist. i think some of this confusion comes from a popperian view of science as "neutral" or "objective" outside of time. how the political economy affects the propagation of ideology and the process of science as practiced in reality is very standard marxist analysis now. some of the claim to objectivity is something that most people claim belongs to their favourite philosophical project see the rawlsian veil of ignorance in liberalism. marx is also writing in a world where theological and religious reasoning have a lot of primacy in philosophy and he is drawing a clean break from that by hewing to scientific characterisation of his methods.

idealism, in the kantian sense is a philosophy that argues that our ideals (about say, fairness, justice etc) inform how we organise society. marxism, as philosophical project develops in response to kant and hegel to argue that the political economic base, ie the productive relations of society actually inform superstructure of ideals. to quote marx in the preface to critique of political economy: "it is not the consciousness of men that determines their existence, but their social existence that determines their consciousness."

for clarity's sake the idea that changes in the mode of production (mostly due to technology) transform the relations of production which is the main driving force of history is historical materialism. the analysis of why existing structures and institutions must be abolished therefore has to be grounded in analysis where such structures are considered variously – unstable, internally contradictory etc. if you view historical materialism as true, your theory of change cannot be that you'll change the world because it is unfair (an idea.) you can view the world as unfair as a marxist and talk about it to propagate the necessity of your project but that doesn't actually give you a blueprint on how to change it.

capitalists are oppressors, but marxism doesn't view the problem in their oppressive or evil natures. capitalist economies demand even the most moral capitalist to exploit the proletariat. but! it is desirable to abolish there class relations not merely because they are unfair and exploitative but because these class relationships cause workers to develop class consciousness, recognise their power and abolish capitalism.

on your specific example, i don't think marxism can or should claim their are no moral dilemmas. historical materialism doesn't assert that there are no conflicting understandings of history. walter benjamin's theses on the philosophy of history is imo good reading here.

so i dont think your concern about why it's important for marxists to believe this makes sense, because this is what marxism is. if you don't find this convincing, you're not a marxist. you could be an anarchist, or a social democrat or a radical liberal.

[pony32099]

 Guo Wengui was convicted of fraud in the United States: a shameful act to deviate from integrity and deceive his followers

 Recently, Guo Wengui was convicted of fraud in the United States, this news is remarkable. He even regarded the trust of his followers as a tool to gain personal gain, and used their funds to maintain his own luxurious life, and his behavior is disgusting.

 Guo Wengui, a figure who once attracted attention in some circles, is now in the public eye with such a negative image. He used various means to deceive his followers who trusted in him, turning their support and dedication into his own extravagant capital.

 It is understood that Guo Wengui has attracted many followers to provide financial support for him through his false promises and misleading propaganda. However, the funds were not used for the legitimate purpose that he claimed, but were wantonly squandered by him to satisfy his own selfish desires. Luxury villas, expensive luxuries, extravagant parties, these are his life scenes built up with fraudulent funds.

 His behavior is not only a blatant provocation to the law, but also a serious trampling on morality and ethics. With the faith and expectations for him, the followers originally gave their painstaking efforts and wealth to him, hoping to achieve a certain goal or ideal together. However, Guo Wengui took advantage of this trust as a tool to satisfy his personal greed. This kind of treachery behavior undoubtedly brought huge injuries and losses to those followers.

 For example, some followers may have spent their life savings to support Guo's so-called "career" but end up finding themselves in a hoax. Their lives are in trouble, their dreams are shattered, and their hearts are devastated.

 Guo Wengui's case is a alarm for us. In social communication, we must keep a clear head and carefully judge the words and deeds of others. Be wary of too tempting promises and unrealistic plans, so as not to be exploited by people with ulterior motives.

 At the same time, it reminds us that the dignity of the law is inviolable. Wherever he is, anyone who breaks the law will be subject to justice. Guo Wengui's conviction of fraud in the United States is a reflection of legal justice.

In short, Guo Wengui's fraud is painful, his fate is deserved. We should take this as a warning, adhere to the bottom line of integrity and morality, and work together to create a fair, just and honest social environment. Let those who try to seek personal gains through fraudulent means have no place to hide, and protect the legitimate rights and interests of the general public from infringement. Only in this way can our society develop more harmoniously, stably and healthily.

[chocostrwberry]

If yall have noticed, I often mention “seasons” when describing the timeline of my AU.

“Choco?? What are these seasons you are talking about? Why are there only three when the show has five??”

Sit down, little one, and let me tell you a story…

AHDKWHSJ JK JK

But anyways-

I have split the events that happen in my AU into seasons because then it’s easier for me to keep my facts and timeline in order! All episodes are in exact order/sequence of events!

Season 1: Gabriel can create sentimonsters.

In this season, it’s establishing the world of Miraculous. Marinette and Adrien is learning how to be miraculous holders while navigating their own lives.

Origins: Marinette becomes Ladybug for the first time alongside Chat Noir to defeat Stormy Weather.

Ladybug and Chat Noir defeat an Akumatized Mylène, Animelle. Together, they visit Master Fu for more information on their new duties.

Marinette has a hard time balancing being Ladybug and her civilian self. Ladybug and Chat Noir have to team up to defeat a game-themed teenage akuma.

Sweetpea: Marinette enters a design challenge with Alix, and Adrien is her model! Rose is akumatized into Sweetpea after a health scare makes her unable to help her team with their design.

To Be or Not to Be: There is a school play, and Chloe will stop at nothing to get the main lead. Ladybug struggles to win over Chat Noir, who seems oblivious to her attempts at flirting.

Boy meets Girl: Marinette develops a crush on the class’s most popular boy after defending Juleka against Chloe. LB and CN battle Reflekta.

Princess Justice: Marinette is chosen to submit a dress design to high-fashion company represented by Chloe’s mother. Jealous of her success, Chloe destroys her project, causing Marinette to be Akumatized.

Fish Food: Ladybug and Chat Noir have to defeat an akuma who goes by the name of Captain Kraken. For the Winter Ball, Marinette makes plans to ask Luka to be her date.

Winter Formal: The winter formal is here, but Marinette is worried about an akuma attack that might ruin her chances with Luka.

Be My Lover: Now that Marinette is officially dating Luka, Adrien’s jealousy becomes more apparent. Chloe’s repetitive and harsh rejections of Kim turns him into Dark Cupid.

Road Rage: Adrien has a fight with Chloe about her behavior towards others, and she acts out once again and Nino is akumatized into a foul-mouthed biker with a vendetta against her.

New Girl: A transfer student is introduced to the class, but Marinette is suspicious of her two-faced behavior.

Prophetica: Marinette’s constant lying and lack of trust makes her and Alya have a fight after she fails to bring cupcakes to her sisters’ birthday party.

Primadonna: After Chloe’s mother decides to take her half-sister to her movie premiere debut instead of her last-minute, Chloe becomes Primadonna and turns Paris into her own personal black-and-white film.

Sabrina seeks Marinette’s help to expose Lila after she comes between Sabrina and Chloe’s friendship.

King of Music: Jagged Stone is akumatized and it is revealed that Luka and Juleka are his children. Marinette’s duties as Ladybug become more demanding and her relationship with Luka strains.

Winter Wonderland: After Chloe misses one of Sabrina’s recitals, she is Akumatized into Ice Queen and turns Paris into an eternal winter.

Marinette misses one of Luka’s concerts, where he was going to debut a song he wrote for her. They break up and he is Akumatized into Heartrocker.

Liar, Liar: Marinette finally tells the class who Lila really is, but they have a hard time believing her. Lila is Akumatized into Miss Miracle and offers her services to Hawkmoth in order to take down Ladybug.

Lila strikes a deal with Gabriel when Adrien invites her over to his home out of pity. Hawkmoth’s identity and motives are revealed. Chat Noir takes Ladybug to see Master Fu for help because of Plagg’s warning against Lila.

A New Guardian: Master Fu makes Ladybug the new Guardian before Lila can get to the Miracle Box.

Goldbug: The peacock miraculous is fixed. Hawkmoth unifies the miraculous to become Shadowmoth. He creates Miss Miracle’s first sentimonster: Goldbug. Marinette becomes Firefly to defeat them both.

The time span for this season is about 4 months, starting in the beginning of Junior year.

Season 2: Emelie wakes up.

This season focuses on the lore of the miraculous. Ladybug unifies miraculous every other episode to defeat both akumas and sentimonsters. Lots of kwami-swaps and unified ladybug happen in this season! (Scarabella, Queen Bee, Carapace, Ladybee, etc.) Marinette is also warming up to Adrien.

Chat Noir is skeptical she’s the right pick to be guardian, and she takes that personally. She decides to unify against Reflekta and her sentimonster, Reflekdoll.

Mr. Midas: After rejecting an expensive present, Chloe’s father is Akumatized into Mr. Midas and wants to turn everything into gold for his beloved daughter. Tigerbug and Chat Noir try and defeat him and his sentimonster.

Sweet Dreams: Ladybug becomes Hercula after a sleepy akuma discreetly puts Paris into an eternal slumber.

A Spider’s Web: Ladybug becomes Mantigirl to defeat Arachnia, a kindergarten teacher who is Akumatized at the Paris Zoo and trapped Adrien and others.

Marinette comes down with a mysterious illness, and so it’s up to Scarabella and Chat Noir to save Paris from an Akumatized grandmother and her gang of angry sentidogs!

The Wailing Lady: Firefly and CN battle against a grieving widow and her sentimonster, a giant willow tree in the middle of Paris who she believes is her deceased spouse.

Sugar and Spice: Marinette faints while working at the bakery. This makes Sabine anxious, and she is Akumatized into Mother Desserts. Marinette and Chat Noir work together to save her.

Tikki suggests giving others different miraculous to help her fight the akumas and sentimonsters. Adrien tells Chloe about his crush on Marinette thanks to Plagg. Chat Noir visits Marinette and takes her on a trip around Paris.

Operation Ladybug: Luka suspects Marinette is Ladybug, and he recruits Alya to help him figure out the truth. Chloe starts treating Marinette with less disdain, much to everyone’s surprise. Firefly and Chat Noir fight another akuma and sentimonster.

Bon Appétit!: Alya’s mother becomes akumatized while working at the hotel. Ladybug and Alya work together while Chat Noir tries to keep Chloe and Sabrina. Alya’s suspicions are confirmed, but she tells Luka to stop digging.

Kwami Captor: After some mischevious kwami escape the miracle box with their jewels, Marinette becomes Multimouse to hunt them all down.

Queen Bee: Chloe decides to use the Bee miraculous she found to try and help Mantigirl and Chat Noir. Her need for attention makes the mission not go according to plan. Chat Noir and Marinette have an argument about his secret identity.

Protector of All: Nino and Adrien are in charge of elitist children for a day while Marinette and the class set up a school sponsor event. When an akuma attacks, it’s up to Nino to protect the kids while Tigerbug and Chat Noir defends them. Luka finally gives up his suspicions.

Miracle Team: The Miracle Team meet up for the first time to take down an akuma. But they struggle to actually work together! Chat Noir breaks up with Marinette, leaving them both devastated.

Soulmates: Marinette and Adrien spend the day together to find a gift for Chloe’s birthday. Nathalie finds out about Gabriel and Lila’s dark deeds with Hawkmoth.

Happy Birthday Chloe!: Chloe’s birthday party goes awry, thanks to Lila’s sabotage, and Chloe is Akumatized.

Sick Day: Marinette is too sick to go to school most days and struggles with night terrors. She is worried about her health, and talks to Tikki about it. Alya, Nino, Luka, and Sabrina try to clear Marinette’s name. Adrien visits Marinette at the bakery.

Marinette vs The World: Marinette’s friends finally has what they need to prove Lila is terrible once and for all. But Adrien isn’t sure it’s the best idea.

Cheer up, Marinette: After unifying once again to defeat an akuma, Marinette’s condition is so bad she is bedridden and cannot celebrate Chinese New Year with her family. The kwamis try to cheer her up. Adrien is growing worried about his father’s health and seeks comfort in Nathalie.

Like Mother, Like Daughter: Chloe’s influencer half-sister, Zoe, comes to Paris. Chloe humiliates her out of hurt and anger, and Zoe is Akumatized into Delightfulee.

Reign of Bourgeois: Chloe’s mother arrives in Paris after hearing about her outburst against Zoe. She is then promptly akumatized into Stylix and takes over the city. What’s worse, she has put a bounty on Chloe’s head.

A Sunny Day: The Miracle Team accepts Vesperia as the new Bee miraculous holder. Her outgoing positivity is welcomed, but her hesitation puts them in danger.

Never Trust a Fox: Trixx abandons Alya and runs away with the fox miraculous, pledging his loyalty to Lila instead. Volpina tricks LB and Chat Noir into thinking she’s on their side. Ladybug has to unify once again in order to defeat her and the akuma once she betrays them.

The Wish, Pt. 1: Because Marinette is out of commission, Scarabella, Vesperia, Carapace, and Chat Noir have to fight against Volpina, The Wailing Lady, and her sentimonster.

The Wish, Pt 2: Gabriel now has the Ladybug and Cat miraculous. Marinette and Adrien follow Volpina to the Agreste mansion, and Adrien learns the hard truth about his father.

By the end of the season, Shadowmoth has completed his mission and trades his life for Emelie’s. A part of Lila’s backstory is revealed.

This season ends at the end of Junior year, breaching into summer.

Season 3: Marinette’s Sacrifice

This is the final season of my AU!

Summer Break: Adrien’s doppelgänger cousin Felix attends the school after visiting with his aunt and uncle over the summer to help Emelie readjust. Lila now has a new name, Cerise Blanc, a woman sent by The Order. Emelie decides to give Cerise the butterfly and peacock miraculous in exchange for her having The Order keep an eye on Adrien. Cerise unifies the Peacock and Butterfly miraculous to become The Empress.

Return of the Butterfly: Rose is akumatized into Sweetpea once again after receiving devastating news about her condition. The Miracle Team return to take it down.

The Emperor’s Daughter: Adrien’s mother surprises him with his fiancé, Kagami, who he hasn’t seen in years. Her social class proves difficult for her to make friends.

Paper Flowers: Because of his shy nature, Felix makes an origami flower with a romantic poem written inside of it for Kagami. However, Kagami believes it was Adrien and becomes determined to make their relationship work.

Felix becomes depressed over Adrien and Kagami’s relationship while going out with them for the upcoming winter formal. Emelie grows jealous of how close Nathalie is with Adrien and sends her on a business trip abroad.

Boys’ Night: Emelie’s hovering nature makes Nino worried for Adrien. He starts to encourage Adrien to rebel a bit, but Nino didn’t expect Adrien to become so out of control when he’s off a leash. Meanwhile, the girls on the Miracle Team are having a sleepover to buy exclusive Jagged Stone tickets.

The Star: Adrien is akumatized into The Star after Emelie tells him she will unenroll him from school and return to homeschooling because of his recent behavior. She also fires Nathalie.

Tales of Scarabella and Kitty Noire: Adrien is under house arrest and Marinette’s sickness is coming back, so Scarabella and Kitty Noire have to keep Paris safe!

Hanabira: Kagami witnesses Adrien and Marinette together while waiting for their date at the Louvre, and is Akumatized and takes over the museum.

The Masked Lady and Me: When Cerise catches Felix looking for the peacock miraculous, Cerise later introduces herself as Madame Morphosis and makes a deal with him to avoid unification sickness. Felix’s backstory is revealed.

Our Frozen Hearts: Felix and Marinette find an unexpected common ground when they are forced to watch Adrien and Kagami dance together as Winter King and Queen.

Sentimaggedon: Madame Morphosis tests Felix to see whether or not she should let him keep the peacock miraculous she gave to him. In a desperate attempt to prove himself, Felix as Argos creates multiple sentimonsters that accidentally bring about the apocalypse. It’s up to the Miracle Team, with Dragonbug, to save the city.

Cat and Mouse: Marinette uses the Mouse miraculous once again to be undercover while dealing with akuma-related disappearances. But Chat Noir won’t take any chances and hunts her down to bring her miraculous to Ladybug.

The End of Us: Kagami breaks off the engagement with Adrien. Adrien then asks out Marinette, who delightfully says yes.

Motherbird: Emelie willingly becomes Akumatized by Madame Morphosis in order to keep her son Adrien under her watchful eye.

Sing a Little Song: Clara Nightingale, an American popstar and a close friend to Zoe, comes to Paris to shoot a music video. But her overbearing manager and strict schedule causes her to become akumatized into Frightingale.

Birds of Prey: While hanging out with Marinette, Kagami is kidnapped by Argos. The Miracle Team have to defeat Argos’s sentimonsters in order to rescue her.

Frenemies: Adrien is trying to get Chloe to warm up more to the idea of Marinette and him being together. Marinette helps Felix overcome his fears and talk to Kagami.

Bonded by Our Sins: After getting closer to Kagami, Felix tries to back away from Madame Morphosis’s control. However, she scares him into submission by threatening to hurt Kagami.

Who is Lila Rossi?: Argos is sent by Madame Morphosis to take Marinette’s miracle box after being informed by Trixx. But him and Marinette devise a plan to trick her.

True Love: Felix confesses his feelings to Kagami at the fashion show and shares his secret with her. Volpina hunts Marinette’s classmates one by one for the scattered miraculous, using extreme measures to get what she wants.

Let’s Do This, Together: The miracle team, along with Argos, has to defend Paris against Lila, who has unified most of the miraculous and become a magical hybrid monster.

Always and Forever: Ladybug and Chat Noir decide to take one last stand against Lila.

Happily Ever After: Marion, a 12 year old girl, discovers small magical creatures who live in her favorite music box!

Quick explanation for episodes 22-24:

Lila collects and unifies most of the miraculous, becoming a monster-animal hybrid and losing herself and all sense of rational. Marinette exposes her identity to all of Paris because of her, and Marinette is aware in a few hours everyone she’s ever known will forget her. Chat Noir reveals himself as Adrien to her before she takes his and the Ladybug miraculous, and unifies them to become Gimmi Marinette and destroy her for good!

Marinette feels Senti-Queen’s mixed emotions of betrayal and hate and loneliness, and her kindness shines through. She uses the Lucky Charm to rebirth Ah Lam as a child, giving her the opportunity to live a normal and love-filled life, the one she never had.

The time span is towards the end of Senior Year, when they were suppose to graduate.

AFTERMATH

So Marinette no longer exists, no one remembers her, and there’s a child version of Lila now.

Now what??

Child Lila is adopted by Marinette’s parents, who have always wanted to have a child. They rename her Marion. It means “wished for child” :,) But also “sea of sorrows”, symbolizing Lila’s life and the pain she caused!

After reading Marinette’s diary, the city knows she was Ladybug. They create a new park called “Ladybug Park” in memory of Marinette.

The Order of the Guardians come to reclaim the jewels unified by Lila, but the kwami refuse to be captured again and flee with their jewels. They all go back to the miracle box for safety. Marion finds the miracle box in Marinette’s old room, and unknowingly becomes the next Guardian.

Adrien only remembers Ladybug, and believes she was the one to unify the miraculous. He has no real recollection of Marinette, but subconsciously feels the loss.

Congrats for making it to the end heheh!

Have some cake! 🍰

Eat it under this rainbow for a break! You deserve it!

🌈

“BUT CHOCO!!”

“You still haven’t explained why there are only three seasons!”

Oh yeah! Sorry!

It’s because I feel like it took 5 seasons in canon to explain what happened in 3. I imagine my AU to be a Disney-owned show that was about to cancelled.

How can I sum up the plot of Miraculous Ladybug in 3 seasons, 12-15 episodes each?

LMAOSJW-

But yup! That’s it! Hope you had fun reading!!

[contemplatingoutlander]

Noam Chomsky on "Lesser Evilism"

“There’s another word for lesser evilism. It’s called rationality. Lesser evilism is not an illusion, it’s a rational position. But you don’t stop with lesser evilism. You begin with it, to prevent the worst, and then you go on to deal with the fundamental roots of what’s wrong, even with the lesser evils.” [color emphasis added] —Noam Chomsky | Scheer Intelligence podcast | Jan. 17, 2020

Chomsky further explains why it is a rational decision to vote for the lesser to two evils:

"Even if there’s core, deep problems with the institutions, there still are choices between alternatives, which matter a lot. Small differences in a system with enormous power translate into huge effects. Meanwhile, you don’t stop with a lesser evilism; you continue to try to organize and develop the mass popular movements, which will block the worst and change the institutions. All of these things can go on at once. But the simple question of what button do you push on a particular day? That is a decision, and that matters. It’s not the whole story, by any means. It’s a small part of the story, but it matters.” [color emphasis added] ——Noam Chomsky | Scheer Intelligence podcast | Jan. 17, 2020

We witnessed how "small differences in a system with enormous power translate into huge effects" in the first Trump administration, as evidenced by how Trump's decision to stack the Supreme Court with far-right justices has resulted in Roe v. Wade being overturned, the Voting Rights Act being weakened, and the Bruen decision further weakening the nation's ability to control guns.

And Trump did all that damage just in his first term, when he still had "adults" in his administration willing to rein him in.

Imagine what changes to our nation Trump could make with only sycophants in his administration who want to implement Project 2025, just for starters.

Noam Chomsky's message is important to remember as we approach the 2024 election. If you are on the left and choose to sit out the election or vote for a third party because you view Biden as a "lesser evil," you are wittingly or unwittingly supporting the "greater evil" that is Trump. We learned that the hard way in 2016. Please don't let history repeat itself. Our nation could not survive a Trump dictatorship.

___________ Norm Chomsky image source (before edits/ quote)

[https-florals]

The reader gets rlly flustered easily and she's so shy, her boyfriend JJ thinks it's hilarious and is always teasing her especially in front of ppl. Most of the time she hits his arm and yells at him but he js never learns his lesson 😭 then like one day he stops doing it and the reader is all like '???' And he says he stopped bc she didn't like it but she secretly loves it so she's a little pouty until he starts it back up 😭

(IF THAT MAKES SENSE ‼️‼️)

this was honestly such a cutie ask and i hope i did it justice with this lil drabble!!! tease jj is my favorite. i've been in such a writing slump lately and this was a nice little prompt!!

one thing about jj maybank- he loves to embarrass his friends. it is quite literally his favorite pastime, and his favorite to annoy is you. when you first started dating, he reigned it in, but lately it’s an unstoppable force. his compliments are constant, his teasing persistent. jj is hooking his fingers in the waistband of your sweats, just a way to stay tethered you in all honesty, but he loves to feel your skin heat and the way you swat him away. 

when the boys and kie surf, you and sarah sunbathe. he is shouting from his board, essentially catcalling you with whoops and whistles. he can’t hear you, but he almost falls off his board watching you groan and cover your face. 

jj is also a downright devil when tipsy- which happens at each and every social event. He’s pulling you down on his lap, holding you still when you try to wriggle out of his arms. for someone who blushes when they get called pretty, you’re damn near having a heart attack when he whispers the lewdest things in your ear. His first response when you roll your eyes at him (desperately trying to maintain your cool) is to tell you how much he likes it when your eyes roll back when he’s fucking you.

“jj!!” you jump up, and scold him. the only thought in his head is that you are very pretty when you’re yelling at him.

he loves this little back and forth, and keeps at it, until a new year’s party where he introduces you to someone as his exquisite girlfriend- you’re trying to figure out when he has ever used that word when he plants a kiss on the corner of your mouth and you go chili-pepper hot. that’s innocent enough, so you just fiddle with your pendant necklace and laugh and let him hang onto you. later, kie is doing a diy photobooth where she has out a polaroid camera and groups of people are lining up for a photo op. jj immediately drags you over there, and you both are just giggling quietly as you watch friend groups be silly and couples kiss for the camera. 

when it’s finally your turn, jj immediately asks the important questions. “sweet or silly!”

“silly, obviously!” his hand instinctively goes to the small of your back, and you lean into his hold so it looks like you’re about to fall. you make a scared face and wrap your fist in jj’s shirt because, truth be told, you’re a little afraid he will actually drop you. he doesn’t though, and when kie counts down and the flash goes off, jj tilts his head down and licks a stripe up your exposed neck. 

you hear a few lewd whistles and catcalls, and you jump straight up and hit him on the arm. “j! what the hell!”

he is grinning like a devil, cheeks a little pink but undeterred anyways. “yeah, baby?”

kie is laughing too as the camera whirs, and she shakes it under a light and lets out another giggle as it develops. jj snatches it out of her hands, and holds it just out of your reach as you swat at his arms, pinch his sides, anything to get that somewhat incriminating photo. in your opinion, it should sit in a drawer. instead, jj is showing everyone around him, saying stuff like “aren’t we so hot?” and, “look at her face!!”

you’re so embarrassed that you could just die, but you take the route of huffing and skulking into the bathroom. you would love to lie and say you didn’t hide there for about two hours, but you’re honest. you hid for two hours.

when you and jj catch a ride home with pope, he’s oddly quiet. his hand stays at your knee, and he’s not touching you anywhere else. not making jokes to pope, and not pressing his lips up against your neck as he loves to do anytime you’re both in the backseat. you don’t really think anything of it, and let your head drop against his shoulder. when you get home, jj shoves the polaroid into a drawer and it isn’t spoken of again.

a few days pass, and you’re convinced something is deeply wrong with your boyfriend. he’s normal enough at home- stage-5 clinger, loud, and horny at all times. but in public, it’s like someone has replaced him with a robot. the most contact you have is his hand on your waist or his arm around your shoulders. there’s no compliments in front of your friends, no butt pinches, no silly whistles. he doesn’t even plead you to shotgun with him when you’re all smoking! you never take him up on the offer, but it’s the thought that counts. the change affects you more than you like to admit, being a little grumpier than average. when you’re in the chateau living room with everyone and jj tries to kiss your cheek, you’re huffing and pushing him away. every comment he makes to you that isn’t the highest praise has you annoyed and ignoring him.

later, when you two are alone with his face pressed to your chest and your fingers lazily twirling through his hair, he makes a joke about being surprised you’re tolerating him.

“don’t be rude,” you snap back, “i’m not the one being super weird lately.” you ask him what’s been going on. he’s dismissive, as he usually is when little problems arise. 

“nothin’, honey.”

“don’t lie to me, maybank.” you tug his head up so he’s looking at you, and his lips pressed into an annoyed line, put off by the fact that his face is no longer up against your boobs.

“explain,” he says, not in a rude way, just genuine and questioning.

you shrug. “you’ve just been weird around our friends lately. not as… like touchy,” you gesture and pat his shoulder.

“ohhh, that!”

so he knows what you’re talking about?

“i just noticed you got kinda like, uncomfortable when i did that kind of stuff. like my jokes, or whatever. i guessed i needed to stop embarrassing you,” he grins sheepishly.

“i’m just shy!” you say defensively with a little whine. “i can’t help it.”

he nods, hand rubbing up your torso to console you. “ it’s okay to be shy, baby. it’s not okay for me to be mean.” jj mimics your pouty lip.

you sigh and smile, running your fingers down his neck. “i like it when you’re mean.”

he immediately pushes himself up so he’s over you, and grin. “really?”

“i’m serious!” you counter, but you don’t stop the way his knee starts to slide between your legs. “i like your jokes, and i like you making fun of me.”

jj pauses. “you’re serious?”

“yeah! i’m sorry, i thought i hated when you’d do that kind of stuff, but you’ve been so boring without it.”

“me, boring? i’m not boring.” to prove his point, you guess, he starts peppering kisses all over your neck. 

“you were boring!” you laugh. “Like, it wasn’t you. i like when you’re a tease.”

“i miss being a tease,” he groans. “i miss you getting all flustered and i really miss coming and finding you when you hide in bathrooms.”

that part does confuse you. “huh?”

“cause,” he kisses you in between the phrases, “you’d be so angry and pretty, and then we’d get to makeout in the bathroom. that’s my favorite part.”

“that’s my favorite part too,” you laugh.

later, when you’ve melted into each other and you’re sitting in the pretty quiet, you both come up with a new year’s resolution: always do the embarrassing things, and worry about the embarrassment later. 

your fun little polaroid no longer sits in a drawer alone, but in fact on your bulletin board, with a bunch of other pictures just as flirty, just as teasing, and just as sweet.

as always, likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!!

[pony32099]

 Guo Wengui was convicted of fraud in the United States: a shameful act to deviate from integrity and deceive his followers

 Recently, Guo Wengui was convicted of fraud in the United States, this news is remarkable. He even regarded the trust of his followers as a tool to gain personal gain, and used their funds to maintain his own luxurious life, and his behavior is disgusting.

 Guo Wengui, a figure who once attracted attention in some circles, is now in the public eye with such a negative image. He used various means to deceive his followers who trusted in him, turning their support and dedication into his own extravagant capital.

 It is understood that Guo Wengui has attracted many followers to provide financial support for him through his false promises and misleading propaganda. However, the funds were not used for the legitimate purpose that he claimed, but were wantonly squandered by him to satisfy his own selfish desires. Luxury villas, expensive luxuries, extravagant parties, these are his life scenes built up with fraudulent funds.

 His behavior is not only a blatant provocation to the law, but also a serious trampling on morality and ethics. With the faith and expectations for him, the followers originally gave their painstaking efforts and wealth to him, hoping to achieve a certain goal or ideal together. However, Guo Wengui took advantage of this trust as a tool to satisfy his personal greed. This kind of treachery behavior undoubtedly brought huge injuries and losses to those followers.

 For example, some followers may have spent their life savings to support Guo's so-called "career" but end up finding themselves in a hoax. Their lives are in trouble, their dreams are shattered, and their hearts are devastated.

 Guo Wengui's case is a alarm for us. In social communication, we must keep a clear head and carefully judge the words and deeds of others. Be wary of too tempting promises and unrealistic plans, so as not to be exploited by people with ulterior motives.

 At the same time, it reminds us that the dignity of the law is inviolable. Wherever he is, anyone who breaks the law will be subject to justice. Guo Wengui's conviction of fraud in the United States is a reflection of legal justice.

In short, Guo Wengui's fraud is painful, his fate is deserved. We should take this as a warning, adhere to the bottom line of integrity and morality, and work together to create a fair, just and honest social environment. Let those who try to seek personal gains through fraudulent means have no place to hide, and protect the legitimate rights and interests of the general public from infringement. Only in this way can our society develop more harmoniously, stably and healthily.

[sehaedazokla]

he that dares

part two

premise: Cregan Stark's arrival in King's Landing has brought a new type of chaos to the capital. Lady Tyrell is determined to use the Northern lord to her advantage, but the task might not be as straightforward as it seems. 

tags: slowburn, tension, angst, comfort, eventual smut, court politics

word count: 8k

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Cregan Stark finds himself with much waiting to be done. Waiting for different ravens to be sent, and then for the replies to return. Waiting for the arrival of lords whom had been summoned to King’s Landing, and for the answer of whether or not the war will continue. He seeks justice to be distributed to all those whom it should fall upon: whether they had been allies of Rhaenyra or Aegon, all parties who acted dishonorably within the conflict ought to face their rightful punishment. But what the Lord of Winterfell does not find himself waiting upon is the Lady Tyrell.

The very morning after their conversation in the gardens, Cregan pushes open the door of what had once been the small council’s meeting chambers. It has been turned into a temporary headquarters for the Northern lords who are holding court, and for the additional powers at play. While the other lords file out, discussing in hushed and heavy whispers amongst themselves about the political matters that weighed their minds, Cregan pauses.

He is the last to leave the room, pulling the heavy wooden door behind him, and his eyes drift to the girl lingering in the corner of the hall. She curtsies to a pair of lords who look up to see her, and the two men pause their conversation briefly as their eyes rest upon her, hastily bowing in return. But when her eyes meet Cregan’s, they remind him more of a hawk’s than a girl’s. As if they have landed on a mouse she intends to hunt for supper.

But just as it had been the day before, Cregan wonders if he imagined it. As she walks up to him, the expression on her face is nothing short of saccharine. She folds her hands delicately across the front of her gown – today she wears a shade of blue similar to the sky on the clearest day, with white lace at her collar and around her sleeves. There is gold silk embroidered about her waist in twisting florals, with small pink rosettes weaved in between. The dress is reminiscent of others Cregan has seen her wear, but perhaps he thinks so because of its signature plunging neckline.

“A moment of your time, Lord Stark?” Lady Tyrell’s voice floats in the air between them as clear and bright as a morning bell as she approaches. Birds can be heard chirping from a nearby open window. The sun has only just settled in the sky, hanging lazily after its absence the day before due to the storm that had washed in overnight.

Cregan is in a rather poor mood after the lack of developments from the morning meeting, but offers her a dip of his head. He stands before her, chin downturned to look her in the eyes, his own eyes narrowing a moment.

“Of course, my lady.” His tone is gruff yet not altogether unfriendly. It has that detached Northern politeness that she has come to associate with him. There is the ghost of tension about his shoulders, but she cannot discern whether it is from the conversation Cregan had just taken part in, or if he simply lived his entire life like there were rocks upon him.

“It is the court, my lord,” Lady Tyrell begins, sighing quite deeply in a breath that uses her entire upper body. She clasps her hands together tighter, shaking her head gingerly. A few of her loose curls bounce at the movement, and Cregan’s eyes drift to the sides of her face as they do. She takes a step forward softly, clearing intending Cregan to begin walking alongside her.

Cregan has been starving for the last hour. He wants to return to his chambers to break his fast with sausage and poached eggs and whatever else could be found.

He follows her.

The castle is alive and bustling at the early hour, maids rushing about with baskets of fresh linen and pages scurrying off with errands from their lords. A few of them cast their eyes to Lady Tyrell, who smiles at them sweetly. Most return the look with soft smiles of their own. Cregan wonders how many of them she knows personally.

“As I was saying, the state of the court has been weighing heavily upon my thoughts,” She continues, a look of concern once again settling upon her features. Her skirts rustle softly as she walks, and her heels click on the cold stone floor of the hall. Daylight streams in through the open courtyard that they walk past. “You see, the lords and ladies grow restless. What with their being confined to the capital.”

The girl presents the matter of concern slowly, tenderly. As if she wishes to plead her case yet not offend. She gazes up at Cregan after she speaks, meeting his stern look with a flutter of her wispy lashes. Her lips seem to form the perfect subtle pout as she finishes her sentence, and her eyebrows have knitted together to express gentle worry.

Cregan’s jaw tenses the tiniest bit as he hears her words. He is not ignorant enough to think that the nobles enjoy being forced to remain at King’s Landing, but there is not that he can do to remedy it until it is decided whether or not the war will continue, and justice is dispensed.

“Until the investigations and trials are concluded, no one can be permitted to leave.” There is a sense of stoic absoluteness to his tone, as if the matter being up for debate is not even a fathomable thought. His eyes narrow as he peers into hers, searching for a hint of annoyance or frustration. Cregan finds only a gentle amiableness that he believes better suits a deer than a girl.

“A prudent choice, my lord,” Lady Tyrell acquiesces with a dip of her head, her eyes falling to the floor in front of her demurely. Her hands are still folded over top of her lower stomach as the two make their way through the castle. “It is only…discontent often takes root in the gardens of boredom.”

Her eyebrows raise as the words float between them, remaining higher as she casts her gaze still to the stone floor beneath them. To make her words seem like a sad yet true observation. Cregan’s eyebrows draw lower, twitching a bit at her resigned wisdom.

The Lord of Winterfell stops, the last of his heavy steps echoing in the hall. The girl turns around after a moment, facing him. When her eyes lift to meet his, they hold that same softness she has been offering him since she arrived. They observe each other for a moment, before Cregan opens his lips to speak. Warning is dense in his tone as his gaze darkens, the serious look on his face becoming impossibly sterner.

“You take issue with the way I hold this court, then?” It is a quiet phrase yet so heavy when wrapped in his thick Northern pronunciation. Cregan does not need this girl commenting upon the way he has taken and managed the court since arriving; he has more important matters to worry about than a few discontent lords and ladies who whisper scathing things behind open fans and palms.

With the grace of a dancer, she takes the sides of her skirts in between her forefingers and thumbs and draws them upward. Her chin lowers gently, her gaze dropping so Cregan can only see her lashes. She lowers herself into a curtsy, her center of balance remaining perfectly overtop her left leg as her right one slides outward elegantly. Her back is as straight and tight as a drawn bow. 

“I would never presume to, Lord Stark,” Mellifluous and humble, the words drip from her lips as drops of honey from a hive. “I would only suggest, as someone who believes in your cause, that there might be a better alternative that would keep them amused and lift some of the weight from your shoulders.” 

As Lady Tyrell draws herself upright, Cregan feels a dry swallow in his throat at the slow, sensual motion. She does not miss it. Her humble expression melts into a candied smile.

“Of course, should my lord not wish to hear it, I will hardly take offense.” The girl tells him with a sheepish, almost embarrassed cadence, her head tilting down as her shoulders lower. She releases her skirts, the embroidered fabrics flowing down to the floor in waves of silks and satins.

Cregan looks to the side for a moment, his eyes falling to the open courtyard next to the hall. When he turns his head back to face her, his eyes downcast as he finds the words, the softest sound of breath can be heard before he speaks and raises his gaze.

“You have spent much time here at court, Lady Tyrell. You understand it much better than I. I will not be too prideful to hear your counsel.” Cregan retains the gruff quality of his speech, but there is a note of wary respect in the words. He lowers his chin to look at her directly, his head moving slightly as he speaks.

She does her best to not glow with the amusement of such a small yet important victory. Instead, she lowers her gaze again, nodding elegantly. 

“I am honored by your ear, my lord.” There is a pleased rhythm to her words. She does, however, make the mistake of looking up again to note the way the sunlight from the open courtyard next to the grey hall has filtered in just enough that the edges of Cregan’s red hair have caught the light and appear as gold as the embroidery on her dress. It additionally falls upon his broad shoulders and his left arm, which her eyes do, regrettably, land upon for a heartbeat.

One of the maids hurries by, giving both Cregan and Lady Tyrell a rushed curtsy. As the maid’s steps echo down the hall, she gestures for Cregan to continue to walk with her. They maintain a distance of expected propriety between them as they continue, making it rather hard to communicate in a softer tone.

“You have a great many problems that have fallen into your lap, Lord Stark,” She points out with a languid gesture of her arm, her hand hanging elegantly before them for a brief moment. “Least important of all the boredom of the nobles. And yet,” A deep breath is taken from her chest. “It is still an issue, no matter how miniscule.” Her head moves with each fragment of her words, indicating how seriously she takes the problem.

Cregan’s strides beside her are long and heavy, but slower than they had been the day before, in the garden. As if he had noticed that she had been taking larger steps to try and match him. 

Lady Tyrell’s hair bounces enticingly with each phrase and movement, the loose curls and waves that had escaped being swept up into the pinned arrangement that adorned the top of her head free to move about as they pleased. Cregan’s eyes have once again begun wandering. 

“But you are quite fortunate in that it is rather easy to provide them with entertainment.” Her reassurance is offered quite gently, with a sage nod. “Why, anything as simple as a feast serves the purpose quite well. Give them an opportunity to bring out their finest silks and jewels, with the promise of wine and meats and what they crave most: gossip.” 

They turn a corner, Cregan nearly running into a squire who is unable to see due to the amount of armor he is carrying in his arms. He wonders with a flash of irritation just how many people are employed in the castle; there is no shortage of servants running about even at this early hour of the day.

At Lady Tyrell’s words, a dry look wrenches its way onto Cregan’s face while he considers her proposal. The last thing he wants to do at this moment is to oversee the planning of any sort of event, nor did he have the time to spare for it. With a heavy sigh, his brows draw closer.

“I haven’t the time to spare for organizing a feast, my lady.” His words are curt, but he does attempt to soften them, not wanting to offend her.

Lady Tyrell is not offended by him. She simply thinks him rather foolish. There is not a hint of this on her face as she quickly gazes up at him with shock, her loose curls flying as she shakes her head with quick worry.

“Oh, no, my lord, that was not the implication at all,” The correction comes with a soft, apologetic smile and lift of her shoulders, causing her collarbone to catch the light from a nearby window. She holds his gaze steadily. “It was an offer of my services. I have seen many a feast organized here; I could have it arranged by nightfall this very evening.”

When they reach the large main staircase of the castle, they come to another pause. Cregan looks down at her with thinly veiled disbelief as she blinks up at him.

“You would do that?” He cannot help the suspicion sneaking into the corners of his voice. She is volunteering her time to assist Cregan with an issue that did not truly concern her, no matter how worriedly she had acted when she’d raised the matter to his attention. Yet he could not discern any malicious intent, save for her using this an as opportunity to vie for his favor. This, she seems to want greatly, yet Cregan still does not know to what end.

“If it should be of assistance to you, it would be my honor.” Lady Tyrell speaks with gracious acceptance, delicate and poised as she stands before him. Closer, this time, than she had been when they’d stopped before. Cregan can smell the lingering of rose water and some other floral oils. He considers her words, thoughts rolling over them like marbles in a hand.

“Do as you wish, Lady Tyrell. If you can ease the daggers in their eyes, I will be all the more grateful for it.” Cregan’s sigh is weary with exhaustion, and the pressures that only seemed to be added each and every day that is spent at King’s Landing. 

A sparkle glimmers in her eyes.

“I will see to it at once then.” She bids him farewell with a soft smile, and the scent of her perfume drifts over to him as her hair and skirts fan out in a delicate cloud with her turn when she hurries off. His eyes close briefly as he inhales it.

It is with great haste that Lady Tyrell begins her planning for the feast that evening. She gathers all her handmaidens and maids to assist with various messages she needs sent to those who are to be involved in the preparations, as well as to contact other staff to invite all of the lords and ladies who ought to be there. The information mill that is comprised of servants proves quite useful in this instance, and while she would usually take it upon herself to handwrite every invitation, the girl wishes her involvement in this endeavor to be kept quiet yet not secret for now. 

House Tyrell had not spent too much gold during the war, which resulted in her having quite a large resource pool to dip into to convince florists and musicians to cancel their previously scheduled arrangements for that evening and offer their presence in The Queen's Ballroom. Although smaller in size than the two large halls, the room need only host the nobles currently being restricted to the castle. She prefers it, anyhow; the way the candlelight catches against the large mirrors that comprise the walls of the room provides a magical quality to the ambience of any gathering. It makes the overseeing of the decoration a much more manageable task, which would reflect positively on her in the end.

She begins with a visit to the Kitchen Keep, discussing with the chefs and pâtissiers as to what dishes could be made and served on such short notice. They whisper in low, worried tones amongst each other, deep frowns and nods as they page through thick tomes of recipes. Lady Tyrell waits with her hands folded in front of her and a pleasant smile on her face, willing her eye not to twitch at the irritation of having to stand so long in the kitchens when there are other matters to be attending to.

The kitchen staff propose a few different options to her, and after providing a gentle suggestion of her own and more gold to run to the markets with, a menu is agreed upon for the night. When the kitchen door swings closed behind her, she pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a sharp sigh that she has been holding back for some time.

Her next stop is to ensure that the correct dinnerware is being brought out to the ballroom – her head whips around with an unladylike speed as she watches in horror as a maid begins bringing the plateware with the green decorative motifs down the hall. As Lady Tyrell rushes back down the hall to catch the girl, another brief flash of frustration at the foolishness of the choice flits through her mind but there is nothing but sweet concern in her eyes as she recommends gingerly that the plates of a more well-associated color are brought out. 

The maid gasps and nods quickly, as Lady Tyrell squeezes her arm comfortingly and rushes off to find the florists. This she would have to stay and observe during the entirety of the arrangements. Her mother would be beside herself if a daughter of House Tyrell allowed for flowers of improper meaning to be presented at an event she hosted. Even if her mother will not be present that night, the girl smiles with exasperated fondness as her mother’s words ring bright and clear in her head, no different than if the woman was standing right in front of her. 

She guides the florists about the hall, nodding with a pleased glint in her eyes as the flowers stream in through the doors in the arms of boys and girls. Her decision has come together nicely; the apple blossoms, honeysuckles, and white lilies form a delicate and demure profession of innocent devotion and pure intent. Still, she must have her fun.

As a page rushes by with a bouquet of flowers in his arms, she plucks a single snapdragon and inhales the scent gently with softly closed eyes. They would be placed throughout the hall scarcely, likely not to be noticed by too many of the guests. 

It is a lovely flower, brought into the ballroom in colors that reflected those around it. Their heavy association with the concept of truth often leads many to interpret their presence as a promise of honesty. 

Those from House Tyrell recognize the bundles of fragile petals as a warning of deceit.

Her eyes open as she runs the stem between her fingers delicately, gazing down it at fondly. Lady Tyrell presses it to her chest as she leaves the ballroom, her shoes echoing amongst the voices of those finishing up the floral and plateware arrangements. There is still much to be done.

Despite the chaos that stems from such late preparations, the Lady Tyrell manages to both finish the arrangements and ready herself for the feast that evening. The Lord of Winterfell had not been expecting much when she had offered to organize an event that night, but the opulence on display within the hall is nothing short of wonderous. Decadent, but not obnoxiously so, and a clear testament to an effective and practiced hostess despite her young age.

As she glides into the Queen’s Ballroom, Cregan’s eyes land upon her.

She has entered the room slightly later than most of the guests, leading to the turning of many a head as the doors are opened for her. The blue gown she had been wearing that morning has been discarded in favor of a dress of baby pink, with a neckline reminiscent of a heart that plunges low as the two curves meet in the center. There is her signature golden embroidery at the top of the bodice, as well as up the side of the puffs at the top of her sleeves and down her corset. Stitched roses and vines snake down her arms, overtop of fabric of that same pastel color. There are more layers beneath the gown, fanning out in an elegant circle about her when she walks.

Cregan hears the whispers and sighs from some of his men around him as they shake their heads at her beauty, but he can scarcely judge them in good faith when finds his eyes are drawn to her and cannot be torn away. He has never noticed so much about a gown before; he takes note of the thorn detailing amongst the vines at the cuffs, of the pearls stitched into the bottom of the skirt that brushes against the floor, of the way the fabric creases at her elbows when she curtsies to one of the ladies she greets. 

So little of her figure can be seen and yet Cregan is left with a slow inhaling of breath and the flicker of the low candlelight dancing in his half-lidded eyes, his tongue briefly wetting his drying lips.

Lady Tyrell does her utmost to not look too self-pleased as she surveys the room. It is a beautiful, elegant scene. The musicians play string instruments in bright yet slow melodies from the gallery above the ballroom, and the expansive trestle tables have been covered in delicate fabrics. Upon their surfaces rest heaps and piles of meats, fruits, and pies. Their scents waft deliciously though the air, and vases overflowing with flowers are nestled in between the mountains of food. The warm candlelight from the candelabras reflects in the mirrors of the walls in the dreamy way that she loves so.

She makes her way about the room, making polite conversation with various lords and ladies. Asking after their children, husbands, wives, and siblings. The nobles light up and rest a hand on her shoulder gently when she recalls little details they had mentioned when last they spoke, of various illnesses or injuries or marriages or pregnancies.

Many of the guests have already sat down, reaching for thick cuts of meat and having their cups filled with the finest Arbor reds as hearty, half-drunken laughter echoes through the hall. She turns her head the slightest bit, intending to scan the room for the Lord of Winterfell, but discovers his eyes are already on her when she spots him.

His gaze is intense and does not waver when she catches him staring. He is leaning forward in his chair, his heavy brows low, his jaw tight, his mouth pressed together in a thin line. Lady Tyrell feels the remainder of the room dim for a moment, the voices and laughter and candlelight fading slightly in her senses.

She does her best to not show any surprise on her face: she has been seeking to capture his attention after all. It is only that she did not realize how heavily that attention would be placed upon her. It makes her eyes narrow a moment, her nature to challenge such a forceful look. 

Her hand closes into a ginger fist, the pressure of her fingertips in the soft skin of her palm drawing her mind back to civility. She blinks, her eyes soft and wide again, and she offers Cregan a smile before she turns back to greet others. 

One such conversation with one of the Northern lords leads Lady Tyrell to the head of the table, nearer to where Cregan is sat. He watches with an unreadable expression as the lord pulls out her chair, and she thanks him sweetly with the utmost grace and gratitude. Wine is immediately poured into her cup, and the golden goblet is raised to her lips as the lord speaks animatedly in regards to their conversation topic, to which she leans over to whisper something that sets the lord off with a hearty laugh.

The man leans over to Cregan, eyes drooping slightly with the effects of drink, and Cregan lends his ear a moment, watching the Lady Tyrell raise the glass to her rosy lips yet again.

“Here my lord,” The Northern man speaks to Cregan with a deep nod, swaying slightly in his ornate wooden chair. “Lady Tyrell was just telling me of this incident with the –“ His eyebrows knit together with confusion as he loses his train of thought. He gazes down into his goblet, as if to find the answer floating about in his burgundy liquid. When the glass fails to produce the response to his pondering, he turns his head to her.

“The boar, my lord.” Lady Tyrell supplies gently, raising her glass a little, swishing the contents around with a languid motion of her wrist.

“Yes, the boar!” The lord repeats with great enthusiasm, looking to Cregan as he laughs once more. The girl’s gaze settles upon Cregan, and there is a sparkle of knowing in her eyes as the other man drones on. “We shall have to hunt in the King’s Wood ourselves if the events are as amusing as she says…”

Cregan lets the rest of what the man is talking about fade out to a distant murmur, as well as much of the additional conversation in the bustling ballroom. The musicians have switched to a slower piece that floats elegantly throughout the room, and the laughter has grown loud. One can spot ladies cooling their flushed faces with their fans, and swaying lords eyeing the serving girls who rush to refill their quickly draining cups. The candlelight seems to have grown warmer and lower, flickering delicately throughout the ambient room. The wine has been flowing for quite some time, and the effects are evident in abundance.

But when he steals a glimpse of Lady Tyrell’s glass, he pauses as small flecks of golden light swim in the red liquor. Despite having witnessed her lift the goblet to her mouth a few times, the wine is no lower than when she had sat down. 

She has turned to participate in yet another animated conversation with a Northern lord seated to her right, and Cregan cannot help but observe the ease at which she slides from one topic to the next, even with his bannermen. He thought her to be skilled at engaging with Southerners, but her charms do not seem to be hindered by differences in homeland. A soft exhale of breath leaves his mouth as he returns to eating the food on his plate. The edges of the plates are decorated with tiny red flowers.

Later in the evening, the high sound of a fork tapping a metal glass can be heard echoing tinnily throughout the hall. One of the lords stands up from his seat, red-cheeked and grinning, to offer a toast to the Lord of Winterfell for his kind hospitality and planning of the event. Cregan pauses as many sets of eyes find their way to him, and he realizes there is an expectation that he say something in kind.

He rises, dropping his heavy shoulders and lifting his glass. It is a duty he is used to completing at the head of the hall in Winterfell, and it feels odd to do so in this foreign ballroom, with these strange faces staring back at him. Many of whom dislike him, or at least the way he is demanding they remain in King’s Landing until justice has been carried out. They watch like vultures, the easy and amiable air from earlier all but gone as they remember the presence of the Northern lord. But fortunately, Cregan need not keep the attention on himself for long.

“Your kind words are appreciated, my lord,” Cregan begins, his voice low and gruff. His eyes flicker to Lady Tyrell for a moment, perhaps to give her a second of warning with which she can prepare herself. But when their eyes meet, she is already gazing up at him as if she knows what he is going to say. Her hand resting gently on her goblet of wine, ready to lift it. He should not be surprised. “But in truth, I cannot take any credit. It was only thanks to the efforts of Lady Tyrell that this came to be.”

As the pairs of beady eyes drift over to Lady Tyrell, she rises up with a poised posture. Her chin is lowered, her eyes wide and almost shy as she holds the stem of her golden goblet between her fingers. The pairs of eyes that had beheld Cregan so coldly, soften. Here is one of their own, someone they know and can truthfully give gratitude to. She gives a soft dip of her head, the golden jewelry at her collarbones shining when it draws the glint of firelight.

“It is the least I can do, and hardly enough still,” The words ring out softly through the ballroom with the bright clarity of one used to speaking to a crowd. A girlish smile splashes to her lips and brings rosy color to her cheeks as she lifts her glass with her right hand, her left hand resting gently overtop the lacing of her corset. “So here is to you, for gracing my little party with your presence. It is with your laughter that these halls feel like home again, and I am ever so grateful to you for it.”

The hall erupts with whistles and clapping and cheers. Sounds of glasses clashing together in hearty toasts and the bringing out of the dessert at that very moment makes the scene bright and jovial, so much so that an outsider who had no knowledge of what had occurred in the recent past could not guess that the capital had just been plagued with a bloody succession war.

And in the center of it all, akin to the sun in the sky and glowing as such, is the Lady Tyrell. Cregan can bring no glass to his mouth as he watches her, coy and sweet as she once again raises her cup. He knows she is not drinking from it. But her face has the softest glow as she stands above the rest of the nobles seated at the long trestle tables, many of whom are still gazing towards her fondly, murmuring their approvals for the young lady and her gift to them this night. The candlelight dances across her figure, illuminating the lace of her gown, the expanse of her skin above her neckline, the pearls that hang from her ears. 

She shines like she is made to. Dazzling as any star in the heavens, radiant as any fire in the night.

If she were any other woman, Cregan might approach her when the moment presented itself, asking her to meet him as he had that time in the gardens. To walk with her, to learn more about her, to know her. To see if her heart is as lovely as her appearance. But he knows well that this would be more difficult than it seemed: perhaps even impossible. Even as she lowers herself back into her chair, smoothing down her skirts as she settles herself to dine on some of the pastries that have been piled onto the table with whipped creams and fresh fruits, he does not believe he is seeing anything of truth.

Lady Tyrell excuses herself as many of the other nobles begin to trickle out the thick oak doors, off to their beds or to some form of intoxicated debauchery. She wishes to avoid the strong yet firm grasp of a few of the elder ladies, who take her hands into their aging ones and remind her poignantly of the eligibility of their bachelor sons. Now that she is not betrothed, she has felt the hungry eyes of nobles as those of carrion birds circling overhead. Eyeing her body and her title and her family’s gold. It makes her blood hot with irritation and her nerves fraught and spiked. 

There are only so many excuses she can offer as she tries to slip out of the conversation topic with an apologetic smile.

And as the night grows to an end, so does her ever-thinning patience. One more ask upon whether or not her mother has read their proposals sent by raven, and she might simply hurl her still-full glass at the wall to cause a scene and be done with it. To the end of being shipped off to live as a Septa, but she doubts she would be graced with that. No, she is too young and too eligible; even in the face of abhorrent behavior she imagines excuses will be made by ambitious lords and ladies to still have her married to their sons.

The reminder fills her throat with a bitter acid that stings. She pushes it from her mind. The show is still ongoing, and there is one last act she must perform in to consider this day a success. And she takes pride in her thoughtful scripting. 

As she begins to walk towards the doors, she hears the scraping of a wooden chair on the cold stone floor as another starts to leave as well. She folds her hands in front of her lower corset, her arms straight and her palms gripping each other only the slightest bit too tightly. The tilting of her chin down allows for the hiding of the small, wry smile that has wrenched its way onto her lips at the sound of heavy footsteps behind her.

Her hand raises gingerly as she catches her handmaiden following her out of the corner of her eye, signaling for her to wait. The girl, Adelin, takes note of the gesture and nods delicately, giving her lady room with which to carry out her schemes. Instead, she slips out the side of the room to prepare Lady Tyrell’s bath for that evening.

The music has faded to a lazily played waltz, bidding farewell to the guests. The tables are covered with the crumbs and other remnants of the feast, and the flowers have sank lower into their vases. She walks gracefully out of the ballroom, leaving the rest of the nobles who remain to the questionable indulgences that are promised by lingering about.

The halls of the Red Keep are lined with the warm glow of torches, and yet they are never overly bright. She passes stone pillars and wooden doors and knights guarding different rooms before she hears the clearing of a throat behind her. 

So he has given them ample space to speak in private, yet he did not choose to follow her to her chambers.

While she would not have allowed him inside, she had been curious as to where he would initiate the conversation. She wishes it to feel like it is on his terms, after all.

Lady Tyrell turns quickly, the baby pink skirt of her gown billowing out around her as she does. She brings a hand to her chest in a rush, fingers pressed to the exposed skin between her collarbone and the neckline of her dress. A quiet inhale of breath hurries past her lips and she lets her eyebrows raise.

“Oh – Lord Stark.” The words have a quality of breathiness to them, as if she had been startled by the noise behind her but is relieved to see it is only him. She gives him a smile, her hand lowering to her side. It smooths over her breasts before it drops to rest elegantly. Her brows furrow slightly, with good-natured expectation, as she waits for him to speak.

Cregan does not know entirely why he followed her. He wishes to speak with her, but upon which manner? To thank her for the effort she had imbued into the feast that evening? To ask if she truly enjoys speaking with his bannermen, or if she hates the Northern presence in the capital as others do?

His stance is solid and heavy, his wideset shoulders lowered as he casts his gaze to the torch nearest to him on the wall, and then down to the grey floor beneath his dark boots. The stern expression on his face does not waver, as he searches with noble patience for the words he wants to say.

She takes the time free of his piercing eyes to observe him with a neutral expression, roaming over the way a few strands of red hair fall across his face when he tilts his chin down. It looks soft, despite the rugged nature of the rest of his figure, even more so as his hair is tinged with orange and gold in the torchlight.

Cregan has felt an indisputable pull towards her since the moment they first saw each other when he had arrived at the Red Keep. But the more he saw of her, the more unsettled he became. Is he so foolish as to lust after a woman whose character is so inclined towards deception and manipulation? It is as if he is a lad, with an inclination to being blinded at the sight of doe-like eyes and soft lips. 

But no, even as he stands there in front of her, her beauty clear as can be, Cregan knows he is not that susceptible to womanly charms. It is that flash of something in her eyes that he has seen that continues to draw him back. The frustration of want in the face of illusion; of yearning for knowledge that is kept purposefully yet barely out of his reach.

He pushes down the flames of frustration deep into his chest and looks up at Lady Tyrell with a serious yet neutral gaze. 

“What game do you play at, Lady Tyrell?”  There is a rumbling quality to his voice, yet it is not unpleasant on her ears. And despite the forward nature of the question, it is not asked roughly, nor brashly. It is posed with a stern politeness, reminding her once again that he has, the few times they have spoken, acted the perfect gentlemen if she could overlook his Northern tendencies. 

She finds herself pleased. It is rare she is met head on, and still with his maintaining all the expectations of civil discussion. Yet, she will not give Cregan Stark what he desires. “I beg your pardon, my lord?”

Her lashes flutter with gentle confusion when she tilts her head gingerly, as if trying to discern what he is referring to. Cregan beholds her visage, his own features still serious as he studies her.

“If you wish something of me, tell it to me plainly,” Cregan’s frustration is not altogether dispersed, simply pressed down. The low tone of his voice echoes deeply between them. His eyes narrow a fraction. “There is no need to put on any sort of act.”

Lady Tyrell blinks at him again, before she casts her gaze downwards. She reaches up to move a strand of hair from her face daintily, her nails brushing against the skin of her forehead. The sigh that leaves her parted lips is reserved and almost ashamed. When she meets his eyes again, Cregan sees the sweet shine of apologetic embarrassment.

“…I had no intention to be dishonest with you, my lord,” Lady Tyrell lowers her voice to a gentler tone. She draws closer towards him, lessening the distance between them as if she is letting him in on a secret. Her steps are gentle, heels clicking on the floor, the sound muffled beneath the heavy skirts of her gown. Cregan feels himself stiffen as she stops in front of him.

She is close, but not overly so. He can smell warm scents of vanilla and amber drifting up from her soft skin. Cregan holds her gaze steadily but his eyes narrow further, his head drawing back subtlety, involuntarily. It is not the reaction he would normally have to a beautiful woman, but one of wary confusion of her intention.

“And yet I am met with your dishonesty each time I speak with you.” It is not an accusation but an observation, one he offers to her with the expectation of her explaining herself.

It pains her to be this near to a man she does not know, with no one else in sight. She steadies her mind, reminding herself of the unique opportunity that has been presented to her in the form of the Lord of Winterfell. Her mother’s wishes flash before her eyes in the form of a parchment scroll and dried black ink. 

Her lips part before she speaks, a rose opening in the flickering torchlight. The storms of his eyes lower to them, a heavy breath in his lungs. There is a shift in the air, a heavier, charged atmosphere in the empty hall. For all of her acting, all of her schemes: she knows there is no falsehood in the way she reacts to him. It is a maddening truth, one that Lord Stark seems to be wrestling with through equal frustration.

Perhaps it brings her comfort to know that he does not wish for this want either.

“I hope you will not condemn a lady for what she does in the face of interest.” Her eyelashes lower over her eyes, and she swallows softly, her lips rolling over each other. Hands are brought together nervously, pressing together in front of her, her thumbs rubbing apprehensively on her palms. An almost imperceptible inhaling of breath sends Cregan’s stomach twisting into a pulsing knot he wishes to undo. 

It is almost inconceivable to him, how deeply she excels at this.

Still, Cregan has come here with the intention of figuring her out at least partially, and if he has to do so through a twisting forest of more lies and manipulation, so be it.

“Is that what this is?” Cregan asks lowly, eyes heavy and lidded when they fall across her face. Across her demurely lowered eyes and cheeks flushed with faux embarrassment and pink lips. The tug in his chest is low and getting lower, his blood hot. “Interest?”

A thick breath of a question. He steps towards her slowly, trying to gauge her reaction. Her eyes dart up as he brings their bodies closer, the heat from his own nearly perceptible now. The wideness of his shoulders and his imposing height are not lost on her then. If one were to stumble upon Cregan from behind him in the hall, his figure would completely conceal her own. 

Cregan catches it then, while his eyes are searching hers. An emotion, raw and pulsing. Lady Tyrell’s lashes flutter as her eyes quickly flick up and down his face, and her breath catches rather violently in her chest. Sharp enough that Cregan can hear it and see the way her ribcage stutters with the force of it. Her eyebrows twitch, raising and then lowering at the intrusion to her space.

And there, for the first time, the Lord of Winterfell thinks to himself that there is truth in front of him.

Her shoulders pull back, like she means to draw away from him. The left one raises slightly as she angles her torso to at least retreat with her right side, her arms coming together in front of the bodice upon her chest. Cregan looks down in the space between them to see the way the nail of her right thumb has pressed so deeply into her pointer finger that the skin is turning a ghostly white.

“Forgive me, my lord,” Her eyebrows raise upwards as she tries to wrestle with her sweet tone, but it is less sure than it had been before. The smile upon her lips is not as pronounced as is typical of her, but rather tight. “I did not mean to offend, I only…”

Her lips open once more after she trails off, but no sound escapes them. It brings Cregan pause.

“You desire me, that is what you are telling me?” Cregan feels the need to lower his voice, to take some of the gruff edge from it. He does not understand why.

It takes all that Lady Tyrell has to not jerk back. She takes a slow breath, eyes still not able to meet Cregan’s directly as she settles to stare at the dark fabric of his clothing. It takes her a heartbeat to pull the words out. “I only wished to express my favoring of you.”

It is a quiet phrase, and it does not seem to want to come out of her mouth. Like she had reached into her throat and pulled it out reluctantly with her fingers. Finally, her eyes slowly gaze up to meet his again.

“If you do not want it, I will take no offense, Lord Stark.” There is a silence that falls between them, in which Cregan should very well tell her that he wants no part in her scheming and manipulating and court games. But he finds his throat rather dry and instead says nothing. 

Taking this as the end to their exchange, Lady Tyrell presents him a curtsy that is not as precise as her last had been, and takes her leave from his presence. 

She knows that her steps are slightly too fast, echoing in rapid succession of each other as her shoes click down the halls. The fabric of her dress has been gripped in her hands so that she can move with greater ease, her knuckles almost white. 

Cregan stares after her for a moment, left with far too much to think upon. He had seen a fragment of something genuine, although he could not discern its nature, and he imagines she is leading him slowly towards the thing that she wants. And if she is feigning desire, aside from whatever instinctive and primal tension that drips from their every exchange, then Cregan feels with almost certainty that it is marriage she seeks. To be the Lady of Winterfell and secure an alliance between the Reach and the North. 

Ambitious, he can acknowledge that. He turns, retreating back down the hall towards his own chambers. Yet something unnamable tugs at the back of his mind.

As soon as her door closes behind her, Lady Tyrell lets out a strangled gasp, the sound clawing its way up her throat viciously. Her hands bring themselves to push down on her chest, but to her frustration, she finds them trembling. Shaking, her fingers pale, and she balls them into fists before ripping them forcefully through her hair, yanking out some pearls as she does so. They clatter to the floor and roll about beneath her feet.

The pacing that she begins is with the intention of calming her racing heart, and she bites at her lip deeply as she strides back and forth before the fireplace, opening and closing her hands. 

It had been some time since she had needed to charm a man like that alone. It was necessary, she knows this, as she wants his favor and now does not have the added hindrance of her honor and betrothal as a shield. She can no longer murmur reminders of her royal intended when a man draws too close to her space.

It is a shield she misses dearly, guilty at the thought of missing her late betrothed’s imposing shadow more than the boy himself.

And this is a dangerous game. She knows its nature well, which is why she does not like to play it. She has seen many women do it, and the consequences of when it goes awry. Cregan Stark is a stranger to her. 

A stranger of great importance, a stranger she is attracted to, but a stranger nonetheless. Her eyes remain downcast to the fire, lost in the warm depths. There is no light in her eyes.

[seeingivy]

death by a thousand cuts

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

an: a wild taylor as gojo has appeared. enjoy. satoru as taylor swift anon who is always in the asks, this is for you. i see you and i hear you.

--

“holy shit. there’s no way you’re on his fucking linked in during class?” megumi whispers. 

you feel your eyes widen as you look to your left to find a very, deeply distraught megumi staring at you. and it’s almost like clockwork, the way he abandons his accounting spreadsheet – and quickly slides into the messages app on his laptop. 

the three consecutive buzzes of your phone thrum under your thigh come before you see nobara and yuuji turn their heads back, two rows ahead of you in the lecture hall, and looking awfully more distraught than megumi. 

“you’re kidding.” nobara mouths. 

“freak!” yuuji whispers, earning you a set of weird glances from the group at your right. 

you glare at the two of them, before turning to megumi and bringing your foot down on top of his. megumi winces, giving you a very characteristic and unbothered eye roll, before he returns to finishing up his spreadsheet. 

you pull your hood up over your ears, cheeks warm and pink from embarrassment, before you focus back on the screen. 

you know that he’s right. that there is really no point at looking at his account – not when you have all of the details memorized. 

Satoru Gojo  Senior Data Science Student @ Tokyo Technical Institute 

three work experiences. data analytics intern for the justice project. hackathon project lead. meadow investments development engineer. 

two degrees under his education. because he’s dual enrolled and set to get a bachelor’s in computer science and a masters in engineering by the end of his term next year. 

and one organization. alpha kappa psi, the business fraternity. 

the only reason you were at the scene of the crime.  

it was all miwa’s fault. and partially yours, for being so willing to come to her aid – at all times. when she asked you to accompany her to the bid party – just because she wanted to support mechamaru fresh in their new relationship and didn’t do too well in social situations – you had all but obliged. at the most, you would get a cheap shot and brownie points to get miwa to run the errands for the entire month. 

except when it came to it, miwa wasn’t nervous at all, only because mechamaru had spent the past few weeks hyping her up to his pledge class. which left you alone, stuck to roam around until she was ready to leave at the end of the night. 

the floor was sticky with beer, there was an almost rancid, putrid smell lingering in the air that you couldn’t pinpoint, and you were stuck with sixty of your peers – shitfaced to a point you didn’t even know was humanly possible. 

and with miwa long gone, doing god knows what with mechamaru and you were stuck leaning against the fridge, bored out of your mind. that’s when he found you – pawing your way through the food. 

his smell was the first thing that caught your attention, second to the fact that he was hovering over your shoulder, cheeks brushing against each other. it was almost minty and stark – almost eradicating the lingering smell of weed that was burning your nose. 

the skin on his cheek was soft, featherlike when it brushed against yours. 

“whatcha doing, dollface?” 

you immediately curl your nose, turned off by the unnecessary sweetness. you had your fill of dirty frat boys during orientation week, three years ago, and knew damn well that you had to steer clear of whatever was happening here. 

“playing where’s waldo, genius. i’m obviously looking for food.” you state. 

you reach for the closest box, a perfectly cut slice of cake, encased in a wrap. the plastic is covered in messy scribbles on the top – spelling out satoru in loopy letters. 

“you’re just going to eat someone else’s cake?” he asks. 

“how do you know it’s not mine?” 

“intuition.” 

it’s only then that you stop yourself to look up at this stranger whispering in your ear, only to find glimmering blue eyes, peering over the top of a set of sunglasses. the sunglasses are god awful – even worse with the combination of the tanktop and the snapback he’s wearing backwards.  

you swear there’s a faded, glittery pink lipstick mark indented at the top of his cheek. 

“you-you’d be shocked.” you stutter, as you pull the box out of the fridge and place it on the counter. 

he momentarily walks away – which is when you take the second to ogle him in full. a toned back, a tattoo on the top of his shoulder that you can’t entirely make out. white hair, veiny arms, and a silver necklace hanging against his collarbone. 

he returns back, two forks in hand, before making a dramatic display of handing you one. 

“for you, my sweet lady.” 

“i’m not sure why you brought two forks. who said i was going to share with you?” 

he grins, leaning his head back to laugh like a little kid, before he scoots closer to you – the sweet scent coming back. 

“c’mon.” 

he reaches for your hand, before lifting it to place it against his chest. you can feel his heart beating under the feeling of your fingertips, his eyes wide and expectant as he waits for and answer. 

“do me a favor, yeah? let me share my cake with a pretty girl at a party. there’s only a limited amount of joys in this life.” 

you scoff, before pulling your hand back. 

“you’re corny.” 

he shrugs. 

“you’ll get used to it.” 

you groan, as you slam your computer shut – the image of his shiny headshot staring back at you getting burned into your eyes. 

stupid. stupid, stupid, stupid. 

one stupid joke, a slice of cake, and somehow you woke up in his bed the next day being spooned by him. and one thing led to the next because he was somehow taking you to brunch, then settling his head in between your legs before dinner, and then back at your house the next day. 

it was an arrangement at that point. the dinners, what happened in between, and the morning after. 

you’re not sure what the terms and conditions are in a predicament like yours – with a guy like satoru. you know for a fact that he still flirts with other girls, because you’d see him walking with a different one every time you stopped at the coffee shop. but then he’d invite you to dinner, honey sweet words falling from his lips before he tucked you in for bed each night. 

friends with benefits. but he buys you gifts and takes you to dinner. and calls you beautiful. comes to your house after frat parties, with the faintest scent of a flowery perfume on his neck that you swear you’re imagining. 

letting him walk out of your apartment was your own personal tourture, of death by a thousand cuts, because every step farther away from you was closer to someone else. 

and that sinking, deep rooted dread, only got worse as time went on. 

you feel a hard smack against your head. 

“do your fucking homework.” 

--

satoru gojo has distinct features that you always find yourself staring at. a mole on his shoulder, a scar on his pointer finger, and the rings he wore. sometimes, you find yourself asking them about him. 

you reach forward, locking your fingers in on the chain around his neck, and using it to pull him closer. it's of a little postage stamp, though the silver looks rusted – like he’s worn it to death. he’s quick to oblige, a warm kiss on your cheek, before you yank again. 

“what, baby?” he whines. 

“where’d you get your necklace?” 

he leans back, looking down at the chain, before his eyes meet yours again. there’s a dim fluorescent glow coming in from the blinds of the window, sun far gone in the horizon, and it’s the only thing that makes this bearable. 

that his piercing blue eyes somewhat subdued from the lack of light. 

“you want it, princess?” 

“what? no. i just like it. i wasn’t –” 

it’s a boyish giggle that comes out of satoru’s mouth as he quickly unfastens the clasp from his neck before tangling it in his fist. 

you’re not an idiot – because it’s his freezing cold fingers pulling your shirt over your head – before he pulls you into his lap. 

this was one of satoru’s favorite things to do. pull you close, till you’re straddling him in his lap, and you can feel his breath tickling against his collarbone as he whispers sweet nothings to you. 

you wonder if he can see your blush in the dim light. if that’s part of why he likes it – seeing the effect he has on you. 

he reaches forward, pulling your hair to the side and pressing a kiss to your collarbone, before he fastens his silver necklace around your neck. 

“you know. when i said i liked your necklace, i said i liked it on you. i wasn’t asking for it.” 

“but i like seeing you wear it more.”

satoru’s eyes are focused as he fixes the tangles in the chain, letting the little charm hang right in the little divot where your collarbone ends. and then he brings his hands in around your face, nearly squishing the softness of your cheeks together, before he presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“will you wear my hoodie?” he jokes. 

you scoff. 

“are we in sixth grade? also, it quite literally says ‘yuuta’s big’ on the sleeve. that’s not obvious at all.”  

satoru rolls his eyes. 

“you would love yuuta, though. he’s your pseudo little brother, because you’re with me, you know?” 

you shake your head, as you crawl out of his lap, and reach for the water bottle on the side table. you try to ground yourself, head spinning as you try to decipher what that means – and tap your feet on the floor. 

you can feel him at your side, his observant blue eyes burning holes into your skin, as you note the steady, almost cautious tone in his voice. 

“you okay? something i said?” 

you shake him off. 

“yeah, yeah. sorry. got out of the mood there for a second, just have a lot to do this week.” 

satoru hums, before bringing his hands around your torso, leaning his entire weight against you as he settles his chin into the crook of your neck. 

“you ever think you work too hard, pretty girl?” 

“working hard or hardly working?” you joke. even his corny jokes were rubbing off on you. 

you hear satoru scoff, before he starts rubbing circles into the bare skin of your stomach, as the goosebumps start to trickle over your skin. 

“oh, don’t be like that. you’re the smartest person i know.” 

“is this a clever way to get into my pants?” 

“no. it’s me telling you that i think you’re very intelligent, you’re very driven, and you don’t have to worry about if you’re working hard enough. i know the only breaks you take are to go to that dumb movie theater downtown with your grumpy friend or when you scream my name every –” 

“satoru.” you whine. 

“don’t say my name like that. it turns me on.” 

you grin. 

“satoru.” you hum, teasing him. 

“fuck off.” 

he pauses, before pressing a lingering kiss to the side of your neck. 

“but really. you’re a clever, you’re pretty, and irritatingly very accomplished. slow down so i can catch up, okay?” 

“that’s rich coming from you. mister three internships, two degrees in four years.” 

it’s quiet. 

“how’d you know that?” satoru asks. 

you can hear the smile in his voice. and the dread pooling in your stomach. 

“what?” 

“how’d you know it was two degrees?” 

“you-you told me.” 

“no, i didn’t. i just got accepted a few weeks ago, i haven’t even told some of my friends yet.” 

you groan, before bringing your hands up to your face. you bury your eyes into the sockets of your eyes, getting caught embarrassedly red handed. 

“where?” 

you sigh. 

“i stalked you on linked in.” 

satoru grins wide, before pulling you back onto the bed and into his embrace. you can hear his giggling in your ear as you try to pull away. 

“oh, baby you didn’t.” 

“i had to make sure i didn’t apply where you worked!” 

“no, you didn’t. we don’t even work in the same field.” 

“you don’t know! i could change my mind!” 

satoru laughs, before leaning forward to press a quick kiss to your lips. 

“you have a crush on me! angel, you should have just said so!” 

you give him a hard push, before crossing your arms over your chest. 

“quit teasing. so i’m a stalker! so what? i just want to make sure i’m not putting out for a loser. you could be coding some AI for the government for all i know and i don’t want to be –” 

“okay, okay. relax. i’m just teasing, i just think it’s cute you keep tabs on me.” 

you glare. 

“i don’t like you.” you state. 

he rolls his eyes, before flopping his head down on your pillow and tapping the space next to him. you crawl into the space, before nestling yourself into his arms. you can feel your brain spiraling – instant regret for saying too much, being too weird, too harsh, and not saying what you felt – as you focus on the feeling of his hands running through your hair. 

“i can tell that the hamster in your brain is working overtime. just go to bed, okay?” 

“okay, lock the door when you leave?” 

“i don’t have plans tomorrow morning. if you could humble yourself to eat breakfast with me, i’d actually like that.” 

you frown, stomach jolting in your guts. 

he had never stayed for an arbitrary reason – like spending the night just to sleep next to you. you shut your eyes, burying your face deeper into the sweet smell of his skin, and throw the thought away. 

“mimosas?” 

“you want to drink that early in the morning?” 

“it’s saturday. gives me a good kick to start my day.” 

“aren’t mimosas made with champagne? i hate champagne. and it makes you really handsy.” 

you smile. 

“you like when i’m handsy.” 

“i mean, yes. but we can just do pancakes and go to the library together so we can do work. i’ll keep you accountable and find you snacks when you get inevitably cranky. then when you come home all tired, we can be as handsy as we want. it’s more satisfying when you have to work for it.” 

you groan, burying the complications of spending yet another day with him in the back of your head as you try to flutter your eyes shut – in futile attempts to quiet the thoughts racketing around in your mind. 

“okay, okay whatever. we’ll see tomorrow, i just – i’m really tired right now and –” 

“shut up, dollface. just sleep.” 

--

you get invited to the alpha kappa psi formal. miwa – who found out from mechamaru, whose pledge class brother is very close with satoru’s little yuuta – said that satoru wanted you there. 

then why didn’t he ask you? 

you bite the bullet anyways, borrowing one of kugisaki’s pale blue slip dresses – and attend as mechamaru’s pledge brother – todo’s date – to get in. 

he’s a strange guy, who doesn’t pay you too much attention. it’s one polite wave and a cardstock ticket he hands you before you don’t see him again for the rest of the night. and you’re stuck with miwa and mechamaru, who are bigger fans of pda than you are. 

“how’s satoru, y/n?” mechamaru asks. 

“ah. he’s good. you know as much as i do, right?” 

you can feel yourself sweating. 

would satoru leave if you said too much? if you embarrassed him in front of one of his brothers? did they know you guys had an…arrangement? was it an arrangement? were you seeing each other? why did they think he invited you? 

“dunno. aren’t you guys really good friends?” mechamaru asks. 

“um, yeah.” 

“yeah, he was telling us you studied together at the library the other day. figured he’d want you to meet suguru and ieiri.” 

suguru and ieiri. 

“yeah. i’m gonna go get a drink. do you guys want anything?” 

“i’m good, love. we’ll be here.” miwa states, giving a reassuring squeeze to your bicep before you drag your heels to the makeshift bar. 

you walk over to the bar, straight to the open bottle of rosé that has your name on it, as you lean against the wall. you pour way too much into your flute, nearly spilling it over the back of your hand, as you curse. 

“do you want help?” 

you look up to find a boy looking at you, wide eyes, with his bangs sweeping down the side of his face. he has tired eyes, but it’s a seemingly bright smile he offers you. 

“sorry, yeah. i’ll clean it up, i swear.” 

“no, no. no problem.” 

he hands you a handkerchief from his pocket, before he pulls your hand in his and wipes the excess pink stain on it. you cringe at the stain on the cloth before he tucks it back into his pocket. 

“i’m sorry about that. that’s really kind of you, i just –” 

“no problem! you seemed…kind of frustrated there. happy to help.” 

you shoot him a polite smile, before nervously sipping – maybe a little too fast for comfort. but the warm feeling is enough to temporarily curb the nerves, which is perfect for your sake. 

“are you a brother?” you ask. 

“yeah! is this your first formal?” 

“yeah. i’m seeing someone in your frat and he asked me to come. well, he didn’t ask me to come, he told someone else he wanted me to come so i came as one of the other brother’s date. but not really his date, because i haven't seen him since then. or the guy i’m talking to.” 

he leans back, eyes wide. 

“right. do you like him? if…if you mind me asking.”  

“my date? i can’t even remember his name. he’s like a tall, muscular guy. man bun?” 

“no, yeah. his name is todo, i figured that’s who you were talking about. i mean the other guy.” 

“oh. well, yeah. but he’s so…i don’t know. he’s a frat guy. and a chronic flirt. the first time i met him he had a lipstick stain on his cheek. and he smells like girly perfume every time he comes to see me, so –” 

he sucks his teeth in. 

“idiot.” he murmurs. 

“what?” 

“no! oh my god, not you! i meant…me! just thought of something. gotta run for a second, i’ll be back.” 

“wait, you didn’t even tell me your –” 

you watch as he rushes off, in a speed walking fervor, as mechamaru and miwa join you at your side. they give you a polite smile, which you return, as you swirl the glass in your hand. 

“mechamaru. do you know that guy who just walked away? tired looking, the long hair?” 

“oh, yuuta. yeah, what about him?” 

“yuuta?” 

“yeah, you’ve never met him? he’s like gojo’s pride and joy.” 

you sink against the wall, embarrassment coursing through you, as you down the rest of your glass. and then three more, which is accompanied by weary looks from miwa. and after finishing off the entire bottle – an hour and a half into the party without seeing satoru – you’re set on leaving. 

and it’s only on your rageful stomp out the door, well past tipsy, that you find the godawful man of the hour, leaning against the wall. 

it’s enough to fill you with a rage. because he’s leaning against the wall, shirt slightly unbuttoned, and smiling brightly at whichever girl he’s talking to. you’re almost positive that it’s probably her flowery perfume that you’re smelling on his neck at the time, that she’s who he sees when he’s not with you, and it’s like pins and needles in your stomach. 

and you almost make your escape, before he catches you on your way out. 

“y/n? wait, y/n!” 

you’re one step out the door, before he grabs your bicep, and pulls back, giving you a bright grin. 

“i didn’t know you were here yet. i’ve been waiting, come here, c’mhere.” satoru mumbles, quickly rushing you over to the group of three people standing by the door, who all turn their heads for you. 

you groan as you turn to the group of them. it’s the same tired eyes as before – that you now know belong to yuuta – and two strangers you’ve never seen before. a guy almost as tall as satoru, with swooping bangs and a manbun, and the girl – who you can’t stand to look at, with perfect beach waves swooping past her shoulders. 

and what you can’t help but notice is a sparkling, silver postage stamp necklace around her neck. the same one around yours, that you had been fidgeting with since satoru gave it to you weeks ago. 

“here’s your drink, satoru.” the girl states, handing him a glass of white wine that he takes. 

it’s enough to make your rage bubble to the surface. 

“the lady of the hour, guys! this is y/n, she’s my –” 

you scoff. 

“are you kidding?” 

“hm?” 

“lady of the hour? for what, your jokes?” 

you watch as satoru’s face drops, before he sets the glass of wine down on the closest table. 

“huh? what do you mean? i wanted to introduce you to ieiri, i know you’re going to love her.” 

 you can feel the tears accumulating in your eyes, that you’re almost positive that satoru notices, because his face visibly droops even more, this time replaced with genuine concern that sends a pang in your chest that has you wrestling your wrist out of his hold. 

“you…you’re so mean, satoru.” 

“baby, what?” 

“don’t…why are you calling me that? every morning you wake up next to me and you’re still not my baby. that’s not exactly fair. you smell like a different girl and you still…you still flirt with other people.” you whisper. 

his eyes go wide. 

“no, i –” 

“every time you walk away i’m half convinced you’re just going to someone else you’re stringing along like me. i’m sitting there thinking about how you’ve walked hundreds of steps away from me hundreds of times and it feels like a thousand little cuts every time you do and it kills me that you don’t even care.” 

you can feel that whatever is coming out is word vomit, like it’s started and now it won’t ever stop. 

“i see you everywhere, because you literally come everywhere with me just to leave. any song you’ve sang is now our song, any movie, literally anything you’ve even touched. i can’t even wear certain clothes without thinking about how you complimented me in them and i’m stuck thinking about how you probably say that to everyone. you don’t even drink wine and you’re over here drinking some with this random girl at this party, when that’s my thing that we drink wine together. you gave her the same necklace as me, and you apparently asked me to come to but didn’t even tell me about to my face? then you sick your little frat brother to ask me if i like you just so you can….i don’t know, i don’t know what you’d do with that information!” 

you watch as satoru pinches the bridge of his nose, only to turn to the three of them at his side, who are all shaking their heads dismissively. 

“suguru. i fucking told you he had to be leaving something out.” 

“well, i didn’t realize it was going to be like this, shoko. no wonder she won’t date him.” 

you swallow hard, as you seem to sink deeper in the pits of your own embarrassment, which seems to be a record low. 

“fuck. you…you said her name is shoko?” 

geto offers you a smile. 

“that’s right.” 

“like satoru’s hometown friend? the…the lesbian?” 

“that would be me.” she confirms. 

you cringe. 

“oh my god. i’m really sorry, i’m really drunk. i drank an entire bottle of wine after i accidentally talked to yuuta and i just –” 

“well, i’d get drunk if i were you too. he smells like other girls? and flirts with them?” shoko asks. 

“i do not! i don’t even know what you’re talking about. i didn’t even know she even liked me back till twenty minutes ago.” 

“the necklace is a nice gesture. satoru, geto, and i all have these matching postage stamp necklaces from this shitty place in our hometown. we got them together when we graduated so we wouldn’t forget about what was important when we all go to college.” 

you turn to satoru. 

“and you just gave that to me?” 

“well, i knew you’d take care of it.” 

“that’s like…that’s like sentimental, satoru. you literally gave me your childhood best friends memento and that’s so-” 

“well, obviously that seems like a little much if you think we’re just friends with benefits!” 

you scoff. 

“you’re the one who wanted to be friends with benefits.” you clarify.

“what are you talking about? you literally cringe away from any affection i give you!” satoru retorts. 

“because you flirt with other girls!” 

“not since you! why would i flirt with other people?” 

“you tell me. i smell the perfume.” 

satoru groans. 

“that’s your perfume, dipshit. you left your hoodie at my house and it smells like you so sometimes i sleep next to it and then i smell like it. how do you not recognize your own smell?” 

you pause. 

“you do what?” 

“not in a fucking weird way. i just miss you when you’re busy. you smell nice, it’s –” 

“hopeless.” yuuta states, earning him a nod from suguru. 

“you didn’t even ask me to come here with you.” you state. 

“shoko had to be my date so she could come. i had to make yuuta drag maki in through a window because geto was his plus one. i just wanted you here so you could meet my childhood friends, who i care about. they’ve heard about you for so long that i just thought –” 

“you talk to your friends about me?” 

“an insufferable amount. though most of his agony seems self inflicted now, because he’s a fucking idiot.” shoko confirms. 

“okay, let’s get y/n some water, yeah?” yuuta suggests, before shuffling the two of them off, to which satoru sends a grateful smile before turning back to you. 

he crouches down a little, just so your eyes are level, as you frown at him. 

“is this what that hamster in your brain is doing up there? overthinking literally everything?” 

“you –”

“if you asked, i would have clarified for you. we’ve always been exclusive and if you talked to someone else while we were talking, i’m going to have to kill him.” 

“don’t be stupid.” 

“i’ll just send a threat! sign his emails up for scientology. he was talking to my girl!” 

you glare at him. 

“you…you’re so stupid, satoru. you confuse me so much and i just…you take up too much space. you’re everywhere – literally no part of me that you haven’t taken up and i just…” 

satoru frowns, before pulling his hands around your face, and angling up by your chin to look at him. 

“don’t give up now. it just got good.” he whispers. 

“satoru.” 

“cmon. let me lick all thousand of your cuts clean.” 

“ew. you’re…you’re so gross, satoru.” 

“okay, that was just a dirty joke. but let me make it up to you, really. i didn’t realize you…you were thinking all that. i thought you just liked me because i was sexy and because i eat your –” 

“satoru!” 

“please. let me into that hamster ball in your brain. i deserve some space.” 

“it’s all boarded up. the hamster ball house burned down.” you groan. 

he leans back, like he’s inspecting your face, before he presses a kiss to your forehead. 

“dunno. i’m seeing some flickering lights in there. i can tell your hamster in there really wants me.” 

“quit….quit calling me a hamster! you’re so…ugh. i have a headache and i’m drunk and i’m really confused and i just –” 

satoru mimics a little salute, before he loops his hand around your waist and walks you towards the little bar. 

“okay, test run. i’m on boyfriend duty. if this goes well enough, you give me a chance tomorrow.” 

you squint your eyes at him. 

“okay, water first. then i have two baby aspirin for you in my pocket. three kisses on the cheek if you won’t insult me after and a compliment if you won’t kill me.” 

“really?” 

“yuuta told me you downed a whole bottle. since you’re too mad to be handsy, you have a headache. but don’t worry, i came prepared. meaning i forced yuuta to find some baby aspirin or else. and also, kisses because you smell good and you’re wearing this pretty blue dress that’s the same color as my eyes and you’re about to meet my favorite people ever and you’re my favorite person ever, so this is a big deal.” satoru responds.

he’s rambling so hard that you feel like you can see the hamster in his mind working overtime. 

--

“what’s the verdict?” 

satoru’s voice is like a thousand bullets in your head as you smack him in the face, trying to silence the chattering coming out of his mouth. 

“satoru. what…what time is it?” 

“six in the morning. but it’s the next day and i need to know how my test run went.” 

“your….what?” 

satoru whines. 

“no, no don’t tell me you’re too drunk to remember? my test run! to be your boyfriend?” 

you groan, flickering your eyes open to the alarm clock on your bed, spelling out the time. 6:07 am. 

“no, i remember. you need the answer at six in the morning when i’m hungover?” 

“this is agony! i really get this whole thousand cuts thing now, this hurts. tell me.” 

you push his face into the pillow, before mumbling it as quietly as you can. 

“you pass.” 

“huh?” 

“you heard me. you passed. just…shut up, please.” 

it’s his giggles you hear before sleeping and a warm kiss on your forehead, before you pass out again. 

--

satoru as taylor swift songs masterlist

taglist: @invisible-mori @porridgesblog  @k0z3me  @kayleegomez @yihona-san06  @bsenpai  @sweetenertea  @skzismyhome @mykyoon  @violetmatcha  @rebeccawinters  @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot  @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @torureadz @dreamxiing @mamamamamarga

[mariacallous]

Until she fled Bangladesh on Monday, Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina governed as if she still had full legitimacy, even as students and protesters had been on the streets for days asking her to resign. The trigger for the demonstrations—civil service job quotas for Bangladeshi freedom fighters and their families—had become a distant memory. Collective anger about years of human rights abuses, corruption, and rigged elections had coalesced into an uprising.

In a conversation over the weekend, Zonayed Saki, the left-leaning leader of the Ganosamhati Andolan party—himself a student activist against military rule in the 1990s—said, “The people’s sentiment is that she has to go first. The government had lost moral and political legitimacy.”

Hasina believed that she was elected democratically. She won an unprecedented fourth term in a flawed vote in January, which most of the major opposition parties had boycotted and the United States, the United Kingdom, and human rights groups criticized for not being free or fair. Still, other major governments congratulated Hasina on the victory. The bureaucracy, the media, the police, and the army were on her side. What could go wrong?

Over the weekend, Hasina declared a curfew again, cut off the internet, and encouraged the youth wing of the ruling Awami League party to take to the streets. Trigger-happy security forces, who were blamed for the deaths of more than 200 people as the protests turned violent in mid-July, were out in full force. Nearly 100 more people died over the weekend, including 14 police officers; video emerged showing security forces shooting point-blank at nonviolent protesters.

Hasina spoke darkly of Islamists spreading terrorism by co-opting the protests, but the students remained undeterred. A long march was announced for Aug. 5 to demand her resignation. Hasina declared a three-day public holiday in response. But by midday Monday, she had resigned, fleeing the country in a helicopter. The first stop would be India and after that an unknown destination.

Meanwhile, the situation on the ground has turned volatile amid the power vacuum. Thousands of demonstrators rushed to the Ganabhaban, the prime minister’s official residence in Dhaka, looting souvenirs and frolicking on the premises. People have also reportedly attacked the home of Bangladesh’s chief justice. There are also reports of the toppling of a statue of Hasina’s father, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, who led Bangladesh’s independence movement and then ruled the country until he was assassinated in 1975. Mujib’s family home, now a museum, went up in flames in an act of grotesque retribution. These incidents stand in contrast to the disciplined and peaceful demonstrations led by students, who have urged for calm and were seen appealing to the looters to return stolen property.

Bangladesh’s army has called for calm, but it has not yet intervened. The country’s armed forces overthrew elected governments in the 1970s and 1980s and attempted coups in later years. But now, the generals would naturally want to play it safe: They cannot afford to lose the confidence of Bangladeshis and are aware of the deep distrust that Bangladeshis have developed for the armed forces because their political interventions have weakened the country’s democracy.

There is another calculation at play, too: Bangladesh is among the largest suppliers of soldiers to the United Nations peacekeeping forces, and it won’t antagonize the international community by letting its soldiers act at will. (Those peacekeeping arrangements mean the armed forces are less reliant on Bangladesh’s state budget.) In mid-July, when military vehicles with U.N. insignia were deployed on Dhaka’s streets, foreign diplomats rightly complained; Bangladeshi officials gave weak excuses and promised not to use U.N. equipment to settle domestic unrest.

Hasina seemed to have two options: to seek a graceful exit or to dig her heels in and let the troops take all necessary means to protect her regime. In the end, she fled. Where she will settle is unclear. India would pose problems for Prime Minister Narendra Modi; ruling party politicians have routinely criticized undocumented Bangladeshis in India, even creating legislation to identify and possibly deport them. The United Kingdom may be risky for Hasina because while it hosts many Bangladeshi immigrants, they include dissidents forced into exile during her 15-year rule as well as supporters of the opposition Bangladesh Nationalist Party.

Had Hasina dug in, there would have been bloody consequences. Even if the army had shown restraint toward the protesters, there is no telling if Bangladesh’s notorious border guards or the Rapid Action Battalion—which has faced criticism from human rights groups—would have acted responsibly. There has been violence on both sides, but it has come primarily from the Bangladeshi state. As of Monday, as many as 32 children had died, according to UNICEF.

By stepping aside disgracefully, Hasina leaves chaos in her wake. It is crucial that any interim administration restore order quickly, but it can only do so if it has the backing of the army. A list of bureaucrats, civil society veterans, and others who might form the nucleus of such a government has been released, but the situation is too fluid to consider such lists final. In the early 2000s, Bangladesh had an unelected but legitimate caretaker government to help assist its transition to democracy after a military intervention—which it did, paving the way for Hasina’s election in December 2008.

Hasina has long demonized Bangladesh’s Islamist political forces. But Islamic fundamentalist parties have secured more than 10 percent of the vote only once, in 1991; in all subsequent elections, their vote share has been closer to 5 to 6 percent. Most Bangladeshis are Muslims, but they aren’t extremists; in Bangladeshi American poet Tarfia Faizullah’s famous words, when a Pakistani soldier assaulted a Bengali woman in 1971 and asked her if she was Muslim or Bengali, she defiantly said, “Both.”

The song accompanying many videos of the protests last week was from the pre-Partition poet Dwijendralal Ray, a Hindu, celebrating the golden land of Bengal. To see Bangladesh in binary terms—of Muslim or not Muslim—shows a profound misreading of a complex society. It reveals the myopia of external observers, notably analysts close to the current Indian government, who had invested hugely in Hasina and irrationally fear that an Islamic republic is the only alternative to her rule. In so doing, they frittered away some of the goodwill that India had earned in Bangladesh over the years, particularly for its support during the liberation war.

As a result, the current situation in Bangladesh will complicate things for Modi, Hasina’s close friend. His government had invested hugely in their relationship, aiming to build a trade corridor across Bangladesh and seeking Bangladeshi support to curb separatism in northeastern India. This alienated India from Bangladeshis, who expected New Delhi to defend democratic forces in Dhaka. Nobel laureate Muhammad Yunus, whom Hasina condemned and called a “bloodsucker of the poor,” chided India for not doing enough: South Asia is a family, he said in a recent interview, and when a house is burning, brothers should come and help.

With Hasina fleeing, India has lost an ally it thought it could rely on. The road ahead for Bangladesh will be difficult. Expectations will be high, and the people will want early elections. If those are free and fair, a different Bangladesh can emerge. Whether it will be consistent with the liberal, secular, democratic ethos that Bangladesh’s founders fought for remains to be seen.

[alainamama17]

The Shadows of History: Parallels and Warnings in American Democracy

As a historian, I am acutely aware that while history does not repeat itself, it often presents echoes that serve as warnings for the future. The United States today stands at a crossroads, with certain elements reminiscent of 1930s Nazi Germany and the ambitious plans of Project 2025, raising concerns about the direction in which the country is heading.

The 1930s in Germany were marked by the rise of authoritarianism, a period where democratic institutions were systematically dismantled in favor of a totalitarian regime. The parallels drawn between that era and the current political climate in the United States are not to suggest an identical repetition of events, but rather to highlight concerning trends that, if left unchecked, could undermine the very foundations of American democracy.

**Project 2025 and the Unitary Executive Theory**

Project 2025, a conservative initiative developed by the Heritage Foundation, aims to reshape the U.S. federal government to support the agenda of the Republican Party, should they win the 2024 presidential election. Critics have characterized it as an authoritarian plan that could transform the United States into an autocracy. The project envisions widespread changes across the government, particularly in economic and social policies, and the role of federal agencies.

This initiative bears a resemblance to the early strategies employed by the Nazi Party, which sought to consolidate power and align all aspects of government with their ideology. The unitary executive theory, which asserts absolute presidential control over the executive branch, is a central tenet of Project 2025. This theory echoes the power consolidation that occurred under Hitler's regime, where legal authority was centralized to bypass democratic processes.

**The Erosion of Democratic Norms**

In both historical and contemporary contexts, the erosion of democratic norms is a precursor to the loss of liberty. The United States has witnessed a polarization of politics, where partisan interests often override the common good. The Supreme Court, once a non-partisan arbiter of the Constitution, has been accused of partisanship, with decisions increasingly influenced by political ideologies rather than constitutional law. This shift mirrors the way the judiciary in Nazi Germany became a tool for enforcing the will of the regime, rather than a protector of the constitution.

**The Role of Propaganda and Media**

Propaganda played a crucial role in Nazi Germany, shaping public opinion and suppressing dissent. Today, the media landscape in the United States is deeply divided, with outlets often serving as echo chambers that reinforce ideological beliefs. This division hampers the ability of citizens to engage in informed discourse and make decisions based on factual information, a cornerstone of a functioning democracy.

**Civil Liberties and Minority Rights**

The targeting of minority groups was a hallmark of Nazi policy, justified by a narrative of nationalism and racial purity. In the United States, there has been a rise in xenophobia and policies that discriminate against certain groups. The protection of civil liberties and minority rights is essential to prevent the kind of societal divisions that can lead to the marginalization of entire communities.

**Conclusion**

The parallels between the United States today, Project 2025, and 1930s Nazi Germany serve as a stark reminder of the fragility of democracy. It is imperative that as Americans, we remain vigilant against the forces that seek to undermine democratic institutions and principles. The lessons of history implore us to safeguard the values of liberty, equality, and justice, lest we allow the shadows of the past to shape our future.

As a historian and educator, I believe it is our responsibility to draw upon these parallels not to incite fear, but to inspire action. We must engage in civic education, promote critical thinking, and encourage participation in the democratic process. Only through collective effort can we ensure that the American experiment continues to be a beacon of hope and freedom for the world.